Gentle Hands

Anita was up early. She didn't have to be at work until late afternoon, but she wanted to get some shopping done downtown. By getting an early start she wouldn't have to rush, and could take her time browsing and just generally relaxing.

She was dressed very casually in jeans and a modest jersey. She could change later for work with the clothes she had packed into her shoulder bag. It wasn't much, and she had decided she didn't need to lug her large carry-all along today.

She went to the window and looked out. The day was bright and sunny, and she spread the curtains wide and opened the window to let in the fresh air. The fountain in the courtyard below sparkled in the early sun, and patrons were sipping coffee and reading their morning papers at the outdoor tables of the Café au Coin. Madame Fleury, the owner of the café, was chatting with her customers as she passed among them with carafes of coffee and hot milk. She was a pleasant woman of about forty, energetic and outgoing, and she bustled from table to table, efficient but never missing the opportunity to flirt with men who appreciated her buxom figure. She was also Anita's landlady, who owned with her husband the trio of two-story apartment buildings that surrounded the courtyard. It was a quaint, old-world arrangement of buildings, forming a horseshoe around the cobblestone courtyard with its garden and central fountain. The café was at the corner of the courtyard and the street it opened out onto. Anita liked Thérèse Fleury, and she liked living in this neighborhood. It was more French than the rest of the city, and although a bit inconvenient to downtown, it possessed a sensual charm and unhurried approach to life that appealed to Anita.

Below in the courtyard an older man was watering flowers in pots that were placed around the low stone wall that enclosed the fountain. He was neatly dressed in trousers and a white shirt with a brown vest and a green beret, and sported a light gray beard, clipped short. Anita recognized Monsieur Gagnon, Madame Fleury's uncle, come from France after his retirement to live with his niece and her family in the apartment directly across the courtyard from Anita. Anita looked at him for a moment, then turned and went to her closet. She took from it a strapless yellow sundress with a pattern of small blue flowers, which she laid on her bed while she removed her jeans and jersey, stuffing them into her shoulder bag. She removed her brassiere and put on the dress. After examining herself briefly in the full-length mirror on her closet door, she left the apartment and headed down to the café.

Emerging from the apartment building entrance at the back of the courtyard, she walked towards the fountain.

"Good morning, Monsieur Gagnon!" she said brightly as she walked to him, flashing a brilliant smile.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Anita," he replied, bowing slightly as she walked past him. When she had taken a few steps toward the street she stopped and half turned, raising her hands to shade her eyes as she gazed at the sky.

"What a beautiful day!" she exclaimed. The morning sun was still low in the sky, and its light was shining directly into the courtyard. Anita was between the man and the sun, and her tousled blond hair shone like an aura of molten gold around her pretty face. The light was streaming through the thin dress, illuminating her in profile. With her arms lifted her breasts were clearly discernable in silhouette, large, firm globes that curved upward to delicate nipples pressing against the front of the dress. The illuminating sunlight revealed that she wasn't wearing anything under the dress, except for tight panties that clung low on her hips. Their decoration of small pink hearts was faintly visible.

She turned to look at the man, her hands still lifted and shielding her eyes. "Aren't you enjoying this sun, Monsieur, after all the rain we've had? I just love it -- don't you?"

It took him a moment to respond. "Ah, oui -- oui, Mademoiselle," he said finally, lifting his eyes to her face. He was smiling nervously, and water dripped onto his shoe from the watering can that was dangling from his right hand.

"Well, time for breakfast," she said, turning back towards the café. "Have a wonderful day, Monsieur Gagnon!" she called over her shoulder as she walked away from him. His eyes followed her as she left him, graceful hips swaying slowly from side to side with her easy gait. Her panties, clinging tightly to her firm derrière, made a small triangle where the sun shone through between her thighs at the top of long, shapely legs.

Most of the morning crowd had left when Anita sat down at a small table. Madam Fleury arrived almost immediately with the café au lait and croissant that Anita always ordered.

"Bonjour, Anita!" she said, sitting down at the table. "It is early for you, no?"

"Hi, Thérèse," said Anita. "Yes, I'm going downtown to do a little shopping this morning. It's such a nice day, I'll enjoy walking around." She crossed her legs and took a nibble of the croissant.

