Ever since Claire took me to Olympic Day Spa for my birthday, I’ve been regularly soaking, sweating, and steaming with other nude goddesses as often as I can make excuses for it. Just recently I managed to get several professional compatriots alone together at a private spa gathering. The range of female forms lounging about a gently steaming pool, chatting quietly captured my imagination.
But I’m here to tell you about another, less recent but more memorable spa visit.
A kind benefactor gifted me a botanical mud wrap and Shea butter rub and so this story, a factionalized, exaggerated version of his gift, is dedicated to him. Names have been changed, obviously, and this only happened in my head so unfortunately I can’t actually recommend ‘Chris’ to anyone searching, but I hope you’ll enjoy the images my imagination inspires.
My treatment was scheduled for one fifteen so when I arrived at noon I had plenty of time to begin my softening. By circulating between the hot tub, dry sauna, and steam bath I raised my core temperature and glistened with a sheen of eucalyptus and sweat by the time the attendant called my name.
“Hi, my name is Chris and I’ll be your aesthetician today.”
Chris was not much taller than me, his only notable feature beside his warm smile. He led me through a doorway and past a curtain where stood a massage table covered in layers of muslin. He explained that I would lie first face down, then face up on the thin fabric while he rubbed layer after layer of gooey mud, full of skin healing minerals and softly scented botanicals, over every inch of me. He would then wrap the muslin around me and let it set for twenty to thirty minutes while he applied a facial treatment and a foot scrub.
As I settled face down onto the table, I immediately began to relax. Chris returned and began his work, warm, ultra slippery mud sloshing gently onto my back, his firm touch spreading it over and into my skin. Across my shoulders, down my hips, just to the borders of the teeny towel covering my bottom, his hands skimming my inner thigh and sloshing mud all the way down to my ankles. Like Alice, his long continuous strokes nearly hypnotized me and every time he kneaded a buttock I felt a tiny stir, slight stimulus that put my mind in a very interesting place.
I’m a vocal receiver and my moans must have encouraged him because he kept adding layer after layer of frictionless goo all across my back.
“It’s time to turn over. I have a breast drape for you if you’d like.”
“Is it required?” I queried.
“No.”
“Would it bother you if I didn’t?” I smiled.
He paused a moment, then smiled back. “No. No it would not.”
I turned over onto my back and relaxed into the heat of the lamp overhead as he first lay a cloth over my eyes to protect them from the light and then began his routine on my chest, belly, thighs, and again down to my feet. I couldn’t see him but I could feel him watching my face as one thumb flicked over a nipple.
“Sorry” he said softly, gauging my reaction.
I smiled a small, parted-lip smile and said “It’s ok. Actually it’s quite nice. I’m very sensitive there.”
Again his fingertips, slick with mud and gentle with practice, flicked over a nipple. My nipples are terribly sensitive, hot wired to my clit so every little movement generated a corresponding surge under the hand towel covering my pubic area. His hands ranged all across my body, relaxing and stimulating as I lay, quietly sighing and moaning. He returned to my nipples several times, each pass sending electrical surges to my warming tender parts.
Eventually he finished his application and wrapped me in cloth, then turned his attention to my face. By turns he rubbed honey, cocoa butter, and a light astringent on my face with gentle, firm motions. Once, he leaned down to kiss me, a soft, slow kiss, upside down. Wrapped up as I was with a cloth covering me, I was deliciously helpless and was glad he moved slowly, inviting my response. I wondered how often this happened; how many glistening women had experienced this erotic and relaxing treatment.
He rubbed my feet with oil and sugar as I savored the memory of his kiss and wondered what else he had in store for me.
“I’m going to take off the muslin now. It might tickle a bit.”
As he peeled off the strips, starting with my calves and moving up, it did tickle. Where the mud had dried and stuck to the tiny hairs on my thighs, belly, and breasts it tickled with minuscule pains. The sensation of the mud peeling off and the air again whisking across my skin made my nipples immediately hard and as he poured buckets of warm water over me, rinsing off the mud and sluicing it away with his hands, he paid very close attention to them. At some point the water washed away my tiny pubic towel and neither of us bothered to replace it.
