First Prize (Part 1)

3 Chillies - Hot!

This is a two-part hot erotic story about two relative strangers and their experience at a luxury spa resort.

As with many small rural communities, the highlight of the year in our village is the annual fete. For one-day a year we are taken back to a time when life seems less hectic, less complicated; pleasures are much simpler, and everything has that rosy-glow of nostalgia. It offers an afternoon of fun, a chance to relax and chat with neighbours, and an opportunity to help retain a sense of community. Above all, it is an occasion that is quintessentially English – weaving joy into our somewhat mundane pastoral life.

 

Our fete normally takes place on the Saturday of the August Bank Holiday weekend. Hopefully the ‘weather gods’ are on our side and we have a sunny, pleasantly warm day. It presents an ideal opportunity for ladies of the village to put on their summer frocks and fancy hats, and for the men to break out their Panamas. The children get the chance to dress up too as there is usually a fancy-dress competition.

As we don’t have an area of publicly accessible greenspace to hold the fete, the venue is usually the extensive, but mostly lawned, garden at the Old Rectory. For one day a year the rectory grounds burst into colour with gaudy bunting, each flag dancing in the breeze as if tickled by the sun’s warm fingers. Like most fetes, ours has the dual purpose of bringing our community together for some family fun and entertainment, as well as raising much needed funds for our church and other local charities.

 

Our vicar presides over the occasion; with a special guest invited to open the event and judge the various competitions that take place. Our ‘celebrity’ guest this year was a local actor whose claim to fame was a very brief, non-speaking role, as a gardener in a long-forgotten episode of Midsummer Murders; more recently he could be seen as an elderly gent in a frequently shown TV advert for funeral plans. Fame indeed!

The fete consists of the usual attractions: the ever-popular cake stall, ‘splat-the-rat’, bottle stall, white-elephant stall, face-painting, coconut shy, bouncy castle, guess the weight of the cake, lucky dip, treasure map, local produce stall, name the teddy, how many sweets in the jar, toss the wellie, and the human fruit machine. All good fun.

 

As well as the stalls, entertainment was provided by a stilt walker, a local steel drum band, and a Punch and Judy show. There was, of course, a bar, and the obligatory refreshment tent selling tea, coffee, soft drinks and all manner of delicious cakes, biscuits and ice cream. This is always the busiest stall.

By far the biggest attraction, and the best fund-raiser, is the immodestly named ‘Grand Draw’. Tickets for this are sold throughout the day with the draw taking place at the end of proceedings. This encouraged people to stay right till the end. To be fair to the organisers they always manage to get a large quantity of quality prizes, ranging from bottles of spirits and wine, through boxes of chocolates, to cosmetic gift sets. Most years there is a special ‘First Prize’ and this year was no exception. A local spa resort hotel had very generously donated a ‘Pamper Day for Two People’ at their facility. Word around the village was that the prize was worth at least Two Hundred Pounds!

 

As the fete drew to a close, the vicar, speaking though a microphone and speaker, encouraged us to gather around the stage – a haphazard arrangement consisting of stacked pallets topped with sheets of hardboard borrowed from a nearby farm. We all congregated in a semi-circle facing the stage. I stood near the back of the throng as I wasn’t expecting to win anything; I’d only bought a few tickets compared to others that appeared to have armfuls. Between them the vicar and the local celebrity – now looking slightly worse for drink - announced the winners of the various competitions. Each winner being congratulated with a warm round of applause as they made their way to the stage to collect their prize.

Finally we came to the climax of the day, The Grand Draw, and the picking of the ticket that would win the First Prize. A hushed expectant silence fell over the assembled crowd, each person holding their breath in hopeful anticipation. The actor put his hand into a large, cylindrical, aluminium container – a milk churn to be precise - and withdrew it holding the winning ticket. He announced that it was a yellow ticket, then paused for dramatic effect – not for nothing was he an actor - prior to reading out the winning number. After what seemed an age, during which people fidgeted with their tickets to see if at least they’d got the right colour (I had, by-the-way) he started to slowly read out the number, one digit at a time: ONE. EIGHT. NINE.

Amazingly it matched one of my tickets – I’d won! I held the ticket aloft to show that I’d got the winner. Those in my immediate vicinity were quick to congratulate me, some even patting me on the back. As I slowly made my way to the stage I received a generous round of applause. I’ve never understood this particularly English idiosyncrasy of applauding the winner of a raffle; it’s not as if I’d done anything skilful or talented.

 

I finally arrived at the stage and the (not so) famous actor lauded me and shook my hand. I noticed that close-up his cheeks were even redder than they appeared from a distance. He then presented me with the First Prize which was enclosed in a shiny gold envelope. I instinctively raised my prize in the air and received another rapturous round of applause which continued as I made my way back through the crowd. Another idiosyncrasy of the English that I’ve noticed is that when you are standing in a crowd, even if you’re not standing with anyone you know, you will return to the exact same spot that you vacated.

 

As I returned to that exact same spot – being applauded as I did so – I had a dilemma circulating in my head. What to do with the First Prize? At this time of my life I was a single chap with no romantic interests; I also had no particularly close friends that I could think of that would want to spend a pamper day with me. I thought perhaps I could sell it; if the village rumours were correct it was quite a valuable prize. I could then spend the money on something useful. But would this be frowned on by the villagers, and by the hotel that had donated it? Would I seem ungrateful, mercenary even? Then I thought perhaps I could auction it and donate any money raised to the good causes set to benefit from proceeds from the fete? It stuck me that the likelihood was that someone wealthy would win the auction, someone that could well-afford to pay for a pamper day anyway. Of course I could always admit that I was ‘Billy-no-mates’ and just go on my own.

I arrived back at my designated space still pondering what to do. I knew I was in the same spot as before because I had been – inadvertently (honest!) - standing next to a girl in an alluring pale-yellow summer dress. I knew this girl to be called Nicola. She was about thirty years old, very attractive with slightly longer than shoulder length chestnut hair, lively green eyes, a fine figure and a captivating smile. Nicola came from the same end of the village as me and we exchanged pleasantries on the few occasions that we met. From my limited dealings with her, Nicola had come across as pleasant but quite reserved, lacking in self-confidence and even nervous. I had heard rumours that Nicola had not long split from her partner and now, like me, was single living alone in the village. Unlike me, I doubted very much that she would stay single for long – she would be quite a catch.

 

I had been surprised by her choice of clothes on the day. It took a great deal of confidence to wear a yellow dress, especially one so short. During the course of the afternoon I had noticed that her pale-yellow dress was not only teasingly short, but it was also quite see-through in the bright sunlight. The breeze had played with her hem causing her to push it down to avoid a Marilyn Monroe moment. I’m sure that I wasn’t the only one there that had noticed her gorgeous legs. Nor was I the only one wishing I'd seen more!

“Well done!” she smiled politely as I stood back beside her.

 

“Thank you.” I replied, slightly abashed that this attractive girl had spoken to me.

 

“It’s a great prize.” she continued, “I really wanted to win it. I’ve heard good reports about the resort. I’d love a pamper day there.”

 

Of course at this point I should have done the gentlemanly thing and offered the prize to her as a gift. Instead, unbelievably I heard myself say:

 

“You can come with me if you like?”