Thérèse leaned to the side and peered around the table at Anita. "Oo la la, with a dress like that I think that maybe you will have a lot of attention when you walk," she said, wrinkling her nose and grinning playfully. "The men love such dresses."

Anita laughed. "Well, that's okay with me. They can look all they want."

"Oui, as long as they only look!" said Thérèse. "You be careful where you walk, chérie. You must take care, n'est-ce pas?"

Anita looked down at her legs, which because of the shortness of her dress were exposed almost to the top of her thighs. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Monsieur Gagnon was still watching her as he stood next to the fountain in the courtyard.

"Oh yes, I'm careful," she said. "But I'm not terribly worried. Most men are like little boys -- they just like to play with you and with their toys."

Thérèse threw her head back and laughed long and loud. "Ah oui, c'est vrai!" she cried. "So true -- my Daniel, he is never so happy as when he is playing with my toys!" She looked down at her ample breasts and squeezed them, lifting them high as she laughed. "... except when I am playing with his!"

Anita almost choked on her coffee. It was a long time before the women stopped giggling.

"Speaking of your husband," Anita said finally, "where is he? I almost never see him."

"Eh bien, he is traveling, always traveling on business. It is not only you who never sees him." Thérèse looked off into the distance.

"I'm sorry," said Anita. "It must be lonely for you."

"Ah, oui," said Thérèse, "it is sometimes -- but one finds other ... entertainments."

"Entertainments?" Anita asked.

Thérèse looked wryly at her. "How does one say in English? Pas des questions, pas des mensonges...?"

"Ah," said Anita. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."

"Exacte!" exclaimed Thérèse. "The world has many toys."

Anita smiled, sipping her coffee as she looked into the courtyard. "Your uncle seems well these days," she said. Thérèse rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Ah, mon oncle!" She said. "Oui, he is well enough, but he is a, how you say, a pest to live with sometimes."

"A pest?"

"Oui, a pest, he ... well, he doesn't seem to know that he's an old man now, and... Oh, don't misunderstand me, please, I don't mean to say that old men should not like the ladies any longer, it is natural for a man to desire women no matter his age, but he..." She trailed off, and then bent forward and spoke almost in a whisper. "Anita, tell me, has he ever acted ... impolite with you? Has he ever said anything méchant -- nasty -- to you?"

"No," Anita said. "He's always been very nice."

"And he has never tried to -- you know -- to touch you?"

Anita laughed. "No, Thérèse, never! Why would you think that? Has he done things like that before?"

Thérèse sat back and shrugged. "He likes to pinch," she said.

"Pinch?" Anita said. "Who?" Thérèse raised her eyebrows but said nothing. After a moment Anita's eyes opened wider. "You?" she asked.

Thérèse sighed. "Oui," she said, "especially when Daniel is not home. Oh, it is not so bad, he does not do it every day, and maybe it is not really a pinch that he does -- he just likes to, you know, touch, here..." -- she leaned to the side and patted her bottom -- "... and give a little squeeze. But like I say he is a pest. And he does other things too." She looked around and then leaned close to Anita again. "Sometimes," she whispered, "if I forget to close the door to my chambre à coucher, my bedroom, I see him peeking in at me at night when I am taking off my clothes!" She looked down at her large breasts and squeezed them again. "He likes these," she said. "He drools like a hungry dog when he sees them!"

Anita stifled a laugh. "Poor Thérèse," she said, "with a dirty old man in the house! Have you spoken to Daniel about it?"

"Non, I don't want to upset him. I can handle mon oncle myself without bothering Daniel. And I learn little tricks -- if he is being a pest it is easy to get rid of him for a little while. All I have to do is let him see something he likes -- maybe I have to pull up my skirt to adjust my stockings, something like that -- then off he goes to his bedroom where he stays for a long time. Even though he still likes the ladies, I think because he is older it takes him a long time now to finish liking them, if you know what I mean!"

Anita laughed. "Oh, Thérèse, you are bad!" Thérèse shrugged, but then turned serious.

"Listen, Anita," she said, "you must promise to tell me if he ever does anything méchant with you. I will not tolerate that."

