I felt my pulse, pounding inmy chest, in my ears... and down below. There, deep inside, I throbbed. Icould feel the thrump of every heartbeat, the warm, wet yearning waxingwith each beat. On my skin, every breeze, every shift of hair, everytickle was electric. Stumbling against a table, I gasped for air."It's the PT-141!" some distant part of my mind screamed. "It's notreal!"I didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but thethrobbing, the yearning, the toe-curling electric zaps running--"Miss?" demanded a voice, apparently for a third or fourth time. "Isaid I wanted a--"I ignored him, or her, or whoever. I couldn't stay here. Not like this.I could barely see, I could barely stand. I pressed my thighs together,shivering uncontrollably as my shorts pulled, rubbed against me. Igasped again, nearly doubled over on the nearest table. Distantly, Iheard shocked exclamations as a plate clattered to the floor. None ofthat mattered. I turned and rushed, stumbling, to. " Terry cracked his knuckles so Grace peeled off her white tank top and laid across the table. There were some oils on the side, and she guided him to use a token amount and then warm it up first in his hands.It had been several weeks since Sandy had given Grace a massage, and she forgot how much she enjoyed them. Sure, Terry wasn't that good, he wasn't experienced but he had strong hands and was soft with his movements and his flowing motions caused her to purr contently once he had told her to just relax and stop worrying.She sighed and glanced up at the clock. They had had fifteen minutes already and she was forgetting where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. "Don't you want one from me now?"Terry shook his head and then realised she couldn't see him and muttered that he didn't. He had tried not to talk too much, this didn't come naturally to him and he was concentrating on what he did. He had spent the last three days reading up on massage techniques and had even.
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