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At the next door on the left, intense moaning bellowed out. Someone was coming or was about to come.
I felt my stomach rumble. Nerves crept up, not the bad ones, more like the excitement and strange vibration that runs through your body when you’re about to speak publicly. I’d stopped walking without realizing it.
Wesley turned to me, took both of my hands in his and looked down at me, the way he’d done on the dance floor. I couldn’t see his face very well in the dark, but I could feel his smile. He was beaming down at me.
“I promise you. You’re going to have a great time.”
With that, he leaned forward and kissed me, parting my lips with his, and letting his tongue graze over my bottom lip. My pussy dripped and I was ready to go again. Wesley had a way about him, a sense of manliness, of control. He was the one calling the shots tonight and he wanted me. He’d wanted me since we were in school together. By taking me tonight, he’d check an item off his bucket list.
That was fine by me. I have a bucket list too and if a body wash wasn’t on it before, it damn sure was now.
We reached room 203 and he led me in, turned on the light, and locked the door behind us. The room looked a lot like a massage parlor. Bamboo reeds and Japanese style dividers separated the back half of the room from the front half.
Wesley walked me past the divider and over to a large, soft table, similar to the kind used for massages but much larger. It was wider, big enough for arms and legs to be open wide on top of it.
All around us were counters lined with candles, bowls full of round charcoal colored stones, and there was a wall with hoses and tools hanging from it. Everything was dry and sparkling. Below my feet was hard tile that slanted inward where a drain awaited. It was like the whole room was built over a gym shower room.
“This will work best if you remove your clothes,” Wesley informed me.
Just like that? No foreplay? This is crazy. It’s like one of those Hostel movies or something. I don’t know if I like this.
“Wait, can you like, I don’t know. Like fill me in on what this is all about?” I asked, contemplating biting my nails, a nervous tick I’d dropped back in college.
Wesley breathed deeply.
“That couple that was sitting out in the waiting room? People like that come here to…well…be pleased. This is a body wash. Like a massage parlor, but with added…perks. They mentioned Lucia and Roberto, two of our finest. We have men and women working here. It’s all about sensually cleaning the customer’s body. Or, if the customer wants, they can clean the attendant’s body. It’s totally up for negotiation. But it’s all good, clean fun.”
“Is there sex involved?”
He laughed.
“Are you FBI?” he asked.
I do sound like a fucking undercover agent don’t I?
“It’s all up for negotiation,” he added, leaving me to fill in the gaps.
“So, um, you’re gonna wash me?” I asked.
Did I wash myself good enough the last time? Is he going to be disgusted by me? What if he thinks I’m too fat? Or what if I don’t smell pretty enough. I mean…I’ve been dancing and drinking and giving him a motherfucking blowjob!
“That is the plan,” he replied. “Unless, of course, you’d rather wash me.”
I was blushing. I could feel the heat rise up to my ears and into my
cheeks and forehead.
“Okay, let’s do it this way,” he said.
He slowly began to unbutton his shirt and my heart punched my chest, giving me an internal beating before deciding it wasn’t getting out that way and traveled down to my pussy.
Oh shit. He’s magnificent.
He removed his shirt and draped it over the Japanese screen. His chest and arms were rock solid and he had tattoos covering one side of his chest and one arm. The Marines logo was on the other arm. I hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes before. We’d been in the dark reunion and then in the dark car. His eyes were an odd kind of grey, almost like the fur of a wolf. Steel like. Fuck-me-with-your-face like.
He licked his bottom lip as he removed his belt and draped it over his shirt. Then he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He slid off his shoes and the pants with them. No awkwardness at all. His socks followed, way too easily. Just a lift of a foot and a gentle flick sent them sailing to the floor.
He’s so fucking smooth. If I tried that move I would’ve tripped and fallen on my face. Not him. He’s like a sex-charged Lord of the Dance. Fucking graceful. Tommy Two-Tone, the giant cock swinging ballerina.