Anita smiled. "Don't worry, Thérèse, I can handle Monsieur Gagnon. He won't be a pest with me."

"Ah, oui, I know," Thérèse said hurriedly, "you are a very smart girl, I know. After all, you study at the university, you learn to be a -- a psychic. You have been there for many years, no?"

"A psychologist," corrected Anita, smiling. "Yes, I'm in graduate school now, and it does seem that I've been there forever."

"Your classes begin again soon, n'est-ce pas? The summer is almost over."

"Yes, I'll be leaving my summer job soon, after I visit my family in the country this weekend."

"Ah oui, ah oui. Tell me Anita, your summer job? -- you never told me what you do."

Anita looked down into her coffee cup as she drained it, then stood up. She regarded Thérèse with a playful smile.

"'Ask me no questions...'" she said, her voice trailing off. Thérèse looked at her blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter once again.

"Ah oui, touché, touché," she said with a sigh. "We are both Mesdames Mystérieuses, eh?"

They embraced and kissed cheeks. "Yes," said Anita softly, "mysterious ladies indeed." Taking up her shoulder bag she started up the street towards the bus stop. Walking toward the boulevard she became aware of Monsieur Gagnon, who was hurrying to catch up with her.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said at bit breathlessly. "You are taking the bus, no?"

"Why, yes, I am," she said. "Are we going to be travelling together, then?"

"Ah no," he replied, "I am just going to the librarie, the book store at the next corner."

"I see," she said. "Well, that doesn't surprise me, since it is well known that you are quite the reader, Monsieur Gagnon, a true intellectual." She held his arm affectionately as they walked together, her breast pressing against him.

"Ah, well," he said, blushing. "Please," he said, "you must call me Henri."

"Thank you," she said, "I shall. After all, we are neighbors -- I see you almost every day. If we lived in France I suppose it would be time for us to say 'tu'!"

"Oui, c'est vrai," he said. He was beaming now. "Tell me, Mademoiselle, is it true that you are returning to school soon? My niece has said something about that to me."

"Yes, that's true, in about two weeks," she said as the bus arrived at the stop.

"So," he said slowly, "I suppose that you will be going off to live at the university, then?"

"No, I'm not going to move," she said. "I like living across the courtyard from Thérèse and Daniel -- and from you, too, of course! It's pleasant being able to wave to you in your study from my bedroom." She smiled sweetly, and kissed him on both cheeks. "I expect that you'll be seeing a lot more of me, Henri." She turned and began to ascend the steps into the bus.

"I am glad you are not going away," he said.

She turned and smiled as she waved good-bye to him over her shoulder. He watched her as she climbed the steps in her short sundress until the door closed and the bus pulled away from the curb. Then he continued on his way, smiling, with a spring in his step.

* * * * *

Gentle Hands owed its great success to location, location, location. It was set in a small side street just around the corner from Sex d'Argent, one of the city's most notorious strip-clubs, known for its extraordinarily beautiful girls and their seductive dances. Patrons who left the Sex d'Argent after hours of being excited and teased by those girls were often led by their unsatisfied lust around the corner, where Gentle Hands awaited to relieve their frustrations, or to excite them further.

For Gentle Hands was a massage parlor, and for men who had just been driven to near madness by sexual tease, its allure was irresistible. Here they were assured that their tormented erections would receive tender loving care. The two establishments complemented each other nicely -- men out for a night of striptease were often happy to find by chance a place around the corner where girls were waiting to please them, while other men used Sex d'Argent solely to become aroused and primed for a visit to Gentle Hands.

Anita had been working here during her summer break from university. She had started as a dancer at Sex d'Argent, and so had developed deep insights into the erotic obsessions of men, especially the sexually frustrated men who frequented the club. François, who owned both Sex d'Argent and Gentle Hands, was quick to recognize her talents, and offered her an open-ended job at the massage parlor -- she had a room permanently reserved to her, and was free to work according to her own schedule as she saw fit. He was rewarded with a growing clientele of men who became addicted to her -- they came ever more frequently to the club, and then to Gentle Hands afterwards, with a growing sexual hunger that tormented them but was never satisfied. Sex d'Argent and Gentle Hands had them, quite literally, coming and going.