 

I don’t know where it came from; it just sort of tumbled out. But once it was said there was no unsaying it. I should have expected a sniggered ‘In your dreams’ or even a slap in the face as a response, but extraordinarily Nicola replied excitedly:

 

“Really? Do you mean it? That would be great! Thank you!”

To confirm that she wasn’t pulling my leg she leaned in and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I felt over-the-moon, like a cat with all the cream! We agreed to exchange texts later in the week to confirm a date that was convenient to us both. At the end of the Grand Draw – during which neither of us won another prize – we said our goodbyes and made our way home separately. I had a joyful, lightness in my walk, like a dandelion seed dancing in the summer breeze.

 

I didn’t open the golden envelope containing the First Prize until I got home. When I did, it didn’t really tell me much more. There was a card inside that read:

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have won a Pamper Day at So-and-So Resort Spa for two people on a day of your choice (exc weekends and Bank Holidays).

Ring xxx to book

Present this voucher on arrival.

378546

Nicola and I exchanged texts as we had agreed and I rang the hotel to see if they could accommodate us the following Tuesday. They could, so I booked us in.

 

On the Tuesday that we were due to be pampered I picked Nicola up from her home. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her since the fete. She was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a silky cream blouse, undone at the neck. She looked terrific. She was carrying a fashionable duffle bag that she put on the back seat of my car before climbing in beside me. The journey to the spa resort would only take about quarter of an hour. As I drove we exchanged small talk. Our conversation flowed like a gentle stream, bubbling with underlying excitement but occasionally snagged on the rocks of her shyness, each pause a soft ripple in the warm afternoon sun.

“Are you looking forward to today?” I asked.

 

“I am!” Nicola enthused, then paused, perhaps realising that her enthusiasm was somewhat out of character, she continued more measuredly, “I’ve been looking at their website.”

 

“Anything in particular take your fancy?” I enquired.

 

“They’ve got a nice pool and hot tub. I remembered to pack my swimming stuff.” she confirmed, “Did you?”

 

“I did!” I beamed.

 

The prospect of seeing Nicola in her swimwear was something I was particularly looking forward to. I continued:

“I don’t really know what to expect. They do a wide range of packages at the resort, but the ticket wasn’t clear what was included. And they didn’t give any further details when I phoned them up. They just said to arrive by two in the afternoon.”

 

“It doesn’t seem a very long day.” Nicola said downbeat, “I hope we can fit everything in.”

 

“Me too.” I replied, smiling to myself as I thought of the double-entendre, then changing the subject, I asked, “Did you enjoy the fete?”

 

“Yes. It was good fun.” she smiled, “It was lovely to see so many people from the village enjoying themselves. I didn’t win anything though.” she added disappointedly.

 

“Well, you did get a prize in a way.” I reminded her.

“I suppose I did.” she responded more cheerily, “The weather was nice, although it was a bit breezy.”

 

“I suppose it was.” I agreed, “At least it stayed dry.”

 

“If I’d known it was going to be quite that windy I would have worn a different dress.” she commented.

 

“I thought your dress looked great. It really suited you.” I praised, “It was really colourful and summery.”

 

“Thank you.” she smiled, “It was a bit short though. It kept blowing up in the wind. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d put shorts on underneath but I was only wearing tiny panties. I was worried I was going to give the old men of the village a cheap thrill!” she giggled nervously

“I don’t suppose they saw anything they shouldn’t of.” I commented reassuringly, “I know I didn’t.” I admitted, trying not to sound disappointed.

 

“That’s comforting.” she conceded, “And I wasn’t including you when I talked of the old men of the village. Honest.” she added conciliatorily.

 

“I should hope not!” I smiled, feigning offence. [I should point out at this stage that I am somewhat older that Nicola.]

I felt I could speak authoritatively on the subject of Nicola’s sundress. I’d watched Nicola most of the afternoon at the fete and I’d witnessed her dress billowing up but I’d not seen any more than a glimpse of thigh. This was unfortunate especially now that I knew she had only been wearing tiny panties; how I wish the wind had been a little bit stronger! For a moment I was lost in the thought of her dress blowing up to reveal her undies. I wondered if she was only wearing tiny panties under her jeans now. I started to go erect at the thought.

“Penny for them?” Nicola asked, bringing me out of my reverie with a start.

 

“S-sorry?” I stuttered.

 

“You were miles away.” Nicola observed, “What were you thinking about?”

I dare not tell her the truth so I made up some lame excuse about thinking about what we’d do first when we got to the spa. Soon after we saw the sign for our destination and turned off the road into a grand entrance-way.

 

In its heyday the building that was now a spa resort hotel used to be a splendid manor house with lush gardens, sweeping lawns and surrounded by landscaped parkland. It had been home to some notable dignitaries in its prime, even kings and queens had spent time here. As we approached the grand edifice along the long gravel drive it stood magnificent, like a fairy-tale castle, warm and welcoming yet towering like a giant, stirring both excitement and a flutter of nervousness as we took it all in.

 

The spa hotel business was obviously paying well enough to ensure the building and grounds were maintained to a high standard. I followed the signs to a car park out of sight of the main house. I noticed straight away that the cars were mostly top end makes and models. They made my aging Toyota look decidedly ordinary.

We walked to the main entrance carrying our bags. Anyone observing us from the building could quite easily mistake us for a couple – married or otherwise. The reception area was bright, airy, elegant and decorated with an abundance of colourful summer flowers; the scent was delightful.

 

We were greeted at the reception desk by a very attractive woman with a pleasing smile; she was of a similar age to Nicola, that is about thirty. She was slim, quite busty, had long blonde hair and a welcoming, cheerful demeanour. She wore a cerise polo shirt that was tight fitting over her ample boobs, and a fawn-coloured mini skirt. We were soon to find out that these were the corporate colours for all the staff. The females wearing polo shirts and skirts – which varied in length from dangerously short to knee-length; the males wearing polo shirts and either shorts or trousers. Staff involved in the administration of treatment wore cerise tunics with matching loose-fitting trousers, similar to hospital scrubs uniforms.

 

After introducing ourselves and being warmly welcomed, I handed my presentation card to the receptionist. On taking it she said ‘Congratulations’ and tapped away at a computer on the desk.

“You’re in Room Nine.” she announced.

 

“Room?” Nicola and I said simultaneously.

 

“Yes.” The receptionist confirmed, “You’ve won our ‘Deluxe Package’ which entitles you to a relaxing hour-long massage today, evening dinner tonight in our award-winning restaurant, an overnight stay in one of our luxury suites, breakfast and lunch tomorrow, with two further treatments of your choice up to one hour. It also includes access to all our facilities including our pool, hot tubs, sauna, steam room, gym, games room, and outdoor plunge pools, as well as freedom to wander our extensive grounds. You’ll find there are complimentary robes, towels and slippers in your room. Most guests wear their robes all the time that they are with us, even in the dining room and bar. I can book you in for your massage in thirty minutes; that should give you enough time to go to your room and change into your robes. You’ll find there are showers in the treatment rooms to freshen up, and you’ll need to complete a medical questionnaire with one of our assistants beforehand. Is that okay?”

