Let’s go to Vegas, she said. It’ll be fun, she said.
Maybe I just don’t know how to have fun. My best friend, on the other hand, was immediately captured by the swirling gravity of the blinking, beeping machines.
But, then again, I’ve never been much of a gambler — I figure, if I’m going to blow some cash, I want to at least get something for it.
Which is how I found myself, alone, looking over the menu at the spa. A massage might be nice, some hot stones maybe. I picked the longest massage I could and handed the lady my card.
She smiled sweetly. “We’re running a special with that massage today, a package to include a soak in our milk bath. Would you like to add it?”
“Sure, why not?” It was only money, I guess. And isn’t that what Vegas is for?
The lady led me down some very convincing stone steps to my treatment room.
The walls were wet stone, illuminated by a turquoise pool below. Everything was humid and slick, but it smelled clean, with a hint of citrus. I liked it at once; it felt almost… protected, here, from the throngs of people milling around everywhere. I took my first deep breath since the plane landed. All that rock had a nice psychic weight to it.
I situated myself as you do, and the masseuse was prompt. She asked me if I needed any special needs she should address. I considered the question. “I don’t know. Do you have a specialty?”
“I can do Swedish, deep tissue, sports, luxure…”
I had never heard of luxure massage. “Luxure. That sounds nice. Let’s do that.”
Isn’t that what Vegas is for? To try new things?
“There’s an extra charge. Is that okay?”
Of course there was an extra charge. I’ve never been accused of not having good taste. I took another deep breath of this perfect air, surrounded by rock and water. “That’s fine, go ahead.”
She took a small glass bottle from a niche on the wall. “Good. I’m going to start on your back. Now just relax.”
I felt her pour drops of, what I assumed, was in the bottle. The liquid was perfect body temperature, some sort of oil, obviously. Her touch was somehow both firm and delicate, as she worked the drops into my skin along the curve of my muscles. It made me want to press myself up into her hands.
“Relax for me. Okay?” she soothed. “This is going to get a bit warmer, now.”
And as soon as she said the words, an undeniable heat crept along where she worked in the oil. I sighed appreciatively. Must be capsaicin or something. Whatever it was, it felt delicious. The warmth, and her fingers, glided out and down my body, so that the oil covered my ass and hamstrings. As she slid over my cheeks, it felt as if that warmth were dripping down lower into my pussy. I gasped at the sensation.
“Shh,” she whispered, as if she had expected that kind of reaction.
What’s in that oil? my brain asked. My mouth, however, refused to form the question. I was aware of my quickened breath, which seemed like a perfectly reasonable response.
Whatever it was, and whatever she was doing, I wanted more of it.
Her oiled hands slithered between my thighs. I ached — ached — as she got closer to my sex. I keened as her gentle touch slid back down to cover my calves and heels. It felt like there was so much of the oil, but I had no memory of her applying more than the few drops. As she ran her thumbs over the bottom of my feet and between my toes, my breath cracked. I needed more of… whatever this was.
“I need you to flip over, please.” Her voice was quiet and steady as the stone around us.
My legs felt heavy, but I managed to maneuver myself correctly.
Her face was suddenly in my field of vision. I stared up at her, and for the first time realizing just how phenomenally beautiful she was. She was gorgeous, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
“Good,” she said. “Nice and dilated. Still tracking, though. We’ll fix that though, don’t worry. Just relax.” She poured more drops from the bottle down the center line of my body.
I hissed in pleasure. Somewhere in the back of my brain, alarm bells were ringing. But they were so quiet, enveloped in this magical oil.
She bypassed my breasts to cover each arm, and every finger. Her hands traced down my sternum to cover my belly, flaring out to flow over my hips and down the front of my legs. She took the same care with the top of my feet and each toe. Her slippery fingers gently worked their way over my pussy and in between the folds.
“Breathe,” she whispered.
I must have stopped.
I felt my back arch as heat and desire flowed through my body.
“Relax,” she commanded softly. “Almost done.”
The oil on my breasts was an exquisite torture, spilling the heat everywhere and making me throb with need. My breath came in short, staccato bursts. I could hear myself whimpering, but I couldn’t make myself care. I watched her bring the oil to coat my lips, cheeks, nose, forehead. Around my ears and over the fluttering pulse in my neck. As she skimmed over my eyelashes, my eyelids were gently covered as well.
As soon as the oil painted every bit of skin, I felt like I was drowning in heat, aching, craving. I was coated, covered in this delicious warmth, rolling in a deep, primal lust.
I realized that I had never known true need before this day, only the shadowy reflection of it. My body was on fire, and it was glorious.
I was vaguely aware of more sets of hands on me, and I welcomed them. Any touch — all touch — was good. So very good.
From a long way off, I heard the masseuse’s voice. “Thanks, boys. Into the bath with her, now. She needs an outlet for all that hunger.”
Photo by Katherine Hanlon on Unsplash