Vanishing Point Ch. 02 page 2

Jean flopped into an empty swivel chair at one of the manicure stations and studied the printed schedule in her hands.

.

Mrs. Abbot at ten-thirty, Barbara Willis at eleven-thirty, Connie Brubaker at twelve-thirty, and Terri Morris at two – yes, I know those names. And one flagged as a new client, and with the word 'special' underlined in red, next to her name – Nicki Whitmore – at three.

Jean looked up at Victoria. "Nicki Whitmore? Who is she? And what's special about her?"

"You've seen her dozens of times, but she's never been in the salon before," Victoria said.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"Out there – with the girls," Victoria motioned with her arm. She was pointing to the lobby of the building that housed the salon, through the large plate glass windows that gave passersby a look into the open-view part of the salon. A squadron of teenage girls in preppy school uniforms swarmed through the lobby on the other side of the glass.

"Oh… really?" Jean replied. Then another memory lurched into focus.

Jean had spent many of her idle moments sitting in this very chair, swiveled around facing the windows watching the foot traffic outside the window, making up imaginary stories about the people who walked past on the other side of the window.

I remember this now.

The building Anything Goes occupied had an exclusive, private girls' high school in another wing. It was an odd combination, to be sure; a commercial building with a salon and a school along with the typical insurance and real estate and small business offices. But it was one of those experimental, specially chartered schools for exceptional students that worked very hard to be non-traditional – and the students were all girls.

There were a couple dozen of the students who would come in the salon now and again for a tanning session or to get their hair done for a big dance or party. Jean had never done a massage session for any of them, but she liked having them around to provide some youthful balance for the mostly older women who frequented the salon.

Not that women in their mid-thirties were old, mind you, but Jean loved to put her hands on someone who was closer to her own age – like Tai. And high school students didn't often come in for massages. For hair and nails and tans, yes. But massages were more for the older ones.

"She's a student?" Jean asked, when Victoria didn't answer right away.

"No, a teacher. Math teacher. Her girls bought her a gift certificate from us. The works, hair, pedicure, manicure, waxing, and massage. I wonder what she thinks about her students buying her a bikini waxing?" The idea sent Victoria into a paroxysm of lewd giggles.

"I guess we'll find out," Jean mused.

"There she is now," Victoria pointed towards a group of girls being escorted by a stunning redhead.

Oh yeah… this is my lucky day, Jean said to herself. The aforementioned Nicki Whitmore was more than just a stunning redhead. She had an outstanding pair of breasts, long legs and a short, tight skirt, and a killer smile. Math teacher, huh? Definitely not the math teacher stereotype. This Nicki Whitmore is H. O. T. T. - hot.

"Cool," Jean said out loud. "I'll take her. Maybe she'll become a regular."

"You should be so lucky," Victoria sniggered. She knew full well what made Jean's nipples hard – like there were now.

I like girls. Like Tai… Jean filed that bit of information away.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Jean found her way through her routine, working on instinct and on what felt right. She did a couple of chair massages out front in the styling area, and her full-body sessions with Mrs. Abbot and Barbara Willis and Connie Brubaker on the table in the private massage room.

The three women chattered on constantly about things that the Jean who had inhabited this body before her must have heard a hundred times. So she played the part of the good listener, tossing in a question or a non-committal comment every now and then to hold up her end of the gossip. And when they commented on her new look, Jean squeezed her legs together and rubbed her clit while she kneaded the women's flesh.

Mrs. Abbot definitely didn't approve of the new Jean. Barbara Willis wished she had had the confidence to dress like that when she was Jean's age; and Connie Brubaker had revealed that she had worked as a Hooters girl when she was in college and had lamented about how she couldn't wear clothes like that anymore after having had three children and being marooned for a decade in soccer-mom suburbia.

But all the while she was working on them, Jean was fantasizing about Nicki Whitmore and what it would feel like to put her hands on that creamy white skin and touch her hair – it was almost the same dark, russet shade as her own was now. And she was dying to see whether the results of Miss Whitmore's waxing was going to be a modest bikini-line trim, or a tiny little "landing strip" of hair, or maybe even a full 'honeymoon' style that left the lovely Miss Whitmore completely bare.

Jean was hoping for the latter, and she was unimaginably eager to find out. Her fingertips were tingling almost as much as her clit was.

