Massage Therapy for a Sub

"So. Had any luck with Trish yet?" Kate asked me.

I couldn't stop my shoulders from bunching at that. Kate knew of my all-consuming, entirely unrequited crush on the big strong hockey girl and seemed to take any opportunity to twist the knife.

"Why do you always go there," I grumbled into the hole in the table.

I could feel her shrug through her arms as she carried on kneading my back. "Purely selfish reasons," she said. "There's no point practicing on someone who's totally relaxed already."

"It's not just that you're nosy," I said, but without much rancor. Kate was getting really quite good. She'd have her certificate in no time.

"Massage is a holistic thing, isn't it," she explained. "Body and mind, yes? Squeezy, squeezy," she squeezed, "psychoanalee-zy."

I laughed. "Well, it's fine, thanks for asking. I'm definitely number one on her list of friends she'd never shag."

Kate's continuous work gradually lowered my defensively hunched shoulders again. "I get it," she said. "She's really fit. And sort of..."

I waited, skin twitching in anticipation of her next word. "What?" I asked eventually.

"She's so...," Kate started again. "We don't have the right words. She's not all the way a she, is she? She's a lot like a boy. She's got that attitude. Like she won't take any shit. But nicely."

My ears burned. I'd been trying forever to articulate what I found so attractive about Trish, what set her apart from all the other big strong girls I'd come across at uni. Kate had managed to sum it up in a sentence. "Yeah."

Kate kneaded me quietly for a minute. "Also that magnificent bum."

"Oh god, yes!" I laughed. "In those trackies," I said with an appreciative moan at the latest firm pressure Kate was applying.

The subject veered away from my soft spot after that, and I ended up wobbly with the endorphins she'd squeezed out of me, as usual.

The next week I was back for more of the same.

"Just pop on the table, I'll be out in a minute," Kate called from the other room.

I did as instructed, and my skin puckered in anticipation of a firm rub-down.

"So how's things?" Kate chattered as she laid on her hands. "Any luck yet?"

I groaned. This week had been particularly bad. I'd spent more time than usual hanging with Trish, going to the cinema, sharing meals, hugging hello and sometimes goodbye.

"That bad, eh? Poppet." Kate started in earnest, and my groans of existential pain turned into groans of physical distress.

As she worked her way around me I finally noticed the swishy trackies covering her legs. I swiveled my eyes as far as I could but I couldn't see much higher than her shins through the hole in the massage table, until she leaned right in one time and brought one knee up. The scrunchy fabric smoothed and wrinkled over her muscles in the way that always drew my eye.

When we were done I tried not to look too hard, but Kate seemed quite aware of what she was doing. She shrugged into a matching tracksuit top but left it hanging unzipped as we had a cup of tea. "Um. Nice," I said, nodding at her outfit.

"I know," she replied. "I was curious. Does the boyness come with the clothes?" She shifted, uncrossing her legs and manspreading a little on the couch. "Also, it's really comfy."

"Ah..." I didn't know what to do with that. "I bet. But..."

"What?" she asked. Her eyes waited patiently.

"You. Ah. You couldn't be mistaken," I stumbled. She wasn't the girliest of girls but even in a tracksuit there wasn't really any doubt about her figure.

"Huh," she said. We chatted on, and soon enough it was time to leave.

She cut her hair. Soft as it was, it still managed to stand away from her head.

"So much easier to take care of," was her conclusion. Her tracksuit zipped up, her back turned, she invited me to take a look.

"Uh. I guess?" I said. "Apart from," I mumbled, "you know."

"My bum?" she asked.

I nodded. She wasn't particularly wide but her proportions were definitely female, even in a loose-fitting tracksuit.

"Do you feel like a boy?" I asked her, flat on my front now for my rub-down. "Dressed up like that?"

Kate mulled it over. "I got 'sir'-ed in a shop," she said. "That was OK. Mostly I feel... more powerful, perhaps? Although no-one's called me any names yet."

Trish had been on the receiving end of some unpleasant name-calling but hadn't seemed bothered by it. I couldn't imagine Kate would take it as well, without Trish's advantages in height and strength.

"It does make me feel more... protective? I guess?" she said. "Not in a mumsy way, though."

"Weird," I replied. "Who of?"

Instead of answering, she kneaded me in silence for a few minutes.

"Trish was a bit upset," I volunteered, like a complete idiot, but I was feeling nicely relaxed and safe on the table. "They wouldn't let her wear shorts for hockey."

Kate took a minute before she replied. "I wondered about that. Have you seen her in her kit?"

I tried to picture it, and failed. "I can't even imagine her in a skirt," I admitted.

"It wouldn't be right, would it?" Kate said.

The next time Kate opened the door she enveloped me in a hug. Her tracksuit crinkled between us. She seemed to wear it most of the time, now. She didn't normally hug, though.

"Right, you," she said, "on the table."

For one blessed session Trish wasn't mentioned at all and I felt myself melting into a puddle of warmth.

"I wonder if you'd do something for me," Kate asked. 

I was barely even willing to raise my mug to my lips, I was so relaxed. "Mmm?"

"You know, how we said we couldn't imagine Trish in a skirt?"

I was suddenly on my guard again.

"Well, I was thinking, I could sort of imagine," she paused, grinning, "you. In hockey kit."

"Um?" I asked, very cogently.

"So I got hold of this outfit," she said, "and I thought maybe you'd like to try it on. To see how it makes you feel."

My mouth was dry so I took a gulp of uncomfortably hot tea. My eyes watered. Kate was there with a comforting, swishy-crinkly arm to rub circles on my back.

