The other parts of this story can be found here.
I was dimly aware of being carried. Hands underneath my arms and knees, big hands. Everything felt so good, like every part of my skin had been made into an erogenous zone.
My toes went first into the bath, which was a huge marble vessel filled with what looked like… milk. But it didn’t feel like milk.
It felt like… something I couldn’t place.
The hands lowered my whole body into it, carefully setting me up so that my head was out of the liquid.
But this liquid wasn’t milk. It had a weight to it, a viscosity that wasn’t at all like any milk bath I had ever had. I swept my hand through it, under the surface. The liquid pulled against me, making my cunt twitch. The movement over my skin was sublime. I arched my back as I moved the under current over my stomach and tits, and that felt even better. The undulating return of the fluid flowed over my pussy, and then strangely, move down between my legs and back over my ass.
My breath caught. That… wasn’t how liquid was supposed to move.
Tentatively, I pushed my hands down my legs. The stuff felt so heavy — slimy, almost. The movement pushed the flow away from me, but on its return it flowed, seemingly with purposeful intent, in between my toes.
I gasped, in spite of myself, at the transcendent sensations.
I flipped myself over so I was lying on my stomach. The rush of movement within the bath created little eddies that felt like I was sitting in a nest of snakes. I should have been horrified, but the feel of it was so glorious I could have spent the rest of my vacation feeling the lick of it on my engorged skin.
I spread my legs, and the eddies got more powerful. Now without any help from me at all, it seemed like the liquid — whatever this was — was now made of tiny twisting appendages set in a thick, coating slime. They ran between my thighs and between my pussy lips, twirling over my clit. A longer tentacle wove its way through the viscous fluid around my waist to cup my ass cheeks, while a twin swirled around my breasts.
I knew I couldn’t move, but I didn’t care. Everything felt so good, so slick, so slimy.
I wanted this around me, holding me. I wanted it slithering into every crevice. The craving for it enveloped me, as I felt my orgasm building.
The appendages attached to my clit and nipples and began sucking gently. I would have screamed my pleasure, but a trickle of it sloshed onto my lips. It was bitter and salty as it worked its way into my mouth. The texture on my tongue was gooey, and I gagged as I felt it slide down my throat. The sucking pressure on my clit intensified, and despite my stomach’s protests, the fluid was coaxing me closer and closer to climax. My lips parted in rapture, which the tentacle-y slime must have taken as an invitation, because it pushed itself fully into my throat.
I should have been horrified.
I should have gagged. It should have hurt.
But it didn’t. I could feel my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head with the pleasure of it. It was the best thing I had ever felt. I felt a steady trail of slime flow into my stomach, as I reached the crest of my orgasm, and I sucked it down eagerly. I wanted more of this.
But the sucking, swirling ooze slowed its assault on my most tender bits. I tried to scream in frustration, but it was muffled by the thing still in my mouth. I went to move my hand to finish myself off, but new ropes of the liquid wound themselves around my wrists and kept my fingers away.
“Swallow,” came the calm direction of my masseuse. I flipped my eyes in the direction of her voice. She sat quietly, legs crossed, in the corner of the room.
I realized that she had probably been there the whole time, and I blushed.
“Swallow more,” she repeated. “Every time you take it down your throat, it’ll bring you more pleasure.” She smiled wickedly. “But not too much. That’s not what it’s for.”
I didn’t have the capacity to parse her riddle; I sucked. Great big swallows of the thick goop slid down my throat, and, just as she said, every time I was rewarded with another trip to the bleeding edge of orgasm.
I don’t know how long I stayed in the bath. I don’t know when I started crying in frustration.
At some point I know I started begging, in between mouthfuls, to be allowed to cum.
Time ceased to mean anything; my body was an instrument of denied pleasure.
When the hands returned to lift me out of the milky white liquid, I was shaking with need and covered head to foot in strings of the stuff.
“Ready to cum?” she asked sweetly.
All I could do was nod, my mind hazy.
“There’ll be an extra charge, is that okay?” Her perfect retail voice was like a slap in the face, because she must have known that I would do anything to cum. “I can add it to your visit total today.”
“Fine…” my voice was shaky. “…Yes, fine. Whatever… I need to do. Please. Anything.”
“Good,” she cooed. “Follow me, then.”
And I crawled after her, because I couldn’t bring myself to stand.
Photo by Santiago Lacarta on Unsplash