Slap and Tickle

A girl finds the client of her dreams

by Katie Hammond

It was just after one o’clock in the afternoon as I flicked through my appointments book; there was just two for this Friday afternoon, Amanda Price at three o’clock and Helen Norman at five o’clock, both one hour sessions. It was a quiet afternoon, thankfully. I hadn’t had too many of these since I opened my massage therapy practice in town six months ago.

I had qualified as an accountant after leaving school, but I found the office work boring, the office politics unnecessary and, most often among women, particularly nasty. I decided there was more to life than that so I changed tact and took a new career path. I had put a lot of work into being a qualified massage therapist and my Dad had very generously lent, or ultimately given, me a large amount of money to start the business up. Sadly my Dad had passed away earlier in the year and I desperately wanted the business to be a success in his memory. I had also broken up with my boyfriend recently; thankfully we didn’t get round to buying our first home together. So, at twenty eight, I was living back with my Mum but I was fine with that, and she probably needed me around at the moment more than ever anyway. I came out of my daydream when I heard the sound of rain on the shop front glass. I looked out of the window and saw the umbrellas up as people scurried to the warm and comfort of their homes or cars on this very overcast and grey October afternoon.

The afternoon went quickly as, following Amanda Price’s 3 o’clock, I had an un-booked walk-in at four and was rushing to make myself ready for the week’s final client, Helen Norman. So at five past five I was ready, but no client. Just as I thought it was going to be a no-show, the door opened and a mid height blonde lady walked in.

We both smiled and she said: “Very sorry for being late, I got caught up in traffic and spent a bit of time looking for a parking space.”

I assured her it was no problem as she took her beige coat off. She was about 5’5 with straight blonde hair to her shoulders, blue eyes, with a slightly athletic build and dressed in a black jacket, white blouse and black skirt. As I led her from the reception area to the rear of the premises we engaged in chit chat and I guessed she was around thirty-five years old. I liked her demeanour; she seemed a really nice lady. We entered the massage room and she opened her handbag and gave me my shop’s £50 gift voucher that I had previously sold to someone. I smiled as I always liked these, it meant that someone had thought highly enough about my services to treat their friend or relative to one of my massages.

“Oh don’t worry about that until the end,” I said with a smile before adding: “Any special occasion?”

She replied: “Yes, it’s a gift from my daughter for my fortieth birthday.”

“Oh really? I honestly didn’t think you were there yet.” I said.

She smiled broadly and replied: “Thank you.”

Assuming that she had come from work I said she would be more than welcome to use the on en-suit bathroom and shower, if she wanted to freshen up. She said she would and then looked at the clock.

“Don’t worry, the session only starts when you’re on the table. Take as much time as you want.” I said.

She smiled again looking slightly relieved.

“When you come out, if you would like to get on the table, place the towel and once you are comfortable press the buzzer and I will come in.” I said.

“Thanks very much.” She paused.

“Sorry, I’m Emily.” I said, realising I had not introduced myself.

She offered her hand and we slightly nodded to each other as we shook.

“Helen,” she said with a smile.

I left the room and went to reception, my mental picture of someone called Helen Norman wasn’t quite in keeping with the lady now having a shower. Although I was sure there was something familiar about her, I had never met her. The buzzer soon went and I locked the front door and turned the sign around from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. It was now almost half five and Helen would now definitely be my last customer today.

I walked in and she was lying on her front, a white towel covering her bottom and upper legs. I offered to get the towel slightly tidier and we agreed that the towel should come further up her legs, but I was conscious not take it too far up as to make her uncomfortable. I lit the vanilla scented candles, each located within a glass holder for safety, dimmed the lights and put gentle wave music on the hi-fi system. It created a nice ambiance, in my opinion, but I asked Helen what she thought.

“It’s lovely,” she replied, as she turned her head and closed her eyes in contentment.

I opened a new bottle of vanilla scented massage oil and poured some at the bottom of her back just above the towel. I placed my hands there and let them soak up some of the oil for a few seconds before my hands then started their journey up to her neck. Once there, I gave her a neck massage before sliding my hands slowly all the way back to the towel. I continued doing this for fifteen minutes, my fingers lighting pressing, rubbing and very lightly tickling her back on their to and fro journey on both sides of Helen’s back.

I applied more oil to Helen’s right arm as she extended it without asking. I ran both hands down her arm and then when I reached her hand I linked it with mine. She squeezed it hard and I knew she liked it. This was totally spontaneous on my part I had never done this with a client before. When I worked my way back, I then gave her armpit a very gentle massage.

She let out a slight: “Arg um,” under her breath.

I was sure and hoped it was her way of saying: “I’m loving this so much I don’t want to speak or you to stop,” so with that I continued to her left arm and did the same. I then started a gentle neck massage. I had already noticed how soft and youthful her skin looked and I was right, her build was a little athletic. This woman obviously took care of herself and probably did a fair amount of sport. I wanted to know a bit more about her, so during the neck massage I decided to speak.

“Are you ok with this, Helen?” I asked.

“This is absolutely fantastic, I don’t want it to end,” she replied, eyes shut, before adding: “Oh god, what’s the time?”