Anita never permitted these men to have intercourse with her, although she would often lead them on in thinking they might. Her job was to create needs and desires for what was always held just out of reach. They received exquisite pleasures from her hands, and sometimes her lips and tongue -- but always done in such a way that it somehow increased their need for more. Even after explosive orgasms, when they were at home in bed alone or with their sleeping wives, they would soon be experiencing that insistent nagging between their legs, a need for more of the tantalizing tease Anita had subjected them to.

After spending the morning and better part of the afternoon shopping, Anita arrived at Gentle Hands in late afternoon. Most of the activity at Sex d'Argent and the parlor took place at night, of course, but those who sought out Anita would often arrive shortly after they left work. In all likelihood they would have been thinking about her all day as they fondled themselves under their desks, living for the moment when they could hurry to Gentle Hands to find her, or, failing in this, go into Sex d'Argent to work up their excitement to fever pitch before trying once again to get time with her. Actually, Anita purposely did not stick to any fixed schedule -- she preferred to keep her customers off-balance and frequently disappointed. This added to the urgency of the unsatisfied lust they experienced when they watched the stripteases and to the intensity of their orgasms under her gentle touch if they were ever lucky enough to get time with her -- or of their frustration if she decided she was in the mood to deny them.

Entering through a backdoor, she walked down the corridor of rooms where most of the girls worked and let Erica, the busty receptionist, know that she was in and would be ready for clients in five minutes. Then she climbed the narrow staircase that led to her suite of two rooms. She thought about leaving on the sundress she had been wearing all day, since it had drawn a considerable amount of attention from the horny teenagers and dirty old men who hung around at the underground mall where she had gone shopping. But she decided instead to change into a more "professional" outfit -- pulling her hair back into an efficient ponytail, she put on a white nurse's smock that extended down her thighs about a third of the way to her knees, and white stockings held up by a white garter belt. Because of the shortness of her skirt the tops of her stockings were exposed, and the top four buttons of the smock were open. She wore no brassiere, so her ample cleavage beckoned enticingly.

The room Anita used to entertain her customers was not at all sterile, as is often the case in such establishments. Aside from the professional massage table in the center, it was warm and intimate. The lighting was indirect, from a pair of floor lamps, and several oriental throw rugs were scattered about the wooden floor. There was a table and a couch against one wall, and on the opposite side of the room two comfortable chairs were arranged for easy conversation, with a small coffee table between them. Anita always offered her guests a glass of wine as they chatted, especially at the start of a first visit. This relaxed them, and gave her a chance to get to know them and what they needed from her. It didn't take her long to understand a man's sexual desires, and what his erotic triggers were. She was very good at reading body language, and between the lines of conversation.

After about ten minutes a chime rang indicating that Erica was sending a customer up, a new client. He would have already paid the base rate for a straight massage to Erica -- for any "extras" he would have to tip Anita directly. She went into the back room to wait for him. This was always part of her routine: she wanted a man to sit in her cozy room waiting for her, letting his anticipation build. Then, when she greeted him, she wanted him to be seated -- he would be forced to look up at her, at her voluptuous body and provocative outfit; at the same time, her position above him would subtly underscore the fact that she was the one in control.

When she heard the man enter the other room, she called to him to sit down, that she'd be with him in a moment. After about two minutes she went in to greet him. He started to rise, but she told him not to get up and went over to introduce herself. Smiling brightly, she leaned over to pour wine for the two of them, giving him an enticing view between her breasts in the process, then sat down to chat. He was Will, she learned -- or that at least was the name he gave. He appeared to be about forty, of average build and height, dressed in a business suit, though without his tie -- and was distinctly nervous to be there talking with her. But she managed to put him at his ease, smiling warmly at him, and encouraging him to relax and sip his wine. She pretended to drink along with him, but in fact took very little. Finally she addressed business.

"So, Will, have you just been next door?" she asked, running a fingertip around the lip of her wineglass. He glanced at her briefly, then looked down somewhat guiltily, blushing slightly.

"Uh, yeah, I was there for a little while," he stammered. "I saw a card on the table for -- here." There were cards advertising Gentle Hands on each table in Sex d'Argent.