When Tina woke in the morning, the air in the room still held the distinct musky odor of pussy. Sunlight slanted through the gap in the curtains, striping the bed with a bright golden line that illuminated dust motes dancing in the still air. She winced as she rolled from her side onto her back, a breast slipping free from her lavender camisole. There was a dull ache between her thighs from Dan’s huge cock and her own self-pleasure. Stretching, she saw that Lindsay had kicked off her covers in her sleep and lay on her stomach snoring softly, her round, bare ass pointing at the ceiling. A light dusting of blonde peach fuzz was just visible along the small of her back, glinting gold in the sunbeam, and Tina couldn’t help but grin at the unintentionally provocative display.
Tina squinted at her phone, 10:47 AM, and groaned at how they had slept away most of the morning. Extricating herself from the tangle of sheets, she padded to the bathroom, her top and silky shorts discarded along the way. After taking a hot shower, Tina wrapped herself in one of the resort’s absurdly thick white towels, her skin pink and tingling from the scalding water. When she wandered back into the bedroom, she found Lindsay was up and standing completely naked on the balcony, her full breasts and dimpled ass on display as she gazed out at the turquoise horizon, apparently indifferent to the possibility of being spotted by anyone who cared to look. Tina shook her head and chuckled to herself as she ran a brush through her hair.
Lindsay came back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind her with a thud that rattled the glass. “I think I want to be a nudist now,” she proclaimed with a shameless grin, her hips swaying with each step as she made her way to the Keurig and threw a pod in, the machine gurgling to life with a mechanical hiss.
Tina laughed and tossed her damp towel onto the rumpled bed, the aroma of coffee filling the space. “Okay, we’re nudists, but only in the room,” she said, rifling through her suitcase. “I don’t want to have to call my ex from some Caribbean jail for bail because of public indecency charges.”
Lindsay rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her steaming mug, the bitter warmth spreading through her chest as Tina slipped into her underwear and tugged on a pair of white cotton shorts that hugged the curve of her ass. She gestured at Lindsay’s breasts, “Now cover those monstrosities,” she chuckled, yanking a soft navy t-shirt over her head, “so we can go get brunch, I’m starving.”
Lindsay set down her coffee mug. “Yeah, yeah, but I’m not putting on a bra.” She shimmied into a pair of shorts and pulled on a tight, faded red shirt with the logo from a long-defunct craft brewery in Portland. The fabric of the shirt was so taut across her chest, every contour of her areola and nipples was clearly visible. She cupped her hands beneath her breasts and bounced them deliberately, the flesh jiggling beneath the material. Tina snorted and slid her sunglasses onto her face, pushing them up into her still-damp hair. “Come on, slut,” she said, “I need a Bloody Mary with extra olives and about four strips of bacon.”
They made their way down to the resort’s open-air restaurant, a sprawling terrace shaded by white canvas umbrellas and fringed with potted palms. Tablecloths fluttered in the breeze as servers in crisp uniforms navigated between tables. A hostess with an impeccable high ponytail and a practiced smile led them to a corner table overlooking the beach, where the surf rolled in lazy, rhythmic curls against the sugar-white sand.
After devouring her last forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs smothered in hot sauce, Lindsay pushed her empty plate away with a satisfied sigh. Her chair scraped against the terracotta tiles as she hopped up. “Be right back,” she called over her shoulder, blonde hair bouncing as she made her way between the crowded tables, disappearing through the glass doors into the air-conditioned lobby. Tina sipped her Bloody Mary, wondering what kind of mischief her friend was plotting. Ten minutes later, Lindsay returned with a huge smile stretching across her sun-kissed face. “I booked us the ‘Caribbean Premier Extravaganza’ package at the spa,” she declared, dropping back into her chair, making her unfettered boobs wiggle. “Side-by-side full-body massages, seaweed wraps, European facials.” She plucked a perfectly ripe slice of pineapple from Tina’s plate, popping it into her mouth. “And we get unlimited use of the indoor pool and sauna,” she added excitedly.
Tina raised her glass in a toast, genuinely excited for a day of pampering. “To relaxation.”