“Don’t worry about that, Helen. It’s a full massage. It’s done when it’s done, unless you have to be somewhere?” I asked.

“Thank you, no, not at all, I don’t have to be anywhere,” she replied.

I laughed and replied: “Good,” and then added: “Foot and leg massage now, Helen.”

She purred in pleasure and rubbed her head into the pillow. I put some oil onto the soles of her feet and gentle rubbed it in.

“You’re in good shape, Helen, do you do any sports?” I asked, realising that I was almost starting to have some feelings about her, and that I must keep this very professional.

“Yes, I play netball and run for Dellington’s first teams.”

‘Not bad,’ I thought.

Even though Dellington’s population was only around thirty thousand, to be in the first team at any sport, especially at forty, was impressive. Then it fell into place. I had met her before. She had won the Dellington’s women’s veteran 10K run in the summer. Along with most of the town’s businesses, I had sponsored the run and had presented Helen with the winner’s medal.

My mind raced back to that bizarre sight of a woman running up the high street in a black swim suit. During the presentation I couldn’t stop looking at her bottom and wanted to ask her if she was wearing any knickers. I never asked her that question, of course, and I hope neither she nor anyone else noticed the amount of time I spent looking at her bum.

She moved her foot slightly and I came out of my daydream, slightly panicked.

“Oh that’s good, I thought you must do.” I said, trying to sound unflustered.

I caught my breath and continued the massage, my hands squeezing her left leg as my hand travelled up. Helen didn’t show any signs of recognition so I decided not to mention our encounter. I continued with the right foot and leg, squeezing and massaging my way up. I reached the towel and Helen started to speak then stopped suddenly.

“Are you ok?” I asked, hoping she was still enjoying the massage.

“Er, yes, yes, of course, erm.” She paused.

I thought maybe she had recognised me from the presentation and was now embarrassed. She cleared her throat and started to speak again, her voice now slightly higher pitched.

“Umm, you don’t do, erm, bum massages, do you?”

A combination of relief and excitement came over me and I smiled.

“Yes of course, that’s no problem, do you want one?”

“Oh god, please. I’m willing to pay whatever you want.” Helen replied.

“No, that’s in the price quoted.” I stated.

“Brilliant,” exclaimed Helen.

I placed my right hand on the towel and asked: “Now?”

Helen nodded and replied: “Please, please, please.”

Within a second the towel was off and below my eyes were two lovely globes of fleshly but firm bum, even better than I had imagined when I stared at it through that black material.

I poured the massage oil onto the left buttock, then kept pouring as I travelled to the right. I placed my hands on both buttocks and started kneading them like dough in a circular motion, then pushing them together and then allowing them to part.

Within a few seconds, Helen started quietly to murmur: “Arg, arg, arg, arg,” and let her breath out deliberately heavily.

I then gently worked my hands in a circle on each buttock.

Helen pulled her hands onto her head and buried her head in the pillow, saying: “Oh god, oh god.”

Her bottom was fantastic, not small at all, but firm healthy and rounded. I took my hand off as she adjusted herself and she slightly, but unmistakeably, raised her bottom up. It was exactly what I used to do when I was with Ollie and it screamed: ‘Spank Me.’ I smiled while trying to stop a delightful snigger.

 

I closed my eyes as the adrenaline rose within me to an uncontrollable level. My throat tightened as I lost control. I raised my right arm and SLAPPED her right across the buttocks. I knew I had crossed the line and my personal and business future would be decided by Helen in the next five seconds.

She turned around, shocked, looked directly at me and said: “Harder.”

I SLAPPED her again, harder still, which elicited a response of: “Yes.”

She moved her hands from her head and placed them both on the massage table frame in front of her head as if she was stretching, leaving her bottom defenceless. I then started slapping each buttock individually; left buttock, SLAP, right buttock, SLAP, left buttock, SLAP, right buttock, SLAP.

After ten minutes, her bum was turning red. I decided to give her a break and started massaging the side of her back, which I hadn’t done yet. I started on her left side slowly running my hand along the side of her body. We engaged in conversation and I got to learn about more about her life, before continuing the conversation as I moved around the table to do her right side.

She glanced up at the clock. It was now approaching ten to seven and she turned to me and said, slightly embarrassed: “Emily, can you start spanking me again, please?”

I smiled. “My pleasure, Helen.”

I SLAPPED her hard across the buttocks, then slightly tickled her inner upper legs before SLAPPING her hard across the buttocks again. I built up a rhythm; SLAP and Tickle, SLAP and Tickle, SLAP and Tickle. It didn’t take long before Helen was appreciatively moaning again. Helen’s eyes were closed and I was in dreamland admiring her wonderful bottom when we both were startled by the phone ringing. I stopped and picked it up.

It was security wondering why I hadn’t activated the alarm yet. I had half an hour to shut up shop.

“I’m really sorry, Emily, I’ve been here so long that gift voucher won’t cover this.”

“Oh yes it will, Helen. Believe me, this is the best massage I’ve ever given.” I honestly explained, then added: “Can I apply some after-spanking cream?”