I really do like girls. And I like to touch them. And fuck them, too. Hmmm… I wonder if Amir knows that? She felt her nipples harden as the images crowded into her mind. Does Amir like the idea of me fucking girls? Or him fucking two of us, together?

The image of her and Amir and Nicki Whitmore, or her and Tai doing Amir fueled her imagination as she floated through the rest of the day, being Jean.

Echoes From Out of Time

Before Jean knew it, it was 3:05, and there she was - standing right in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Nicki," the gorgeous redhead said. Her words were shy and hesitant, and her soft English-accented voice made Jean's heart leap in her chest. Up close, she was even more alluring than Jean had dared hope.

"Are you Jean?" she inquired. "I am supposed to see Jean next. For my… my massage."

Nicki Whitmore was wrapped in a white terrycloth salon robe. Her hands were fidgeting with the belt, and her freshly painted toenails curled and uncurled against the black and while tiled floor.

Jean fumbled for words. "Uh huh. Yeah. I'm… yes. Jean."

"Are you sure?" Nicki Whitmore laughed. "You don't sound so confident."

"Does it matter?" Jean asked, suddenly self-conscious. "What if I told you I was Jean, but I wasn't, really. Would it make a difference?"

"Hmmm, no, I guess it wouldn't. Not if your hands are as good as Victoria out there says that Jean's are." Nicki Whitmore laughed again. "Oh my, that came out so badly. I'm fracturing my sentences now. Like I always do when I'm nervous. Like now. Nervous, I mean. Yes, that's me. Quivering inside. I've never done this before."

Jean touched Nicki Whitmore's arm. "Please, relax. You've never done what? Had a massage?" Nicki's flesh felt almost hot to the touch. And she exuded an intoxicating scent of fresh lavender. Jean's breath caught in her throat.

Nicki put her hand over Jean's on her wrist. "No, I've had massages in the past. Just, well, not quite like this. This is a rather different situation."

"You mean, like, because it's a gift from your students?"

"Well, yes. Partly. But well… Shall I get undressed now? Do you want me on the table, there? Am I supposed to be naked? Or do you want me covered with a towel? Or something? Tell me how you want me. Please."

"Which do you prefer?" Jean asked, knowing which alternative she desired. "I am comfortable either way."

"I will be… I will be naked for you. Yes, I want to be naked."

"Are you sure?" Jean chuckled, using Nicki's own words back at her. "You don't sound so confident."

"Yes, I'm quite sure now."

Jean smiled. "Good. That makes it so much simpler." She turned around and busied herself with the bottles of oil so her new client could slip off the robe and climb onto the table without her watching.

Even though Nicki Whitmore would be stretched out on her belly on the massage table in a few minutes, as bare as the day she was born, Jean knew that most women preferred to disrobe without someone staring at them – even if that someone was another female. Not to mention that the act of climbing up onto the massage table could prove a bit undignified if one wasn't fully comfortable with her own body and how it looked. She would have to wait just a bit longer to learn how complete Nicki Whitmore's waxing had been.

"Oh, please, don't," Nicki said, quickly. "I want you to… to watch."

"You do? Why is that?" Jean said, as she pivoted back to face Nicki.

"I need to show you my… I've been instructed to show you," Nicki said as untied the sash and slipped the robe from her shoulders to let it slide to the floor.

"I am to show you my body. All of it."

Jean was mesmerized by Nicki Whitmore's words – and by what she unveiled in front of her. Her wish had been granted.

Oh, yes, and in spades.

Nicki Whitmore's pussy was as smooth and bare as her own was now - and her perfectly shaped breasts were capped by the most delightfully hard nipples, which were in turn decorated by a pair of large, gleaming golden rings.

"Oh, my," Jean breathed. Her eyes were riveted on Nicki's tits, as the statuesque redhead lifted them up and cradled them in her hands for Jean's inspection.

"I just had these done. The piercings, I mean. I am still a bit tender, but, oh god, my nipples are always so hard now. They're throbbing constantly. And I can't stop thinking about…"

Jean watched, mesmerized, as Nicki Whitmore teased her nipples with her pinkie fingers inserted in the golden hoops that stretched her nipples out so deliciously as she pulled on them.

"Oh god, this feels so hot," Nicki moaned, as she took a step closer to Jean. "I can't stop thinking about sex now… and about him."