Lindsay clinked her glass against Tina’s. “To relaxation,” she echoed, “and giving our poor pussies some rest,” she laughed before finishing her peach Bellini in a single gulp.
“Hear, hear,” Tina agreed, raising her glass in solidarity before draining the last of her Bloody Mary.
After finishing brunch, the women make a quick stop to their room to toss their swimsuits and some toiletries into a canvas bag before strolling arm-in-arm to the spa, arriving over an hour early. The air inside hit their skin like cool silk, heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and jasmine oil. Against one wall, a waterfall trickled over polished obsidian and jade-colored river stones, sending diamond droplets into a shallow basin below. The gentle splashing mingled with the hypnotic tones of bamboo flutes and crystalline chimes that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. They were greeted by a receptionist with impossibly straight coal-black hair that fell to her waist, her delicate frame draped in a pristine white uniform that seemed to glow against her amber skin. She led them through a short hallway to a changing room paneled in blonde teak, where she presented them with robes so thick and plush they felt like clouds, each embroidered with the spa’s golden sunburst crest. The receptionist gestured toward a frosted glass door. “Our facilities are at your disposal until your appointment. The pool area and sauna,” she added with a practiced lilt that suggested she’d delivered this speech countless times, “accommodate all guests regardless of gender, and are clothing-optional.” Her slender fingers interlaced at her narrow waist, and she inclined her head slightly. “Someone will come and find you when your therapists are ready,” she said, her voice melodic and hushed like a temple priestess. Her uniform whispered as she turned with balletic grace, her straight black hair swinging like a silk curtain across her back before she disappeared through the doorway.
“Clothing-optional, yay!” Lindsay said giddily as she stripped off her clothes, peeling the tight red shirt over her head with a little bounce that set her heavy breasts swinging. Tina felt a surprising spike of apprehension crawling up her spine as she undressed, reaching into the canvas bag for her black bikini. She glanced at Lindsay, who was already wrapping herself in the luxurious robe, her large, rosy nipples disappearing beneath the fluffy white fabric.
“You’re really going to wear that thing? I thought we were nudists now?” Lindsay asked, her lips curling into a teasing smirk as she pointed at the suit that Tina was clutching like a shield against her bare stomach.
Tina hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and then let the garment slip from her fingers back into the bag with a soft rustle. A weak, unsure smile played across her lips, “Okay, fine,” she conceded, wrapping herself in her own robe, the thick cotton enveloping her naked body like a protective cocoon.
They pushed through the frosted door and entered a cathedral-like atrium where the ceiling soared overhead, its glass skylights filtering Caribbean sunshine into prismatic beams that dappled the space below. The pool, an oasis of shimmering turquoise that shifted between emerald and sapphire with each ripple, stretched before them like a liquid jewel set into polished marble floors. Lush ficus trees with glossy, tear-shaped leaves stretched toward the skylights, their gnarled trunks partially hidden by clusters of bamboo and fat-leafed philodendron that cascaded from hanging planters. A hot tub the size of a suburban living room was recessed into the floor, its water churning with sudsy bubbles that released tendrils of steam into the air.
The pool area wasn’t empty. A young couple, who looked like honeymooners, reclined on adjacent loungers, their fingers intertwined as they whispered to each other and cast furtive glances around the room. In the pool, a middle-aged man with bronzed skin and dark chest hair was methodically doing the breast stroke, his powerful shoulders breaking the surface with each forward thrust, water sluicing off his muscular back as he glided up and down the length of the pool, leaving gentle ripples in his wake. On the rim of the bubbling hot tub, a trio of women with similar facial features and varying shades and lengths of brunette hair, obviously sisters, sat chatting with their calves submerged in the froth. Tina’s stomach tightened as she realized that despite the ‘clothing-optional’ policy, none of them were naked. Her fingers toyed with the belt of her robe, loosening it, then tightening it again. She longed to recapture the freedom she’d experienced yesterday at the beach, yet her courage faltered now. The prospect of being nude among modestly covered strangers, people she might awkwardly encounter later at the restaurant or in the elevator, who would recognize her as ‘that naked woman from the spa’, made her self-conscious.