“No, I don’t want to make you late, Emily, and get you into trouble. You have to lock up now.”

She was right.

I nodded, and she then said: “Next time?”

“Yes, I really hope there will be a next time. I loved it.” I smiled, really hoping she felt the same.

Helen shifted and I will never forget what happened next. She raised her pelvis and banged it up and down on the table for thirty seconds, a final release of spanking energy before saying sheepishly: “Sorry.”

“Absolutely nothing to be sorry for, hun,” I said using a term of endearment for the first time.

She got off the table and dressed. She didn’t seem worried about me being there. In fact, I think she might have even been saying: “How do you like me now, then?”

It was now ten to eight and we had to say goodbye. I knew she was divorced and single, so no explaining to do about a sore bottom.

“Wow! That was fantastic, Emily. Thank you so much. I will ring on Monday and make another appointment for next week and pay you properly,” she said.

I smiled and said: “Good, as long as it wasn’t a disappointment?”

“You knew it wasn’t for me,” she said, before adding: “And for you, I’m sure.”

I nodded and we kissed goodbye and I locked up and walked home.

That weekend, my head was in a spin. Did that really happen? Did she now regret it and would report me? Did I have a lesbian crush? Was that better than anything I had done with Ollie? Was she interested in me? What would my Mother think? What would dear Dad have said? So many questions, so few answers.

She didn’t ring on Monday and I thought it was just a one off, one of those rare totally bizarre days that you would never forget for the rest of your life. I even thought that I was imagining it until I opened the appointments book and looked again. Yes, there it is; Friday five o’clock, Helen Norman.

I have to admit, the next morning I was down. I thought this thing with Helen could have been the start of something good with some exciting ingredients; taboo, risky and unusual. On the Tuesday, just after I had finished my last morning customer and was opening my overpriced supermarket sandwich, the phone rang.

“Healing Hands Massage,” I answered.

“Hi Emily, it’s Helen. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I was trying to get Friday afternoon off work but I can’t, unfortunately.”

“Oh, ok,” I replied, slightly disappointed but ecstatic that she had even bothered to call.

Helen continued: “Erm, another thing though is that, and don’t worry if you can’t, but I have a table for two booked at La Scala on Friday evening at nine and would love you to join me.”

I was shocked. La Scala was the newly opened restaurant within the ‘The Vine’ hotel, the very swish four star hotel in town, which would have cost a fair bit.

“Oh, erm, only if you’re sure, Helen?” I asked.

“I’m very sure,” was her reply.

We ended the conversation and I put the phone down on cloud nine.

Friday couldn’t come quick enough and when it did I spent hours getting ready.

‘But was this a date?’ I asked myself. ‘A dinner with a friend? Or just a client, albeit a special one?’

Well I know which one I would put my money on, wouldn’t you?

Just as I walked into the hotel reception, Helen walked down the stairs from the rooms and we had an aperitif at the bar. We sat down on one of the sofas out of earshot of anyone.

“Looking forward to dinner?” Helen asked to break the ice.

“Yes, I’m hungry.” I replied.

“Good.” Helen replied, beaming at me.

“Here,” I said, as my hand went into my handbag and produced a chunky gold necklace. “Happy Birthday. I know it was a couple of weeks back, but I hope you like it.” I said.

“It’s gorgeous, thank you so much. You shouldn’t have.” Said Helen before she put her hand into her handbag and continued. “I have something for you too.”

Giving me the black cloth, her eyes told me to be discreet. I made sure no one was watching when I opened it. I laughed. It was the same type of swimsuit Helen had worn during the race.

“Thank you. Where’s the swimming pool?” I joked.

Helen smiled. “It’s not a swimsuit, it’s an athletics leotard; no longer in fashion at the moment.”

“Shame.” I said, laughing.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? My daughter was standing behind you during the medal presentation and said you couldn’t stop staring at my bum.”

I laughed. “Oh god, I thought nobody noticed that. Yes, you really did look sexy.”

Helen laughed and I continued.

“And I really wanted to ask you if you were wearing any knickers.”

Helen put her head back and laughed even louder. I was glad she found that funny.

“Well, I’m not going to say, but you could find that out tomorrow. I’ve got a room here tonight.”

I knew exactly what that meant.

“Oh, one more thing.” I said, as I handed her an envelope.

She opened the card. ‘Happy Birthday, Helen, from Emily xx,’ it said, enclosed with a £100 gift voucher from Healing Hand Massing in Dellington.

She laughed yet again and said: “Perfect,” before giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“So you knew who I was, Helen?” I questioned.

“Yes, I asked my daughter if she knew the gorgeous girl was who presented me with the medal. She said yes and would try and arrange a meet up. She didn’t say anything, but I knew exactly why she had got me that gift voucher when I walked through the door.”

I smiled at Helen.

Before I could say anything, the Maitre d’ announced: “Ladies, may I escort you to dinner?”

We both stood up.

Helen now looked serious and said: “Are you still hungry, Emily?”

I looked her in the eyes and said: “I’m starving, Helen.”

She smiled, turned around and I followed.

The End

© Katie Hammond 2017