"About who?" Jean looked at Nicki's hand, searching for a wedding ring. There it was, right where it was supposed to be. "Your husband?"

"No. Not him." Nicki took another step towards Jean. Her hands were close enough now to touch Jean's erect nipples, if she were to extend her fingertips. "Not my husband,"she said quietly, while staring into Jean's eyes. "My trainer."

Jean's mind somersaulted. "You have a trainer? You mean, like an exercise trainer?" And why would he make you do that – get your nipples pierced?"

"No, not an exercise trainer. He's not like that. He's my… my sexual trainer. He's training me to be an obedient and shameless slut. He is my teacher and I am his student. And so he is training me." She paused to take a deep breath and to gauge Jean's reaction to her revelation

Jean lifted up her hands and intertwined her fingers with Nicki's. She could feel the moisture leaking out of her pussy. And her questions tumbled out. "He's training you, to be submissive? And does your husband know about that? And your trainer made you get your nipples pierced?"

Nicki answered Jean's questions in reverse order. "No, he didn't make me get them pierced. They were a reward – and a symbol of who I am learning to be. He told me I was ready to have them done, and to wear them proudly. I've always been submissive, I think, looking back; but he is the one who unlocked the door to my soul and showed me who I was meant to be. And yes, my husband knows about it. He knows I'm being trained, and mentored. I am his, for always. I am being trained for him."

Nicki closed her eyes and sighed. "Please touch them. My breasts. I want you to kiss them, and lick them and bite them. These are part of my instructions for today. Please, Jean. Hurt them a little bit and make me squirm. I need you to do that to me."

Jean moved Nicki's hands away, and replaced them with her own on Nicki's breasts. She gripped Nicki's titflesh and rolled the woman's gold-accented nipples between her fingers.

"Oh, yes. Oh, god… I'm so wet already," Nicki moaned. "Are you wet, Jean? Please tell me you're wet, too."

"Yes, I am."

That was the only invitation Nicki needed. Her fingers slid easily between Jean's smooth, slick labia and into her slit.

"You're so warm, so wet…" Nicki whispered. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You've never touched another woman's cunt before? A cunt that is so wet and hot for you? Because of what you're doing to me with your words and your body?"

"No, never. But it feels so good, so natural. He said it would come easily to me, once I got over my initial uncertainties. I wasn't sure, and I doubted it at the beginning. But he was right, like he always is."

"Your trainer?"

"Yes, him. He's so amazing. I am as transparent as glass to him. He knows everything about me, I think."

Nicki's fingers were dancing over Jean's clit now, while Jean twisted and pinched Nicki's nipples, hurting them and making her gasp little whimpers of pain and lust.

"How did you find him? Or did he find you?" Jean asked, before leaning in to let her tongue trace the outline of Nicki's quivering upper lip.

"I found him – sort of. He writes stories. And I wrote to him, telling him how much I liked them, and about how I wanted to be like the women he writes about. So I asked him to help me, to train me. He was the only one I wanted. Him, and no one else."

Jean kissed Nicki on the lips and slipped her tongue into the mouth that opened up to receive it.

Nicki moaned and shivered. "I feel so sinful now. Wonderfully sinful. Can it feel so right, and yet so wicked, at the same time? Shameless, I want to be shameless… I'll do anything to please him… oh, god, Jean, this is so fantastic. Please don't stop."

Nicki's words echoed in Jean's head. The only one I wanted. Him, and no one else. The woman known as Jean had that one commanding voice in her head, too. His fingerprints were all over the body she inhabited and his presence infused the murky shadows of the little she could retrieve from her memories. Or were the memories even really Jean's? She didn't know and didn't care.

Jean's 'One' was her muse, and he channeled her lusts and passions. She already knew that. But did he own and train and mentor the woman whose body she used now, the way Nicki's trainer did? The idea resonated - but she wasn't sure. The fog was still too opaque.

"Lie down on the table, on your belly. I'll work on your back first," Jean directed.

"Yes, of course. My body is yours, Jean. Every inch of it. Touch me, please. Touch me deeply."

It seemed like everything was falling into place, now. The script for her life was still a disconnected and jumbled blur and her character was more of a shadow than a real person. But as Jean poured the warm, scented oil down Nicki Whitmore's spine and into the crack of her ass, she knew that all of this made sense, somehow. If not to her, to… some One.