We nodded incredulously, like two kids staring at a magic trick, our minds spinning with emotion as if the receptionist had just pulled a rabbit from behind her desk.

“Great!” the receptionist beamed; she tapped away on the keyboard again and continued, “I’ve booked you into the dual treatment room for an hour-long session with Helga and Carly for three o’clock. Try to be there slightly early to shower and complete the medical. I’ll get Melissa to show you to your room. You’ll find all our staff are attentive and will make sure that you’re well-looked after.”

The receptionist handed me an electronic keycard for our room, then called over a girl that had been standing in the foyer to show us the way. The girl - Melissa - offered to carry our bags but we both declined. I think we were both embarrassed that we were travelling so light for an overnight stay. Melissa was a pretty blond-haired girl in her late teens. She had opted for the ‘dangerously short’ version of the uniform skirt. As we followed her up the grand, sweeping staircase we could virtually see what she’d had for breakfast! As she showed us to the door of Number Nine she remarked:

“This is yours. I take it you’ve been here before as you knew not to pack much. We encourage our guests to spend most of their time in their robes. We find it’s a great equaliser; everyone dresses the same, irrespective of wealth or class. It also makes it easier to distinguish the staff in our distinctive uniforms.”

We thanked Melissa, feeling less guilty about the sparseness of our luggage. I think she had meant what she’d said and wasn’t patronising us. Either that or she was very well trained. We entered the room and closed the door behind us. Before we had chance to take in the opulent surroundings Nicola challenged me:

“Did you know?”

 

“Know what?” I asked, surprised by her abruptness.

 

“Know that we’d got a room?” she clarified, “That we’d got an overnight stay?” she added suspiciously.

 

“No. Of course not. I was as surprised as you.” I responded.

 

“Are you sure?” she questioned.

 

“Most definitely.” I confirmed, “I couldn’t believe it when she said we’d got a room – or what was included in the package.”

 

“We can’t spend the night here.” Nicola said adamantly, “We can’t sleep together.” she added for clarity, emphasing the word sleep.”

 

“Of course not.” I agreed, “That would be wrong.”

 

“SO wrong!” Nicola asserted.

As our heated debate continued we found ourselves taking in the splendour of the bedroom - sorry, suite. It was large and magnificent; tastefully and generously appointed in what appeared to be genuine period pieces rather than reproductions. It had two Queen-sized beds with two bed-side cabinets and two wardrobes, as well as a dressing table and a full-length swivel mirror. There was a large circular table with an inlaid top and ornate cabriole legs. On this table there was a huge vase of colourful flowers, a bottle of Prosecco chilling in a wine cooler, two glasses and a box of fancy chocolates. The room was warm without being stuffy, and the scent of sandalwood hung in the air.

 

The room was well lit with a magnificent crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and subtle wall lights highlighting the artwork on the walls. The pictures looked to be originals rather than copies or prints. On the bedside cabinets electric lights fashioned to look like candles were flickering romantically. On the beds were laid out neatly ‘his and hers’ sets of plush white robes, towels and slippers. It was all rather opulent. We found ourselves gazing in wonder like children discovering a toy-shop, each colourful plaything glistening with wonder and delight..

“This is all rather wonderful.” Nicola sighed.

 

“Isn’t it just!” I concurred, “Splendid.”

 

“I’ve never stayed in a room as grand as this.” Nicola drooled.

 

“Me neither.” I admitted.

 

“It would be a shame not to make the most of it.” Nicola reasoned.

 

“It would.” I assented, “I suppose there’s no harm in using it as a base for the afternoon?”

 

“I suppose not.” Nicola agreed.

 

“Shall we get changed into our robes? It’s nearly time for our massage.” I suggested.

 

“Good idea!” Nicola accorded.

Nicola gathered up her robe, towel and slippers and went through into the ensuite bathroom. Whilst she was in there I quickly undressed – leaving my boxers on – and put my robe on. It was the fluffiest, most sumptuous dressing gown imaginable, like being wrapped in a cloud of candyfloss. Soon after Nicola emerged from the bathroom similarly attired. In her fluffy gown she looked oh so huggable; I just wanted to put my arms around her and cuddle her, entwined like two polar bears. She was buzzing with excitement.

“If you think this room is posh you should see the bathroom!” she enthused, “It’s massive in there!”

 

I took a quick look through the door: she was right! The bathroom was bigger than my living room at home. There was a large, free-standing, roll-top bath, a separate shower / wet-room, two sinks, and a bidet. All the fixtures were gold coloured – they could even have been real gold (!) – and the room was tastefully decorated with expensive tiling and mirrored surfaces. It was breathtaking. I just stood and gawped. It took Nicola to bring me back to earth.

 

“Come on we’ll be late!” she urged, “We’ve got to shower first apparently.”

I had a momentary vision of showering with Nicola before she ushered me out of the room. We quickly made our way back downstairs. All the treatment rooms and amenities were situated on the ground floor. Everyone that we met – apart from the staff - was dressed in their white, fluffy robes: Melisa had been right – it was a great leveller.

 

We arrived at the dual treatment room at quarter to three. We were greeted by another attractive young female staff member whose skirt was only slightly longer than Melissa’s had been. She showed us into the treatment room which contained two modern, rather elaborate, thickly padded, massage beds standing parallel to each other in the centre of the room barely two foot apart. There was soft classical music playing in the background. The room was subtly lit and there was scent of lavender lingering in the air. The assistant confirmed that we were booked in for a ‘FBM’ – Full Body Massage – and that it would take about an hour. She directed us to two cubicles to the side where we were to shower prior to changing into our towels. She said that our masseurs, Helga and Carly, would be with us shortly.

After I’d showered and dried myself I went to wrap myself in the towel. I stopped. I was faced with a dilemma. I must admit that I’d never had a professional massage before so I didn’t know the etiquette; did I wear my boxers under the towel or not? After careful consideration I decided not to put my boxers back on. I stepped back out into the treatment room, the towel securely wrapped around my waist with nothing on underneath. Soon after, Nicola emerged from her cubicle her body completely wrapped in a towel, her hair damp. I noticed straight away her black bra straps over her shoulders. She’d left her underwear on. Perhaps I should pop back into the cubicle and put my boxers back on?

Too late! The door to the treatment room opened and our masseurs Helga and Carly came in dressed in their cerise-coloured scrubs. We exchanged introductions. Helga was every inch what you would imagine an East European bodybuilder on steroids would look like. Aged about forty, she was nearly six-feet tall and built like a brick outhouse, with arms and legs like tree trunks and a large, imposing bosom. Her blonde hair was pulled back harshly in a tight bun so that the skin on her face was stretched taut, giving her a menacing expression. Her bright blue eyes appeared kindly, or was that just hiding something more foreboding, more sinister?    

By contrast, Carly was petite, young and bubbly. Aged about twenty, she was only about five-foot tall. She had a shapely body although her pink scrubs did their best to conceal it. Her hair was long, light brown and wavy. She was attractive with a winning smile and a glint in her eyes that hinted at mischievousness.