Lindsay, however, didn’t hesitate for a second. Embracing her newfound ‘nudist lifestyle’, she untied her robe and let it slide from her shoulders, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair. She sauntered toward the pool, hips swaying with each step, her large breasts swinging freely, nipples puckered in arousal at being watched. The young husband’s eyes widened to saucers, his lips parting slightly as a visible tent formed in the pale green fabric of his swim trunks. His new wife’s face took on an expression of shock and disbelief as Lindsay’s jiggling bare ass and exposed pussy passed within arm’s reach. The sisters’ animated conversation evaporated mid-syllable, three pairs of eyes swiveling in unison, tracking Lindsay’s confident stride; not merely gawking at her brazen nakedness, but at the nonchalance with which she displayed it. The swimmer paused at the wall, his bald head gleaming wet beneath the natural lighting, droplets cascading down his temples. He watched Lindsay walk down the steps into the pool, the crystalline water lapping at her thighs, then her waist, and finally reaching her chest, where her buoyant breasts floated on the surface.
After Lindsay’s shameless display, all eyes pivoted toward Tina, who stood frozen just inside the entry. Her throat constricted as she felt the weight of their collective stares; the honeymooners’ matching expressions of scandalized curiosity, the swimmer’s appraising gaze, the three sisters’ judgment, their whispers now audible in the sudden quiet, and Lindsay’s expectant grin, head tilted in silent challenge. Tina’s knees threatened to buckle, a flutter spreading from her belly as she wavered between mortification and the thrill of being seen. She took a deep breath, shrugged her robe off, and walked with as much dignity as she could to the hot tub, her bare breasts bouncing slightly and the dark triangle between her legs drawing more than one pair of eyes. “Hello, ladies,” Tina greeted the sisters as she lowered herself into the warm, bubbling water.
The three women exchanged glances, their initial shock softening into something between amusement and reluctant admiration. The eldest, a woman in her mid-forties with the beginnings of silver streaks threading through her chestnut hair, offered a tentative smile. “Well,” she said, her voice carrying a trace of a Boston accent, “you and your friend certainly know how to make an entrance.”
Tina laughed, the hot water swirling around her breasts, bubbles tickling her nipples. “Three days ago,” she admitted, settling deeper into the frothy warmth that caressed her body, “I would have died before letting strangers see me naked.” She gestured with her chin toward Lindsay, who was now floating on her back in the pool, her large breasts looking like twin flesh islands. “But that one over there is a terrible influence. She seems to be turning me into quite the exhibitionist.”
Lindsay and Tina lost track of time as they alternated between the pool’s refreshing chill and the hot tub’s simmering caress, their muscles unwinding and tension dissolving with each submersion. Eventually, they claimed two adjacent loungers, stretching out their bare bodies without shame. Tina’s nipples hardened in the cool air while Lindsay’s legs fell open slightly, exposing her pink folds. They watched the subtle theater of other guests’ reactions, men’s eyes lingering on their exposed breasts, women’s gazes darting between their faces and their pussies. People filtered in and out of the spa sanctuary, some averting their eyes while others openly stared, both reactions feeding their exhibitionism.
A petite woman approached their loungers, her light brown hair twisted into an immaculate bun that accentuated high cheekbones and large brown doe eyes. Indifferent to their nudity, she informed them in an Eastern European accent that their massage therapists were prepared to receive them. After the women retrieved their robes, she escorted them down a hallway lined with intricate wooden screens, each panel carved with swirling ocean motifs. The corridor ended at a pair of heavy sliding doors, Tatami matting underfoot, and a hint of sandalwood drifting in the air. Inside, the room was palatial. Two side-by-side massage tables of lacquered bamboo and white linens sat facing floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic views of the sea. The ceiling arched overhead in pale, coffered wood, giving the whole place the hush of a cathedral.