Hers? Or Nicki's? Or an as-yet unknown person, who was stage-managing this strange sequence of events?

Jean worked her way down Nicki's body, finding and working every muscle from her neck to her toes before her hands returned to the now very-spread-apart legs that invited her fingers to massage Miss Whitmore's very soft and smooth, and very wet, cuntflesh.

By the time that Jean finally slipped a finger into Nicki's asshole, the redhead was gleaming with oil from her neck to her toes and she was shamelessly grinding her pussy against the tabletop and lifting her ass up in the air and spreading her legs and twitching uncontrollably as she tried to entice Jean to take the next step.

Jean wanted to take Nicki's ass first. It seemed more sordid and sinful, to do her in the ass first, before she had even grazed a fingernail over her clit or traced the juicy, pink flesh of her labia. And with the oil that sluiced down Nicki's ass, there was no need for any lubricant. So Jean simply forced her index finger into Nicki's asshole, gently yet firmly, and without giving her any warning.

Nicki moaned and bucked and lifted her ass up higher, as her body made as lewd and instinctive an invitation as it could.

"You want more?" Jean whispered?

"Oh god, yes. Pleasepleaseplease."

"Good girl. Then here goes…"

Inspired by how Nicki's body had reacted to having a finger in her ass, Jean forced not one, but two additional fingers into her straining hole.

"Oh, god! Oh, god! I'm going to come, I'm going to come. Oh god, no. Yes. No, Ohhh, yesssss."

While Jean fucked Nicki's asshole with one hand, her other one had its' fingers buried in her own cunt, bringing her as close to orgasm as Nicki was.

But all the while, as she fingerfucked the beautiful English schoolteacher, Jean felt like it was her body on the table. Hers – or Jean's. Being sodomized and used and glistening with oil. It was like they were connected, or had switched positions somehow. She was Nicki and Nicki was – well, who? Who had done this to her? To Jean? Her body remembered and knew, even if her mind did not.

It all exploded into shards of sharp, broken glass the moment the two of them orgasmed, less than a heartbeat apart. The two of them spasmed and cried out as one, and Nicki sat up somehow with Jean's fingers still deep in her ass, and twisted around so they could embrace and hug their tits together and cling to each other in a deep, passionate kiss.

"Oh, god, that was so beautiful," Nicki exclaimed. "He was right. He was so right about this. And me."

Nicki smiled at Jean and kissed her again, lightly this time, on her lips. "So, was it good for you, too?" she teased.

"More than you know," Jean replied. "A fantasy come true," she said, as she rubbed the words on her chest for emphasis. "It felt so wonderful – like I've done that so many times before. But I haven't. Not like this. And never here, during a massage."

Jean eased her fingers out of Nicki's ass, while the two of them held hands and watched her do it. "I felt like I was you, there on the table. Jean said. "I was the one with the fingers in my ass. It was me, writhing and coming on the table. I felt it all. I was you. I was inside you."

Nicki's face betrayed her lack of understanding.

"I know you don't understand what I mean. I don't either. Not really. It's all so jumbled up." Jean wiped her hands on a towel. "But I was there, inside you, coming with you. I can't explain it, but it's true. I've been there before. In someone else's body like that. I don't know where or when or how. But I do know that it was real."

Jean didn't dare add that she was in someone else's body right now, and that she wasn't Jean; or that she was crazy or out of her mind, if not out of her original body. There was a limit to what Nicki Whitmore could comprehend and understand. Not that she understood it either. But at least she was getting used to it now. And frankly, she was liking it. No inhibitions. No rules. No limits. And an insatiable desire for more, whatever 'more' might bring.

Nicki kissed Jean again before she rewrapped her body in the salon robe. "This is an unusual design," she offered, as she touched the chain around Jean's neck. "No clasp. How do you remove it? Or are you an owned woman, Jean? Is this a symbol for who you are?"

Jean's voice faltered. She had forgotten about the chain. "No, it's just – it's just the way I wanted it," she lied. "Like a tattoo, but in metal instead of ink."

"And the number '146'? What does that represent? Your lucky number?"

"No, it means… well, not anything, really. I wanted something random, something empty, and not anything personal. Something that just…. was." Her voice was weak and she could feel the color rising in her face as she created her words, speaking them even before she heard them in her head. "I had the jeweler inscribe it for me. I told him to not even tell me what it was, when he put it on me."
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