After we’d finished our introductions Helga, in a clipped Eastern European accent, went through some very basic medical questions. Once these were complete Helga turned specifically to Nicola and in a strict voice that matched her harsh appearance instructed her:

 

“We’re all friends here. Don’t be shy. Take your underwear off!”

 

Nicola looked askance and stuttered, “S-sorry?”

 

“You heard. Take your bra and panties off.” Helga insisted doggedly, “I assure you it’ll be a better experience if you do.”

 

“B-but?” Nicola hesitated.

 

“It’s okay. We’ll use towels to cover your womanly bits.” Carly added reassuringly, her voice soft and her intonation nowhere near as menacing as Helga’s.

 

“Come on now. Strip!” Helga commanded sternly, “Or would you like us to do it for you?”

 

I don’t know how Nicola was feeling but Helga certainly petrified me. I had no doubt that she was serious. Nicola slowly moved her hands to the top of her white, fluffy towel. Employing as much dexterity as she could muster, she tried to hold her towel in place with one hand while removing her bra with the other without revealing anything untoward. Fair play to her, she almost succeeded. Then right at the end, when her bra was completely off, the top of her towel momentarily flopped down to briefly expose one of her breasts. She yelped ‘Oops’ and quickly recovered the towel, securing it in place. Turning to me, her face flushed red, she asked me anxiously:

 

“Did you see anything?”

I had only seen a fleeting glimpse of her left boob. But it had been long enough to appreciate it’s size, shape and firmness, and to discern her cute little nipple. I didn’t want to admit to what I’d seen for fear of embarrassing Nicola even more, so I replied non-committedly:

 

“Not really.”

 

Before Nicola had chance to interrogate me further, Helga chimed in:

 

“Now your panties.”

 

“Really?” Nicola appealed.

 

“Yes. Really!” Helga pressed.

 

I watched on incredulously as Nicola submissively put her hands up inside her towel and started to wriggle her panties down. Fortunately for her – less so for me (!) - she managed to get them down and off without any further embarrassing revelations. I could see that her panties were tiny and black; at least that answered my question from when we were both in the car earlier today.

 

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” Helga asked rhetorically, then turning to me she asked, “Have you got anything on under your towel? Be honest, we’ll find out anyway.”

 

I was relieved that I’d not put my boxers on, and could confirm that I was naked under my towel. This seemed to satisfy Helga who then asked us to get onto the massage beds, lay face down and loosen our towels. This came as something as a relief to me as watching Nicola remove her undies had got me quite aroused: If Helga had asked me to lay on my back my erection would have been obvious – and embarrassing! As it was, it was Nicola that suffered further embarrassment. The massage tables were quite high; as Nicola went to climb on, her towel gaped open right the way up to her groin. For a split second I must have been able to see her pussy, but it all happened so quickly, and the lighting was so subdued, that I wasn’t sure. I certainly didn’t see it for long enough to describe it to you – sorry. Once again Nicola’s face blushed and for the second time this afternoon she uneasily asked:

 

“Did you see anything?”

If I had seen her pussy at all it had only been a quick flash. So I once again replied:

 

“Not really.”

 

At this point Helga announced enthusiastically:

 

“Right we’re ready to start. Remember this should be a luxurious, relaxing experience. If you have any pain, or any qualms about what we are doing, just tell us and we’ll stop. We’ll take it nice and slow.”

 

I must admit I was more than a little apprehensive about what was going to happen. I’m sure Helga could cause me serious pain with those muscles. Then something miraculous occurred: Helga moved forward and took up position by Nicola; the diminutive, not to say attractive, Carly did likewise beside me; I suddenly relaxed, I felt less tense already.

 

Helga pulled Nicola’s towel off so that she was laying completely naked face down on the bed barely two feet from me. I glanced across at her prone form and took in the splendid view of her peachy bottom. Carly removed my towel and I saw Nicola glance across at my bare buttocks. Helga then placed a small towel – hardly bigger than a flannel – over Nicola’s bum; and Carly did the same to mine.

“Jojoba, Coconut, Almond, Lavender or Sesame?” Carly asked.

 

I was still thinking about Nicola’s cute little bottom so missed the question.

 

“S-sorry?” I stuttered.

 

“What oil would you like me to use?” Carly clarified.

 

By now I’d forgotten what the options were so I just asked her to choose.

 

“We’ll go for coconut.” Carly announced, “It always reminds me of Bounty Bars and piña coladas. What's not to like!”

 

Carly squeezed some of the warm liquid onto her hands and rubbed them together. Standing to one side of me Carly leaned over and placed her hands on my shoulders and started to knead her thumbs deep into the muscles. She gripped my shoulder blades with her smooth fingers as her thumbs did most of the work; I was surprised by the strength of them. Once she’d finished with my shoulders she started working on my neck, on either side of my spine. She then moved around to stand in front of me so that my shoulders were facing her. She made a fist with each hand, then rubbed her knuckles gently but firmly across the tops of my shoulders. I could feel the tension being released.

 

Carly moved to the bottom of the bed and picked up my feet. I immediately warned her that the soles of my feet were extremely ticklish and I couldn’t be held responsible if I kicked out. Carly thanked me for the warning. She wrapped both her hands around my left foot and used her thumbs to apply pressure, paying special attention to the arch, as, according to Carly, this is where a lot of tension builds up. When she got to my toes she grabbed each one in turn and gave it a pull. This made me wince. She apologised then repeated the same process with my right foot.

She then started on my legs. She give each leg a couple of long, smooth, slow relaxing strokes to begin with, all the way from my calf to my upper thigh, stopping just short of the towel covering my buttocks. Then she focussed her attention on the calf of my left leg, using a kneading technique - like kneading bread - to work the calf muscle. Her hands slowly moved up towards my thigh and she repeated the kneading motion on my thigh. She then pressed the heel of her hand firmly into the skin and very slowly moved it along my thigh until her hand was under the little towel pressing into my buttock. She then smoothly applied light pressure with both hands to stretch the skin. She repeated the whole process with my other leg.

Carly moved along the bed so that she was level with my torso. She had been talking to me reassuringly throughout in a low, placid, soothing voice, her Germanic accent barely noticeable. She asked how I felt, if there was any pain or pressure, and whether I was enjoying it. My responses were usually nonverbal utterances of pleasure. As she squeezed yet more of the oil onto her hands she asked calmly if I minded her moving the towel covering my buttocks. I nodded my assent.

I felt her push the little towel down so that more of my bottom was exposed; this didn’t worry me at all – I was so chilled now she could take it off completely for all I cared. Is it bad that I actually hoped she would? She squeezed a liberal squirt of oil onto her hands. I felt her place the palm of each hand on either side of my spine just above my bum crack and work her way up, keeping her hands parallel to one another and to my spine. When she reached the top of my back she fanned her hands outwards across my shoulders, as if outlining the top of a heart. She did this a few times then returned to my lower back and used the kneading motion to work the large muscles on either side of my spine. Finally she pressed her fingertips firmly into the flesh of my back before quickly releasing them. This felt so pleasurable I didn’t want her to stop. She spent a lot of time pressing the muscles around my shoulder blades as she could sense a lot of tension and knots there. This came as no surprise as I had dislocated a shoulder when I was younger and it still gave me gip. She used her thumb to work on the knots, pressing and releasing around the problem area. It felt better than it had for years.