The two therapists were already there, setting things up. Both were younger men, with tall, lean bodies, dressed in loose linen pants and nothing else. One had a tangle of black hair and dark eyes, while the other had Scandinavian features with ash-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. Their motions were measured and graceful, setting scented oils within arm’s reach, smoothing out the smallest wrinkle in the pristine sheets, then standing with perfect posture, hands clasped behind their backs. The dark-haired therapist stepped forward, his olive skin gleaming with a thin sheen of oil that accentuated the defined muscles of his bare chest. “Welcome, ladies,” he said, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to vibrate through the room. “I am Gabriel,” he added with a slight bow of his head, “and this,” he nodded toward the blond man whose sculpted torso tapered to a narrow waist above his loose pants, “is Sven. If you wouldn’t mind disrobing and lying face down, making yourselves comfortable, we can begin your full body massages.”
Tina’s eyes scanned the massage tables, noticing immediately that they lacked the discreet draping sheets that typically preserved one’s modesty. No folded towels waited at the foot of the tables, no strategically placed cloths to cover intimate areas. Just bare, smooth tables topped with crisp white linens that would hide absolutely nothing. The absence of these privacy shields, so standard in every spa she’d ever visited, made her pulse quicken, knowing these young men’s eyes would soon see her exposed breasts, the curve of her ass, the dark hair between her legs, and even the pink folds of her exposed pussy when she spread her thighs for the massage. She felt the familiar tug-of-war between modesty and the delirious thrill of exhibition. She hesitated for only half a second, then in one smooth motion shed her robe and draped herself face-down across the padded table, arms at her sides, breasts compressing beneath her, feeling the shockingly cool surface against her bare skin.
Lindsay discarded her robe with a flourish and strutted toward the vacant table, her lips curving into a sly smile as she caught both therapists’ eyes before mounting the padded surface. She stretched herself out, her large tits flattening and squeezing out at her sides, spreading her legs wide enough so both men could clearly see her swollen labia. She wiggled her ass once, testing the integrity of the table, and let out a theatrical sigh of contentment.
The therapists conferred in low tones, their voices so gentle they blended into the soundscape, then approached simultaneously, Gabriel moving with grace to Lindsay’s side while Sven took up post at Tina’s head, his ice-bright gaze flicking over her body with an appreciative thoroughness. They streamed amber-colored oil from crystal decanters, the warm liquid pooling in the small of each woman’s back before skilled fingers spread it across their skin. Gabriel’s strong hands kneaded Lindsay’s shoulders, working down her spine in firm circles while Sven’s thumbs pressed into the tight muscles along Tina’s neck, drawing a soft moan from her lips. Their touch was methodical yet sensual, gliding over shoulder blades, tracing ribs, massaging the soft flesh of waists before moving to the curves of buttocks and the tender backs of thighs and calves. After thirty minutes of this exquisite attention, both men whispered in turn, “Please turn over,” their voices serene with professional intimacy.
The women obeyed, flipping onto their backs in unison, their oil-slicked skin sliding against the pristine sheets.
Tina felt her cheeks flush at the way Sven’s eyes took in the full scope of her nakedness: her small, pert, round breasts, the gentle rise of her belly, and her dark bush above the slightly swollen lips of her vulva. He tilted the decanter directly above her chest and let the warm oil drip onto her breasts, beads collecting on the soft skin and running in languid rivulets to pool around her navel. He used broad, deliberate strokes of his palms to spread it over the curve of her chest, cupping each breast in turn, kneading them with a thoroughness that felt both shamelessly erotic and deeply relaxing. His fingers circled each nipple, rubbing the oil into ever-tightening buds, sometimes pinching them gently between his thumb and forefinger until Tina’s breathing became shallow and uneven. When his hands swept lower, sliding across her sides to the gentle swell of her hips, Tina parted her thighs instinctively, baring herself in a silent plea for more.
