I looked at her laying on the sofa, and moved to where her feet were. I lifted them, sat down, and plopped them back down on my lap. She was wearing these very feminine baby doll shorts and top, like a camisole, but not super sexy. Just normal comfy clothes. The material was thin, though, so it hugged her every curve nicely. I just began to think that this was a bad idea, when she said, “Rub my feet like you did my shoulders the other day. Please?” She said, “please” in that “I always get my way when I do this voice” voice.
“Brat!” I said, even as I reached for her feet with both of my hands.
“You know you love it” she said in reply, smiling.
“Wow. You really ARE a brat!”
“Shut UP!” she giggled as I ran a finger over the bottom of her foot. Her body jerked a bit from the tickle, and I enjoyed watching her jiggle as she giggled.
I rubbed her feet for a good 5 to 10 minutes. I was in a good mood, we chatted about stuff, nothing big or serious. Just stuff. This was nice. Just a nice chat, a little cuddly, platonic contact. I had almost forgotten the physical reaction she had given me last time when I rubbed her shoulders, when her feet left my hands and lap, and a sofa pillow plopped right on my lap. Paula reached up, grabbed the afghan from the back of the sofa, and covered herself.
“It’s getting a bit chilly, she said. “Will you do my shoulders again?” she asked , this time not sitting in front of me, but turning around so that she was laying down on her stomach, with her head on the pillow now on my lap.
Her arms were tucked under her body and under the pillow. I could feel the back of her left hand supporting her head between the pillow and my upper thigh/hip area. Her right hand was face down, casually placed on my upper inner thigh. Not holding or gripping, but just lying there. She was on my right side, so I began to rub her back with that hand. My left hand sat on my other thigh. She let ouit a long sigh.
“Feel good” I asked?
“Yes, thank you! I have been waiting all day for this!” she said.
“We need to get you one of those massage pillows for Christmas or something. The mechanical ones or whatever.” I tell her.
“Nah, this is fine!” she said, pretty much ending that conversation.
After maybe a half a minute of silently massaging her back and shoulders, just sort of staring at the TV show that was on (this show I recognized, it was Catfish) I heard a soft moan, followed by an “aaaahh”.
“Feels good,” she whispered. “mmmmmmmhmmmm. Yes.”
My mind immediately went THERE, from nice evening cuddling to, “Oh, those are her sex sounds!” My body became acutely aware of her head’s proximity to my manhood, as well as what seemed a tightening of her grip on my inner thigh. I could feel a rising movement with each new groan and sigh.
She lifted her head up, and her hands fluffed the pillow, before placing it back down in the same spot. I could have sworn that her eyes were not looking at the pillow, but just a few inches past it, as if checking my reaction. “Will you use both hands? It feels so good, my back was really tight,” she said in that same pouty voice as before.