Carly took hold of my left wrist in her left hand and lifted my arm up from the bed. She then used her right hand to sweep along the back of my forearm, along the tricep and over my shoulder, coming back on the opposite side. Then she switched to holding my wrist in her right hand and swept her left hand along my forearm and bicep, then over the shoulder and down the opposite side. She then massaged my hand by taking my palm and rubbing it with her thumbs, using small circular motions. Then she took each of my fingers in turn and slowly pulled each one firmly. Satisfied with the results she moved around to the opposite side of the bed and repeated the process with my other arm.

Carly then asked me to flip over so that I was laying on my back. She removed the small towel that had been covering my buttocks and I did as she asked. For a while my groin area was completed exposed. My penis was still semi-erect as a result of Carly’s sensual fingers working my body. I saw her look at it and smile. Whether Helga, or indeed Nicola, looked at is as well I didn’t know; and, truth be told I didn’t care, I felt so relaxed. Carly placed the little towel back over my nether region and moved up to the top of the bed. She explained that she would finish the session with a head massage.

She put her hands on my head and used her thumbs to gently massage the top of my scalp. She then caressed the folds and lobe of each ear between her thumb and forefinger. This felt so good! She then used her fingertips to gently swipe along the contours of my cheekbones. I was so pleased I’d shaved that morning. She then put her hands beneath my head and gently lifted it slightly from the bed. I was like putty in her delicate hands. She used her fingers to apply firm pressure to the small hollows where the neck meets the base of the skull. Finally, she used her fingertips to gently massage my temples, moving in slow circular motions. Carly explained that the temples are an important acupressure point, so this helps to relieve tension. I found myself staring up at her chest which was just inches above my head; her breasts were wobbling as she rotated her fingers. My member was responding to the sensation and the little towel was being lifted up like a tent as my erection got firmer. Eventually the towel slipped off leaving my penis fully exposed, sticking up like a totem. Carly had obviously noticed because she giggled and said:

“Me thinks you’re enjoying this a little too much!”

 

“I’m so sorry!” I apologised, blushing profusely.

 

“No problem.” Carly comforted me, “I’m used to seeing them. Although they’re not always as big as that!” she grinned.

 

I was feeling particularly chuffed as Carly moved down the side of the bed between me and Nicola and replaced the towel over my member, as she did so she smiled at me and gently touched it, sending a shiver of pleasure throughout my body. She returned to the top of the bed and continued to massage my temples for a while longer. Then she bent over so that I could feel her breasts pressing against my head and whispered in my ear:

“You’re here for two days aren’t you? In one of our luxury suites?”

 

I nodded that we were.

 

“Have you booked your treatment for tomorrow yet?” she asked softly.

 

I shook my head.

 

“If you book with me again I can give you the FBM Plus” she giggled.

 

“I know what FBM is now, but what’s the ‘Plus’?” I asked intrigued.

 

“Well, for a start, we don’t bother with the towels. That means I can massage the bits that are normally covered up.” she chuckled, “Also, you won’t be the only one naked!” she added with a grin.

 

“How do you mean?” I quizzed, not catching her drift.

 

“I’ll strip off too. That’s if you’d like me to?” she clarified.

 

“Really? I’d love you to!” I exclaimed in disbelief.

 

“That’s settled then. I have a slot available at ten o’clock in the morning. Is that okay?”

 

“I’d love to fill your slot at ten o'clock!” I smiled.

 

“Cheeky!” she grinned.

Carly confirmed that she had finished. I looked across at Nicola. Helga was massaging her temples so I guessed she was nearly finished too. During my massage I’d been so lost in what Carly was doing to me that I’d not taken much notice of what was happening on the adjacent bed. I’d heard the odd groan and sigh from Nicola but that was it. Nicola looked so serene and relaxed; she was laying on her back with two little towels strategically placed over her chest and groin. Was it bad that I really wanted to remove the towels and climb on top of her?

Carly had moved half-way down the bed. She removed the small towel that was covering my bits. I saw her look at them again and smile before eventually handing me my big towel to wrap myself in. When Helga finished with Nicola she was much more considerate to ensure her privacy was maintained. Nicola was well-wrapped in her big towel before Helga took the small towels away. We both returned to the cubicles and slipped back into our robes. As we left the treatment room Helga and Carly bade us goodbye, Carly adding a cheerful ‘See you tomorrow’.

 

As we made our way back to our room Nicola looked at me quizzically.

 

“When we left the treatment room Carly said, ‘see you tomorrow’. Have you decided to stay over tonight after all?”

 

“Not at all. It’s just we’ve got the opportunity to have more sessions tomorrow, and to use the facilities. It would be silly not to make the most of it.” I explained.

 

“It would be a waste.” Nicola agreed, “I really enjoyed this afternoon’s session. I feel so relaxed.”

 

“Me too. I’ve booked Carly up for another FBM tomorrow.” I enthused.

 

I thought it best not to tell Nicola what extra Carly had promised she’d do. The mere thought of it caused my member to stiffen again.

 

“Were you going to ask me or not?” Nicola challenged.

 

“I was thinking that if you didn’t want to sleep with me – sorry, share a room with me - that I could go home tonight and come back in the morning. It’s not that far. You could either stay over in the room or I could take you home and bring you back tomorrow too.” I proposed.

 

“You’d let me have your room?” Nicola said in disbelief.

 

“Technically it’s our room. It would be really expensive to book a separate room. In any case, I’ve already checked and they’re fully booked.” I said, “I can leave after dinner and be back in time for breakfast.”

“If you’re happy to do that, I’d love to stay.” Nicola beamed.

We arrived back at our room. We’d got a couple of hours to fill before dinner was due to be served so we decided to check out the pool. We quickly changed into our swimming gear – Nicola in the ensuite, me in the bedroom - and put our soft, snuggly robes back on over top.

 

We located the pool which was contained in a vast and elegant glazed space that just oozed luxury. In the centre of the Romanesque-style building with its elegant pillars, marble surfaces, statues, olive plants and concealed lighting, the pool was a twenty-five-metre bright blue oasis of tranquillity, so unlike public swimming baths. The clear, calm water looked so inviting. Nicola removed her robe to reveal that she was wearing a skimpy, black, string-tie bikini underneath, so out of character with her shy girl-next-door persona. Her skin glistened from the massage; she looked radiant, like a summer morning after rain, fresh and alive, with the world sparkling in her smile.

“Wow! You look stunning!” I exclaimed.

 

“Thank you.” she said coyly, “Last one in is a sissy!” she shouted, neatly side-stepping my compliment.

With that she dived energetically into the pool, which rippled with excitement having tempted someone in. I got in more sedately. I’ve never been a great swimmer, or particularly keen on being in the water, unlike Nicola who I found out could swim like a fish. Given that the resort was supposed to be fully booked I was surprised how quiet the pool was; apart from us there were only a couple of others in the water and another couple observing from sun-loungers on the side. We spent about half-an-hour in the pool then decided to check out the other facilities.