Sven worked his way down, palms gliding along her stomach, fingers splaying as they slipped over her hipbones, then lower, stroking the tops of her thighs in slow, outward sweeps that always returned a fraction closer to the center, closing the gap with every circuit. The anticipation was itself a kind of massage, each near-miss flickering a spark of longing until it radiated in a bloom of heat through her pelvic floor. When at last his fingers caressed her pussy, he did not hesitate or pretend at modesty. His hands cupped her mound, thumbs spreading apart the slick outer lips with the same technical confidence he’d used to knead her shoulders before. He massaged her labia with the pads of his thumbs, using slow, rolling pressure as if working a knot from any other muscle, then slid a single oil-slick finger along the length of her slit. The glide was effortless; she was so wet that his finger passed from perineum to hood in a single, leisurely stroke.
She met his eyes for a moment and, seeing only impassive, professional calm, Tina spread her legs wider, opening herself up to his touch. Sven, unmoved by either embarrassment or titillation, maintained his steady rhythm. His finger spiraled in gentle circles around her hood, each pass drawing her nub out, until her entire body hummed with the promise of release. When he pressed his thumb flat against her exposed clitoris and began to rock it in slow, rhythmic sweeps, Tina’s hips jerked upward in a helpless, involuntary spasm. Two of Sven’s fingers glided between her folds, massaging her opening until it permitted them to enter. She felt him probing skillfully, curling upward at just the right angle, and the sensation of penetration was so electric that for a moment her vision filled with static, her world reduced to the pressure and texture of his invasive touch. The pleasure was not rushed; the steady, deliberate rhythm built in concentric waves, each more intense than the last, until she found herself teetering on the edge of orgasm in a way that she’d never quite experienced before.
Tina turned her head to look at Lindsay on the adjacent table, who was having a parallel, but seemingly more explicit experience. Her body, slick with oil, glowed beneath the soft lighting. Gabriel’s long fingers worked between her splayed thighs, two digits disappearing rhythmically inside her while the fingertips of his other hand circled her swollen clit. Lindsay’s head was thrown back, lips parted in a silent gasp, her full breasts quivering with each thrust. Her left hand had found its way to Gabriel’s waistband, her fingers trembling with urgency as they fumbled with the drawstring of his linen pants. Eventually, she managed to untie the knot, his loose pants flowing down his muscular thighs to the floor. His freed cock, pulsing with arousal, was already drooling a bead of clear liquid. Lindsay’s hand instantly wrapped around the shaft, thumb sweeping the slit before plunging it down to the base. A whimper of pleasure escaped Lindsay as she pumped Gabriel in time with the rhythm of his fingers, her body straining upward as he fingered her with the methodical motion of a master musician.
The therapists worked in perfect synchronization, their hands orchestrating pleasure with practiced precision; Gabriel drawing gasps from Lindsay’s throat while Sven coaxed soft moans from Tina’s parted lips, their movements creating an obscene duet of slick sounds and quickening breaths. Tina’s whole body jittered, a tightly stretched bowstring craving release. Sven’s attention never flagged or wandered; he had her mapped and measured, the slip of his finger and pad of his thumb tuned precisely to her mounting need. When she finally came, it was not a shattering, screaming thing, but an inward folding, the air collapsing from her lungs as her pelvis drew up into a ball of tendons and nerves and then let go, flooding her with glimmering heat and the eerie, half-painful clarity of a perfect orgasm. She trembled, thighs quivering, as Sven’s fingers gentled, drawing out each spasm with the same slow, professional grace he’d used to coax her climax out in the first place.
Lindsay gasped, the fingers of her free hand digging into the rolled edge of the massage table. She squeezed Gabriel’s cock, coaxing out a stream of pre-cum from the head that trickled over her fist, slicking her hand as she jacked him harder. Gabriel stayed focused on her clit and cunt, relentlessly pushing her to the edge over and over with swirling fingertips and firm, filling pressure. Each time Lindsay’s body stiffened, he modulated his rhythm just enough to draw the sensation out, denying her release until she whimpered, desperately pleading, “Let me cum. Please let me cum,” her thighs vibrating against the table. Gabriel’s gaze flicked to her face, then back to her drooling pussy, and he gave her what she was begging for: three rapid, focused pulses against her throbbing clit as he drove his fingers deeply inside her.