“I have to clean off the table before we can do your moisturizing treatment.” He offered me a hand sitting up, disoriented by relaxation. My wet, naked body leaned on him for support as I slid off the table and stood out of his way. He didn’t let his rising cock distract him as he rinsed off the last traces of mud, laid down a clean towel, and helped me lay down again on my belly.
This time, I didn’t bother with any covering and I let my knees fall a bit apart, silently inviting his hands. Instead of mud this time, it was Shea butter and vanilla, so sweet you could eat it and it filled our little curtained room with the aromas of custard. With every stroke he kneaded my muscles from shoulder to hip to heel. As he passed my rounded bottom, he caressed the curve and tickled my thighs, letting one lone curious finger trace what showed of my lips from behind. My back arched involuntarily and I stifled a moan. I could hear the others splashing in the spa and couldn’t let them know my pleasure or they would stop it.
His exploring hand slipped further between my thighs, gently playing with the sensitive lips. It had been a few weeks since my last waxing so the small fine, soft hairs picked up his touch and amplified it, sending arousing, tickling sensations deep into my skin. A little more pressure behind his touch and his fingertips slipped past my clean, smooth labia to caress my clit and the first half inch of my slippery pussy. I arched my back so he could reach further forward and add pressure and variety to his touch. One of his hands was still on my back, caressing and massaging by turns, while the other slipped back and forth across my clit, my slippery pussy, and the delicate sensitive skin in between. My hips were rocking rhythmically by this point and all my focus was on that tiny core of ecstasy that takes over your entire body when you’re aroused.
“It’s time for you to turn over onto your back now” He said decisively.
It took me no more than a moment to collect myself, reposition, and notice his own response to my naked, lust filled self. “May I?” I asked him with a point look and he smiled “yes.” I reached out and unzipped him, reaching in to retrieve my prize. As I held his cock in my hand, slowly learning its peculiarities, he spread more butter over my breasts and down my thighs. He was generous and dextrous; even with my distracting hand he stroked, flicked, and gently pinched my nipples, moving back and forth between the two and giving them a break now and then, as his other hand cupped my clit and rocked back and forth, his fingertips fucking me just a bit as his palm rubbed my clit over and over.
I gathered a bit of the Shea butter from my own skin and used it on his exposed cock. It was a slightly awkward angle, him standing by the side of the table, me lying down on it distracted by his touch, but I’m very good with my hands, as you well know. Feeling him stiffen and begin to drip as I slid my thumb gently over the tip of his cock, that sensitive spot right under the head, I imagined what it might feel like to have that head press gently where his fingertips were. The vivid image of that cock entering me spurred on my sensitivity and as I worked him closer to his own orgasm I began to feel mine coming. In my mind I saw his cock, any cock, throbbing and coming, thick slippery cum spurting and dripping and spreading all over my breasts, belly, and pussy. I imagined that the frictionless pressure of his hand wasn’t because I was so wet with my cum but because I was covered in his.
I could feel the buildup, could feel myself climbing the cliff, rocking my hips back and forth, back and forth as his hands continued their full firm fucking and his hips shuddering uncontrollably. I felt a hot surge from my pussy, could feel my muscles clenching and the towel beneath me soaking through. My whole body spasmed and I had to hold my breath to keep from swearing in ecstasy.
As my orgasm subsided I gave his throbbing cock a few more practiced strokes and felt him stiffen, hold his breath, and his sticky warmth splashed across my breasts, my perfect compromise between where I want it and where it’s safe to put it. We stood like that for a moment, both enjoying the after orgasm let down, holding firm, still pressure on each other’s most intimate places.
With a dreamy smile, I let him clean us up and complete his Shea butter rub down. Limbs askew, basking in the glory of nudity and sexual release, I let him sluice me down once more with warm water and rub me off with a rough towel to help the moisturizer soak in.
“I have a robe waiting for you whenever you’re ready to get up. We have a few minutes still.”
“Kiss me goodbye?”
He smiled.