 

We moved on to the sauna, there was a choice of two: a conventional dry one or a steam room. We went for the traditional version. This was situated in an annex next to the pool-room designed to mimic a classic Finnish log cabin. One end was completely glazed; we peered in and were pleased to discover that it was unoccupied; we had the place to ourselves. We opened the door and entered; the dry heat hit us immediately. Obviously the room had not long been vacated. At the opposite end of the space was a modern electric stove heating up stones, which in turn was radiating heat through the air throughout the room. I pressed the on-button and the heater burst into life. The thermometer on the unit was initially showing sixty-five-degrees Celsius, which was fairly comfortable to start with. Nicola sat down on one side; I sat down opposite her. After we had got used to the initial heat I increased the temperature to seventy-five degrees. At this temperature the dry heat makes you feel like you have a fever, and you can sweat out toxins and impurities through your skin. I could feel the sweat running off me and I could see rivulets of perspiration running down Nicola’s gorgeous body. To be fair, I think just sitting opposite Nicola in her tiny bikini would have been enough to make me perspire! I splashed some water onto the stones creating a burst of steam, which temporarily made it easier to breathe, and made our skin feel more comfortable too. We stayed in the sauna for about twenty-minutes then Nicola indicated she’d had enough. I'd never have enough of seeing Nicola in her skimpy bikini.

We made our way from the sauna to the hot tub. This was sunk into the marble floor of another annex. Again the surroundings were exquisitely decorated. The tub had been cleverly landscaped into a backdrop that looked like naturalised rocks, with a mesmerising cascading waterfall feature, and exotic ferns. There were multi-coloured LED lights set into the scenery and in the tub itself, creating a serene, tranquil ambience. Although the tub accommodated up to eight people we were the only ones using it. We immersed ourselves in the warm, bubbling water and let the soothing jets work their magic, smoothly melting away tension. After about five minutes I used the remote control to turn up the pressure on the jets. The sensation of the water against our bodies was both magical and invigorating. The calm was suddenly disrupted by Nicola screaming:

 

“Oh my God! No!”

I looked at her in bewilderment, wondering what on earth could have caused such an outburst. Then I saw it: a flash of black tossing and turning in the turbulent water like a restless shadow caught in a storm’s chaotic embrace. It wasn’t until it broke surface that I realised what it was – Nicola’s bikini bottoms! We both started grabbing at it but it was like a wild animal desperate for freedom. refusing to be caught. Eventually I managed to pluck it out of the water. Without thinking of the wonderful opportunity it presented, I handed it straight back to Nicola. She thanked me and then struggled to put it back on under the water. I tried desperately to see what was going on but the surface of the water was too tempestuous. After several minutes Nicola breathed a sigh of relief.

“Boy, that was a struggle.” she gasped, then realisation struck, “You didn’t see it did you?"

"See it?" I repeated, not catching her drift.

"It! You know, my pussy?” she hissed, her face reddening.

 

Despite my best efforts it had remained hidden throughout by the frenzied water.

 

“Unfortunately not.” I admitted despondently.

 

“Naughty!” Nicola reproached me, relief in her voice.

 

We stayed in the hot tub for about ten minutes longer, then hunger got the better of us. We slipped back into our robes and slippers and padded back up to our room, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

 

“At least it won’t take long to dress for dinner.” I smiled once we’d got back, “We only need put our robes back on.”

“That’s true.” Nicola grinned, “Shall I get ready first?”

 

Nicola went into the ensuite and I heard the shower start. I opened the complementary bottle of Prosecco and poured out two glasses. If I was going to drive home I thought it best to have a small glass of wine now rather than later in the evening. The wine was refreshing and agreeable. It wasn’t long after that Nicola emerged dressed in her robe and drying her hair with towel.

 

“The bathroom’s all yours.” she said, indicating where she’d just come from.

 

“Thank you.” I replied, “I’ve poured you a glass of wine.”        

 

In just fifteen minutes we were both ready for dinner. We stood together in the opulent surroundings of our room, dressed in our robes and supping our wine. It felt so decadent.

 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Nicola asked, blushing slightly.

“Sure, fire away.” I responded, wondering what on earth she was going to ask.

 

“Did you put anything on under your robe this time?” she quizzed, bashfully.

 

“I’ve got my boxers on.“ I confirmed.

 

“Oh, I don’t feel so bad now. I’ve put my bra and panties on under mine but I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to.” she sounded relieved.

 

“I guess it’s just personal choice.” I reassured her.

 

“I suppose so. Although it was great not having to fuss over what to wear, I missed the sense of occasion that dressing for dinner brings.” Nicola admitted.

 

“I do hope the staff were right. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if everyone else is dressed formally and we turn up in dressing gowns?” I said.

 

“Oh my God! Can you imagine!” Nicola exclaimed, “I’m worried now. Would you mind going down to the restaurant to check?”

I padded downstairs to the restaurant in my robe and slippers and peered in. To my relief everyone dining was dressed in their robes, without exception. The place was almost full and it looked surreal to see all the diners decked out identically, like some science fiction vision of a future utopian world. The waiters and waitresses busied themselves between tables like worker bees, dressed in their corporate uniforms with the addition of starched white aprons. I returned upstairs to reassure Nicola that we wouldn’t be out of place. Indeed, anyone dressed normally would stick out like a sore thumb. I noticed Nicola had poured herself another wine.

Once Nicola had finished her second glass of wine we made our way downstairs to the restaurant. We were greeted at the entrance by a pretty young waitress and escorted to a romantic table for two. The restaurant overlooked the gardens at the back of the hotel, offering lovely views to diners while they ate. We were fortunate to be given a table next to a window even though the place was busy. Of all the facilities we had used today this was by far the busiest, which I thought somewhat ironic.

 

As we took our seats at the dining table we exchanged pleasantries with the diners occupying the table nearest us. They were an attractive couple in their late thirties / early forties, of Scandinavian appearance. Both were tall, slim and elegant, with a shock of blonde hair; the woman’s in a stylish pixie cut. Without wishing to sound disparaging to the woman she wasn’t particularly well-endowed in the chest department. Her flat chest was exaggerated by her being so tall, wide shouldered, and the added fact that she was bra-less. Her robe was loose-fitting, giving an enticing glimpse of her small boobs, and occasionally even her nipples. She must have known the view she was giving us but she seemed completely unperturbed by it.

The waitress handed us a menu and informed us that on our inclusive package we could choose three courses from the Table D'Hôte menu, and that we were also entitled to a bottle of house wine. She explained that all the dishes were lovingly made with fresh local produce, and all dietary requirements could be catered for. I had been expecting a menu limited to just healthy dishes – carrot and lettuce soup, that sort of thing – I was pleasantly surprised by the fare on offer. While we perused the menu I ordered a bottle of the House White wine. The waitress hurried away and was soon back at our table with the wine. I had a taster and it was excellent. Although the waitress had been super-quick we felt we were ready to order. I think we were both hungry after the activities during the afternoon. Nicola ordered a Whipped Goats’ Cheese starter, followed by a Trio of Chicken main course, while I went for the Duck Parfait for starter, followed by Lamb Wellington for my main.

While we sat and waited for our food, we supped our wine, gazed out across the breathtaking landscaped grounds, and chatted amiably like old friends. To others we may even have appeared as lovers. It was all most civilised. I kept Nicola’s glass topped up while I drank sparingly, conscious I’d have to drive later.

