“Not recently!” I shouted. “But you may as well come in!” The door opened, and Sandra came in carrying a steaming bowl of water with a small glass bottle floating in it. “I gave this oil to Lisa for Christmas,” she explained, knocking the door shut with her foot and setting the bowl on my desk. “Doesn’t look like she’s ever used it.” “Oil?” “Massage oil, of course,” she said, smiling. “It’s the least I can do after what my errant offspring has put you through. Is that OK?” “Um, yes,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I’d like that.” “Lie down on your front,” said Sandra, “and close your eyes. I promise you will feel much better when I’ve finished with you.” I did as I was told. There was a quiet rustle of cloth behind me, as of a dress hitting the floor, and a few sounds that might have been a bra and panties following. “Just a massage?” I asked, swallowing. “We’ll see.” Warm oil dribbled onto my skin, spread around by soft hands. Powerful fingers began to knead the muscles in my. Her mind tried to drift, to think of anything that would distract from this Hellish and unexplained circumstance. She'd wanted to be an actress once, but those dreams gave way to the harsh reality of low paying Waitress jobs between auditions that never seemed to go any further than a greasy couch in some casting agent's office. The only thing that panned out briefly was when one of the sweaty slime bags set her up with his buddy, another smegma factory who produced low budget porn shorts.After a month or so of getting her pussy pounded by coked up nameless cocks, she decided to take up dancing. She rationalized that it was acting of a sort, and much more preferable to taking cum shots in the face from walking AIDS sticks.The money was a lot better than waitressing and the work was steady. Picking up a few extra bucks at the after hours parties was no worse than what she'd already done on some smelly casting couch. It seemed like an eternity ago, in another life somehow, but that was.
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