"Only if you want to," she said.

I was silent while she showed it to me. It was just like Trish's team kit, that I'd seen hanging out to dry in her room but never on her. I'd found an excuse to brush my hand against it. I had liked how the shiny smooth nylon felt. I hadn't imagined... had I? Did I want to try it on?

I wanted to try on Trish's clothes, that was for sure. When she bought a new pair of trousers I coveted them, even though I knew I'd never fill them out half so well. But her... girly things? Her bra? Pants? Her hockey uniform? If she didn't like it, then why should I? I had a sudden vision of Trish forcing me to dress up in the kit she disdained so much, to humiliate me. My skin flushed pink.

Trish's arm would be stronger than Kate's, but Trish never did wear the jacket that went with her trackies, preferring to stick to hooded sweaters. I wondered if she'd give it to someone to wear, someone she cared about who she wanted to feel...

"Hey," Kate interrupted. "Where'd you go?"

"Uh," I mumbled. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "It's OK to cry."

"I'm not," I said, until I noticed that I was. "Um. Feels like I'm having some feelings."

"The magic of massage," Kate acknowledged. She wiped her crinkly sleeve across my cheek, not really absorbing anything. It felt nice, at least, and the tracksuit smelled of plasticizers with a hint of sweat. "I probably shouldn't tell you this," she continued, "but I always have the best time after I do your back. I think about the things you've told me and I imagine you all squeezed up in Trish's arms, her big hard thigh between your legs. She's giving you such a good kiss. But then the other day, I had you wearing her hockey outfit, in my head, I mean, while she did you, and, woah, I mean, I nearly broke my hand!"

By this time she'd slipped her arm around my shoulders, and I was vibrating with fight-or-flight juice. She didn't make any sudden moves, though.

It wasn't the first time we'd spoken about masturbation, and I'd like to say it didn't titillate me, but it did. It was the first time she'd admitted to putting me in her fantasies, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I'd be a liar if I said I'd never thought about her in the same role. I'd done it just recently for that matter, mulling over the new boyish makeover she'd effected and whether it had any merit to it. I wondered if by some chance we'd done it at just the same time.

"You'd like..." my voice cracked, and I coughed. "You'd like to watch?"

"I'd like to see your bum in a skirt," she said, nodding. "I could tell you this is her kit, if that would help. I borrowed it from her. She doesn't know. I have to put it back soon, before she finds out."

"Is that true?"

She grinned at me. "No. I replaced her kit with a replica set, she won't even notice. This lot is hers, and it hasn't been washed since her last game."

"That's not true either, is it?"

"Mmm, no," she admitted. "Sneaking around doesn't appeal to you, does it?" She thought for a while. Her hand played idly with the short hairs at the back of my neck. Then I felt her stiffen. "Oh. I think I know."

"What?" I asked.

"You want to," she said. "I know you do. But I've got to make you."

"Make me?" I yelped, as she swung over to kneel on my lap. Her warm thighs pinned me in place.

"Yep," she said. "Arms up, come on." She pulled at my t-shirt and I let my arms be pulled with it.

My body trembled as if I was cold. "Kate, I feel..." I started.

"Adrenaline," she told me. "Focus on my voice. You don't want to choose. You want to be chosen." She was working my jeans down my legs. "Isn't that right? You want someone to be in charge. That's why you're not happy. But you're fixated on someone unattainable, so you have an excuse to do nothing, so you can say it's not your fault. Up."

By now I was naked, and surprisingly, my cock wasn't hard. When you're naked in front of a member of the opposite sex for the first time, shouldn't that get you a bit excited? When a girl strips you down physically and psychologically both, shouldn't you feel... something?

"You're allowed to enjoy this, you know," said Kate. "I am!"

On cue, my dick started to swell.

"Wow," she said. She caught my eye. "Not that it's the biggest I've seen or anything... not even close," she smirked. "But you need permission for everything, don't you?" She leaned close, brushing her trackies against my skin. "You're allowed to like it, and you can think about Trish, I don't mind."

I may have whimpered a little.

Kate brought over the hockey kit. "Shirt first, I think. I think you're going to like how this feels on your nipples." She ran her thumbs over my nips, letting the soft fabric in her hand stroke my chest. "I'm going to shave you later, but for now, arms here."

I raised my arms obediently and she slipped the silky shirt over my head. It was tight under my arms and down my stomach, but not grotesquely so. It floated a little short of my bum.

Kate ran her hands down over me, smoothing the fabric. "Lovely," she said. "You're going to make such a cute little hockey player."

I may have passed out for a moment as she lifted the skirt up my legs. The lycra shorts inside trapped my cock flat against me. Then she pulled it up high, higher that I'd ever worn anything, and did up a fastener.

"Turn around? Oh, that's nice. Oh, that's so good. You look so fit. I'm going to have such a good time on my own later." She stroked my bum through the skirt and I had to sit down. She knelt next to me and gave my cock a firm squeeze through the layers of fabric. "You want the socks, too? A nice bandanna? I've got a mouthguard for you to put in too."

"Unh!" I said, as I came buckets into the hockey skort.

Kate grinned. "There it is!"

"Fuck," I whispered. There were tears in my eyes again.

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Shaved freshly smooth, dressed in girl's hockey kit, my mouth gagged with a mouthguard and my wrists tied above my head, I lie back and try desperately to pull my neck away from her vicious lips, for once she starts giving me a hickey she won't let go until she's fully hilted the strap-on inside me and made me cum, cross-eyed and crying, begging her to stop, begging her for more.

Trish may be what I want. But Kate knows what I need.