Chapter 3

Her therapist is working oil into her skin, moving the towel to get access to her ass. The side boob still quakes, rounded against the table.

My eyes wander to the woman who has her fingers curled around Monica’s upper thighs. She’s about my height and build, with short blonde curls and blue eyes in a face that would be the prettiest in the room if I couldn’t see the ginger head turned toward me, all green eyes and sex.

“Gods below. I wish I had her job right now.”

The hand on my thighs freezes for a moment. Monica and her therapist stare at me. Monica starts smirking.

“Shit. That thought was definitely supposed to stay inside,” I say.

Monica continues to watch me. She winces as her therapist gets back to work. “How often does this habit of yours get you into trouble?”

“It only happens when I’m, uh, distracted,” I say. It isn’t easy to speak in this position, with a woman oiling up and stretching out my thighs.

“We should talk about it when we’re done here,” Monica says, then her lips continue to move silently. I think she added, “In my room,” but I’m not sure.

I survive the next few minutes. I’m not sure how. When we’re done my body feels incredible. Relaxed but on the edge of readiness, as though I could run for five miles without slowing. The glow I felt on my skin after the body polish has spread through my muscles. If they could add a treatment for bones I would be nothing but glow. Maybe I need a brain glow, too. That could be up my alley.

The therapists have left us. It’s time to get changed. We each have a large warm towel draped over us. No more side boob. I sigh, and sit up, gathering the towel around me. Monica stands before me, which is fortunate, because when I stand my leg feels strange and I lose my footing. She catches me, almost losing her towel in the process.

“I’m okay,” I say. “It’s going to take a second to adjust to the glow.”

“I think I know what you mean,” she says. “Now that you’ve lost your virginity, the next time will be easier.”

“So I’ve always been told,” I say, earning a smirk. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You can tell me why you were feeling jealous of my therapist,” she says. “Maybe you can show me.”

Oh, Jeremy. Is the oh fucking my God hottest woman I’ve ever known telling me she wants my hands on her? That’s really what she just said, right?

“Oh, um, yeah, sure.” I try to sound like fondling a supermodel is an everyday occurrence for me. Holding my towel with one hand, I down the rest of my champagne, though it’s now at room temperature. I pour us each a final glass.

“What’s your room number?” I ask.

She tells me before I enter the changing room. When I leave, in bikini and towel robe, I feel warmth in my face and chest that may not be completely explained by the spa treatments or the slight champagne buzz.

I promise to be at Monica’s room in fifteen minutes. Then I head toward the hotel gift shop. I’m fairly sure that they will sell massage oils. They’ll be overpriced as souvenirs, but I don’t care.

They do, and there are samplers. One has a lavender sage scent much like the body wash the therapist first used this morning. I get that and another that has a light floral scent.

Before I leave, I consider that massage oil may not be suitable for every part of the body that I could conceivably touch. What else I want wouldn’t be displayed with the oils, though. It takes me a minute to find the right section, and I add to my collection.

I make it to Monica’s room barely before the fifteen minute mark. I’m feeling nervous and excited, both feelings spiking when she opens the door in her red bikini. I’m still wearing the towel robe over my own swimsuit, carrying my purse and my gift shop bag.

There’s a smile on her face, but also a hint of a question. “Just to be clear,” she says, “tell me what your inner thought meant?”

“I think you understand it well enough,” I say. “Your therapist had her hands on your body, which is something I’d dearly love to do.”

She seems amused. “And why?”

“Because you’re oh my God-fucking hot,” I say. “How could I not fantasize about it? Especially when you seem like a genuine person, and not a super-bitch-model?”

“So you want to give me another massage in spite of the two I’ve had today?” she asks.

“Hells, yes,” I agree. I pull out the lavender sage oil. “I come prepared.”

“Great. I wondered what you were doing,” she says. “I guess you want me on the bed?”

“That one’s too easy,” I comment. “Yeah, let’s get a stack of your towels and spread them out. Lie diagonally, if you can, that will give me more space.”

In a few moments she’s lying face down on the bed. I kick off my flip flops and climb onto the bed, sitting on the back of her thighs. I begin by oiling up her neck and shoulders.

“You do realize that I want this because I think you’re hot, too?”

“You do?” I mean, I can’t imagine her letting me do this to her if she dislikes me or thinks I’m ugly, but hot?

“I don’t let random women get their hands on me,” she says.

“Uh, you did exactly that today,” I said. “Twice.”

Monica laughs, making the bed shake beneath us. “Got me there. But I was paying for that.”

“So if I’d said, ‘Give me a hundred bucks, I want to touch you up,’ you’d have taken me to your room?” I ask.

I’ve kneaded her neck and shoulders. It’s time to cross the first barrier. I unhook her bikini top, parting the straps and laying them on the bed. Her back is entirely bare.

She makes no comment on the state of her top. I move my touch lower, digging the heels of my hands into the muscles of her back and worked them higher. There are no knots or tender spots. The massage she already had has taken care of that. But she seems to like the feel of my hands anyway.

I run my hands over her shoulder blades, then over her sides, my fingers sliding over the side of her breasts. They feel as firm as they look, a thin veneer of softness with a tension underneath, quite different from mine.