 

I noticed that the tall blonde lady on the adjacent table had let her robe become loose below the waist. From my vantage point I could see under the table that her long, slender athletic legs were exposed. Amazingly she parted the gown even more and opened her legs to reveal her pussy. I gasped when I realised just how much I could see. She had a small, neat landing strip of fine blond hair, and her pussy was vibrant pink, a bold and energetic shade that demanded attention. I averted my eyes from the splendid view and glanced at her face, I saw that she was smiling at me teasingly. I took another sly look under the table, masking my action by taking a sip of wine as I looked. I nearly choked on my wine when I clocked that she was now stroking her pussy and grinning at me.

“Are you okay?” Nicola said, sounding concerned.

 

“I’m fine.” I coughed, “It just went down the wrong way.”

 

“It’s horrible when it goes in the wrong hole.” Nicola said in all innocence.

 

This made me cough and splutter even more. Nicola poured me a glass of water, which I drank and gradually recovered. I dare not look back under the table again so as a distraction I concentrated on Nicola.

 

“Have you decided what treatments you’re going for tomorrow?” I asked.

 

“I see there’s a ‘beauty package’ that includes a manicure, pedicure and facial. I think I’ll go for that.” Nicola replied.

 

“You don’t need beauty treatment; you’re already beautiful.” I said, and immediately regretted how cringeworthy I sounded.

Luckily before Nicola had opportunity to reflect on my toe-curling comment the waitress had returned with our starters. They looked wonderful, and they tasted delicious. We spoke sparingly as we ate, confining our conversation to praising the scrumptious food. This trend continued as we moved on to our mains. By the time we’d finished these I was well and truly stuffed. By Nicola’s expression I’m sure she was too. Nicola had also drunk the wine; her voice was getting a tad slurred.

“That was wonderful.” Nicola purred, “I couldn’t eat another morsel.”

 

“It was.” I concurred, wiping my mouth with my crisp cotton napkin, “No room for dessert then?”

 

“There’s always room for dessert!” Nicola giggled.

 

The waitress cleared our table while we perused the dessert menu. Eventually Nicola plumped for a Dark Chocolate Delice with Raspberry Sorbet, and I chose an American-style, Fruit Parfait. We ate these in silence apart from appreciative sighs of pleasure. When we’d finished our desserts the waitress brought us out two steaming cups of coffee. It really had been a delightful meal, in wondrous company. The meal in itself was worth First Prize in the Grand Draw.

 

At this point the Nordic-looking couple on the next table stood up to leave. The woman had secured her robe so there was no unexpected revelation there. But the man’s gown gaped open below the waist exposing his manhood. Although he quickly closed it up again I had seen it, so I’m, pretty sure Nicola had clocked it too. After they’d said their goodbyes and left, this was confirmed.

 

“I just saw that man’s bits!” Nicola giggled.

Nicola was as relaxed as I’d ever seen her, and quite jolly. She had become rather carefree with respect to her own robe, letting it open up at the neckline to offer a glimpse of her lacy black bra and cleavage. When I pointed this out to her she reacted by smiling at me and opening it up even more to afford me an even better view.

 

“I wish I’d been brave enough not to wear any underwear.” she said casually, “If I hadn’t you’d be able to see my tits now. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” she asked, unaccustomedly cheeky, her voice muzzy.

“I’m enjoying the view now.” I nodded, gazing at her exposed bra and cleavage.

 

“I’ve got a confession to make.” Nicola whispered leaning in so that only I could hear her.

 

“Oh? What’s that? Do tell.” I replied intrigued.

 

“Earlier when we were having a massage I saw your bits.” she chuckled, “Your penis.” she added, as if clarification was required.

 

“Oh. I was worried you may have got a quick glimpse of it.” I confessed bashfully, “I’m sorry.”

“I got more than a glimpse!” Nicola enthused, “It was Helga that spotted it first. She pointed it out to me, nudging me with a wink. She even stopped massaging me so that I could prop myself up to get a better look at it. You were flat on your back having your temples massaged and your penis was standing bolt-upright in full view, like a soldier standing to attention on parade. We looked at it for some time. I must admit, it was quite impressive!”

 

I was rendered speechless by Nicola’s candid admission; I didn’t know how to respond. If I’d been flabbergasted by what she’d confessed so far I was even more astounded by what she said next.

 

“If we go back up to our room would you show it to me again?” she chuckled, “Of course I’ll show you something in return.”

 

I didn’t need any further encouragement. I stood up straight away and together we hastily made our way back to our room, bounding up the stairs like a playful lambs chasing fallen leaves, full of joy, energy and anticipation.

Once safely behind the closed door of our room I looked at Nicola. She was staring at me, her face grinning with expectancy, like a flower ready to burst into bloom at the first sight of sunlight. I faced Nicola and undid the belt to my robe and opened it up to expose my body clothed in just my boxers. I removed my robe completely. Nicola’s eyes widened; her face eager with fervour. I gripped the top of my boxers and started to slowly lower them. Nicola fidgeted impatiently, with nerves like a child waiting for a surprise at Christmas, heart racing as if it were a moth trapped in a jar, fluttering against the walls of her chest.

I felt my soft boxers slide over my member and knew that it was out in the open. I could tell that Nicola was gawping at it; her eyes had widened even more and she was smiling broadly, her cheeks dimpled. I removed my briefs and stood in front of her totally naked, everything on display. Strangely I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable even though Nicola was staring straight at me - at it. Fortunately I had found the experience massively arousing and I was very hard. My member pointed at Nicola as if it was  singling her out in an identity parade. She was looking at it with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

 

“Happy?” I asked as Nicola hadn’t said anything.

 

“Yes. Thank you.” Nicola replied, sounding somewhat awestruck, “Is it bad that I really want to hold it?”

 

“I think you ought to show me something first, don’t you?” I countered, “You said you would.”

“I’m not so brave as you.” Nicola responded timidly, “It didn’t seem so real when we were just talking about it in the restaurant. It just seemed like a game; I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”

 

“Well I have." I stated, then reminded her, "As Helga said earlier today: ‘We’re all friends here. Strip off.’”

Nicola looked askance then nervously undid the belt on her robe. Once it was undone she opened it up to reveal her lacy black bra and tiny matching black panties. She let the robe slide slowly to the floor. She stepped out of it. I recalled how I’d watched her on the day of the fete hoping that the wind may lift her dress up so that I got a wistful glimpse of her undies, and how I’d been left bitterly disappointed; yet here she was standing in front of me dressed in nothing more. She looked fantastic. Not for the first time today I was rendered speechless. Nicola interpreted my silence as a sign that I wasn’t satisfied yet, and that I wanted her to carry on.

She looked extremely apprehensive, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching car. I could almost hear her heart racing. Very slowly she put her hands behind her back and unclasped her bra. She was even slower to let the gauzy black garment fall away from her chest. Eventually her boobs were exposed. I had gasped with delight as they were revealed. Her breasts were firm, perky and bell-shaped with a narrow top and a more rounded bottom. I confess to not being an expert on breast sizes but I estimate they were average probably size B or possibly C. Her areolae appeared smooth, tawny brown and about the size of a ten pence piece: her nipples were protruding, hard and pronounced. She stood directly in front of me in just her tiny black panties.

“Are you expecting me to carry on?” Nicola said, uneasily, her voice trembling, her heartbeat caught between longing and fear, “To take of my….” she hesitated as if the words themselves were exposing, then continued, “To take off my panties?”

 

“I was hoping you would, given that I have. Honestly, it’s not too bad.” I said, trying to be as reassuring as possible, “Would another drink help?”

 

“I don’t mind if I do. I need to drink up the nerve to show you anymore.” Nicola replied with a tremulous giggle. I suspect it was more of a delaying tactic than a desire for more drink.

 

I walked over to the table where the Prosecco from earlier was still resting in the cooler. I poured out two glasses. I made the optimistic assumption that I wouldn’t be driving home tonight after all. I wondered back to Nicola, my member swinging freely. I could see she was staring at it.

 

“I wish I had your confidence.” she sighed, “You don’t seem to mind me looking at your bits at all.”

 

I passed her a glass of wine and we both said ‘Cheers!’. I was standing so close now that I could see slight pimples on her areolae. I was close enough that, had I been minded to, I could have pulled her little panties down myself. It was so tempting. She downed her wine and handed her empty glass back to me. I stepped away.

 

“Ready now?” I asked with hope.

 

“I guess so.” Nicola replied uncertainly, her whispered voice a tremor echoing the tempest brewing inside her, “It’s just it’s been a long time since I’ve shown my pussy to anyone, let alone a relative stranger.”

Slowly her hands moved to the top of her tiny black panties. I watched her eagerly, like peeking through a keyhole at a forbidden view, eyes wide with wonder my heart fluttering with expectation. Almost imperceptibly her panties started to lower. I held my breath in sweet anticipation. After what seemed an eternity Nicola’s pussy came into view. I gasped in delight at the sight, like a child seeing a rainbow for the first time, eyes wide and heart pounding. Just as I imagined she would be she was shaved baby-smooth. Her slit was neat, cotton-candy pink, delicate, soft like cherry-blossom.

Once her pussy was exposed Nicola let her flimsy panties fall to the floor and she stepped out of them.

 

“Well?” she asked, her voice still quivering, “I did it!” her voice conveying a sense of achievement as though she’d overcome some inner fear.

 

“You look fantastic!,” I told her, “You should be more self-assured. You’ve got a great body and the cutest pussy ever.”

 

“Thank you. That means a lot.” she smiled, then she continued, “Can I hold it now?”

 

She left me in no doubt what she meant, as she spoke she had looked gleefully in the direction of my manhood. I nodded my assent, eager for her touch. She reached out, wrapped her smooth, sensitive fingers around my cock and started to rub it. Her touch was tender and teasing, each caress exciting and arousing, awakening every sense with a playful thrill.

“My boyfriend loves me doing this.” she beamed, “He says my fingers are magical.”

 

“Boyfriend?” I queried, alarmed that I may be figuratively stepping on someone’s toes.

 

“Sorry! Ex-boyfriend, I should have said.” she corrected herself, “Although you’re much older than him you’re in better shape than he is, and your cock is longer than his but not so thick. His is short and squat. And he doesn’t have a foreskin. Yours is harder. I prefer yours.” she rambled on excitedly.

 

“Nicola, a word of advice: it’s probably not a good idea to discuss your various partners’ cocks with them.” I offered.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Nicola said, “Sometimes my thoughts run away with me when I’m nervous.”

 

She had worked my foreskin back to expose my sensitive dome. Her fingers glided over it like a feather tracing the surface of a still pond, rippling with excitement and promise. Nicola was lost in the moment, fascinated by what she was doing. I reached out and put my hand between her legs, feeling my way to her vulva. I stroked it with the flat of hand; it was warm and inviting. I let my fingertips slide over her labia, which opened under my touch like a flower in the morning light. She let out a gasp of pleasure as my fingers slipped inside.

As we explored each other’s genitalia we had instinctively backed towards the bed. When Nicola felt it touch the back of her legs she lowered herself down onto it and invitingly opened her legs. I accepted the enticement willingly and eagerly, like a butterfly flutters toward a blooming flower, drawn in by the sweet promise of nectar. She lies back, and I kneel above her, my hands on her hips. I look at her face, seeking permission. Her green eyes sparkle with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. Her nod of consent is barely noticeable but I recognise it. I gently lower myself on top of her and within moments I’m inside her. She groans with pleasure as I enter her, thrusting up her pelvis to drive me in deeper.

I lean over her, cup her delightful breasts in my hands and fondle them lovingly. She has her hands on my back and buttocks pressing her fingers in, urging me to penetrate further. Then we kiss. Amazingly, given all that we have done already, this is the first time our lips have met. Her kiss tastes like the first bite of a ripe strawberry, sweet and bursting with flavour, full of summer joy.

Our movements become more fluid, more instinctive. The scent of her skin – a hint of coconut massage oil, sweat and lavender soap – mingles with the aroma of the freshly cut flowers on the bedside table to evoke feelings of a summer evening. Her vagina engulfs me, warm and pulsating, and my testicles nestle against her skin. Each thrust brings a new sensation: the heaving of her breasts, the warmth of our bodies, the quiet panting that fills the room.

 

Our breathing is getting faster, my thrusts more intense, and Nicola is increasingly vocal, to the extent that I can’t kiss her on the lips anymore. I push her hair away from her neck and smooch her just under the ear lobe. This seems to send her over the edge. She cries out ‘Yes please!’ and suddenly her vagina is full of our fluids mixing in the politest climax I’ve ever known.

 

When it’s over we lay in each other’s arms in virtual silence, the only perceptible noise comes from our heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats, even these are gradually returning to normal. I continue to nuzzle into her neck, her hair soft and sweet-smelling against my cheeks. My right hand caresses her boobs, while one of Nicola’s hands is gently massaging my balls. Eventually Nicola speaks, her soft voice breaking the silence like a gentle breeze rustling leaves deep in a forest, filling the air with a melody that sings of fulfillment.

 

“Mmm. That was lovely. Thank you.”

 

I stop nuzzling her neck and look at her. Her face is a picture of contentment, her green eyes glistening softly in the gentle light, like emeralds catching the first rays of a fresh morning.

 

“You were terrific.” I sighed, “Thank you.”

 

“I must admit I can’t believe we actually did it.” she giggled, “I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

“Neither was I.” I admitted, then added dejectedly, “I suppose I ought to head home now. I’ll see you again in the morning.”

 

“Do you have to? I’d rather you stayed. It is your room after all.” Nicola reasoned.

 

“You don’t mind? You were adamant earlier that you didn’t want us to sleep together.” I reminded her.

 

“Sleeping together seems quite trivial after what we’ve just done!” Nicola giggled, “Let’s just turn off the lights and cuddle up.”

 

So that’s what we did. Once the lights were off we kissed our ‘goodnights’, wrapped our arms around each other and drifted off to sleep. I don’t know what Nicola was thinking but I was reflecting on what had been a perfect day – the best First Prize ever!

To be continued….

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