Drawing my hands down further I take her hips and grind her against the bed. She makes a muted sound, and moves as I guide her. Lowering myself onto her back, I begin to draw my teeth along her shoulder, making Monica shiver. I slide my hands up and down her side, applying just a little pressure, enough to push against her in a slow rhythm. Her hips move against me as I do.

“Your bikini top is going to get oily,” Monica says, her voice rasping a little.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I can feel it against my back,” she says. “You just applied massage oil.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I say. “What do you think I should do?”

“You could add another towel,” she says. “Or I guess you could take it off?”

“Hmm. Towel or no towel?” I muse. Then I lean against her as I reach behind to unfasten the top. I tug it out from between our bodies, then lie against her, my breasts squashed against her back. She shivers again as I press myself to her.

I move my hands to her waist, moving a little more firmly against her. When her hips pick up the motion, I slide my hands up her sides, and down to her breasts, caressing the sides at first, then pushing my hands under them to cup them. Monica’s hips move more strongly as I do, and her breathing becomes heavier.

“You need these massaging because your therapist didn’t pay attention to them earlier,” I say. Her nipples are firm inside my palm. I trap them between fingers and thumbs and pinch. She gasps, and thrusts her ass up into me. I pinch her again, then knead her breasts harder. Her breath catches as I move my mouth to her ear and catch the lobe in my teeth.

“Biting isn’t part of a massage,” Monica forces out.

“It’s part of mine,” I say, without releasing her ear. Her breath catches again. I release her earlobe and find the pulse point in her neck, worrying at it with my teeth.

She makes a groan of frustration when I slide my hands from beneath her and sit on her thighs.

“There are other places she missed, I think,” I say. I squeeze her ass cheeks.

“She was quite thorough there,” says Monica.

“Maybe,” I say. Then I dig my thumbs into her upper thighs, pushing them forward and back, so that she’ll feel the pressure in her sex. Her hips push down into the bed.

“Nnh… oh, okay, she didn’t do that,” Monica says.

When I’ve teased her like this for several minutes, I slide off her and pull her bikini bottoms down, tossing them over the side of the bed. Squatting on the top of her thighs, I begin to thrust my sex against her ass, rocking her against the bed. I keep doing this as I explore with my fingers around her hips and waist, and draw them against the sides of her breasts.

She’s reaching the stage of her arousal where any touch excites her. Of course, seeing her naked and writhing under me excites me, too. I don’t want to let this go on too long for either of us. So I ride her until she starts to pant, small cries accompanying each breath, then I slip off her.

I squirt more oil against her back, then spread it around, rubbing it in with my fingers. I make the motions smooth and light, letting my fingers glide sensually. As I suspected, any touch arouses her now. Her eyes close and her hips occasionally push forward.

It’s time to move ahead. I wipe my fingers clean on a towel. Then I reach into my bag and take out my other purchase, a tube of lube. I’m certain I don’t need it, but I want to avoid picking up massage oil and getting it inside her.

Moistening my fingers with the lube, I draw them around her body, feeling for her sex. I part her lips, spreading lube over them, then coat my index finger thickly and push it into her.

“Fuuuck…” Monica breathes, somewhere between a whine and a prayer.

I don’t move my finger in and out. Instead, I curl it forward, caressing slowly, feeling her passage twitch as her arousal climbs. She’s not ready to come, but she’s so turned on she can’t help but respond.

I added a second finger, and this time I do slide them in and out, but slowly. I push both fingers forward, stroking the rough wall before pulling them out to start over. Monica is moaning constantly now.

Slowly, I withdraw my fingers. Moving back to between her legs, I part them around me, then lie on my back between her thighs. Lifting each thigh, I kiss along its inside, feeling the muscles flutter under my lips.

Raising her hips, I slide backward, until my mouth is positioned below her clit. “She didn’t massage here, either,” I said. Her thighs clench together as my voice tickles her.

Pushing my fingers back into her, I press down on the wall of her sex as I begin to suckle the hardened bump between my lips.

Monica cries out. She gasps as her hips begin to thrust her clit into my face. She tastes of excitement and honey. I pump my fingers as I lick, feeling her thighs tremble. She’s close. Very close.

Her sex clenches around my finger as she cries out again. My face is suddenly flooded. Not the result I expected. I continue to lick as she squirts over my tongue, fluid running down my cheek to the towel beneath. Her whole body squirms as she groans in pleasure. The flood abates, but I still feel the quivering of aftershocks.

She’s still panting, and she hasn’t pushed me away, so I wonder if it’s worth trying to push her into a second orgasm. I piston my fingers rapidly into her as I stiffen my tongue and bounce my head to scrub her clit. She moans, and I think she’s going to pull away, but suddenly she’s crying out again, her thighs tensing, and I feel the contractions around my fingers as she climaxes again.

This time she does move away. “Enough,” she groans, rolling onto her back. Her belly twitches, the second orgasm not having completely run its course.

Her bikini top may not leave much unrevealed, but this is still the first time I’ve seen the little it hides. Her nipples are hard, but not very long or wide, and her areolae are small but swollen, a slightly darker shade than the pale skin of her breasts. In spite of her athletic build, her chest isn’t very tanned. Her face is noticeably darker.