Lindsay howled, her voice shattered and hoarse as she climaxed in a wet, wrenching seizure, her whole body shaking. The orgasm radiated outward, through her legs and up her spine, dissolving her completely into the table. She sobbed, “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” tears beading at the corners of her half-closed eyes as her hips bucked wildly against the table. Her fingers tightened around his thick shaft, the veins pulsing beneath her palm as she pumped him with frantic, uneven strokes, her thumb circling the swollen head, desperate to feel him erupt.
With a slow, controlled exhale, Gabriel ejaculated. The first pulse shot from him in a brilliant arc, landing across her oiled belly, a few drops splattering on her breasts. She stroked him through it, squeezing every droplet from the shaft, until her stomach and tits were polka-dotted with streaks of pearly fluid. All the while, he didn’t stop working her pussy, the two fingers buried inside her slowing to a sluggish rhythm as she drifted down from her climax, her inner walls fluttering with diminishing spasms.
The two therapists withdrew their fingers with practiced delicacy, digits emerging slick and glistening from swollen, pink flesh. In perfect unison, they unfolded crisp cotton sheaths, the fabric whispering as it settled across the women’s bodies. They tucked the edges with rehearsed precision, the soft material molding to curves still flushed with afterglow. The air in the room had thickened; sandalwood and lavender now mingled with the earthier musk of pussy and cum. Gabriel slid his pants up over his softening cock, and the men padded toward the anteroom, their exit marked only by the whispered sigh of the heavy door closing behind them.
Lindsay rolled her head to the side, her damp hair clinging to her cheek as she took in the sight of the post-orgasmic limp puddle of Tina. Their eyes met, and Lindsay’s lips curved into a half smile. “Jesus,” she murmured, “you look like I feel.”
“Yeah,” Tina breathed out, her words floating on a sigh as a slow, dreamy grin spread across her face, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused.
They lay there for a few minutes, every inch of skin alive, little wisps of lingering pleasure pulsing through their nerve endings. Tina’s toes curled involuntarily every few seconds, and Lindsay’s chest rose and fell with each deep, satiated breath. The petite woman with the large brown eyes appeared silently, bearing tall frosted glasses of lemon water and a mosaic of sliced tropical fruits arrayed decoratively on a hammered copper serving tray. “I can see that you enjoyed your time with Gabriel and Sven,” she smiled, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she set the tray on the bamboo side table. “When you are ready, the orchid room is prepared for your body wraps and facials,” she murmured, then glided to her position by the wall, eyes downcast in professional deference.
The women peeled off their covering sheets, exposing their still-stimulated bodies to the cool air. They sat up, legs dangling over the edges of their tables, and sipped the offered glasses of water and nibbled on the fruit. Tina glanced over to their escort, then leaned toward Lindsay, whispering, “So much for giving our pussies a rest, but, oh my god, Sven’s fingers were magic. The way he made me cum, holy shit.” She bit into a piece of ripe mango. “Regular massages are ruined for me forever.”
Lindsay laughed. Not bothering to whisper, she replied, “I can’t believe I jacked my guy off. But honestly, the way he was finger-fucking me, he deserved it.”
Once rehydrated and refreshed, the friends hopped off their tables and slipped on their robes, following the small woman to the orchid room. The next hour passed in a fragrant haze of seaweed wraps, cucumber masks, and scalp massages so relaxing that Tina struggled to keep her eyes open, nodding off with an ethereal smile on her lips while the attendant worked her fingers through her hair. Lindsay surrendered to the total pleasure of her own pampering, half-lulled and half turned on, drifting in and out of fragments of fantasy where Gabriel was between her legs, licking her pussy. When she came back to herself, she realized that she’d been moaning. The attendant massaging her temples just courteously smiled with a tranquil expression, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
After their treatments, the women showered in the rainfall stalls, hot water cascading over their bodies like tropical rain, sluicing away the emerald traces of seaweed and slick residue of oil that had penetrated deep into their pores. Their skin tingled with heightened sensitivity, each droplet a tiny shock against nerve endings still vibrating from their earlier pleasure. After drying off, they reluctantly slipped back into their clothes that felt oddly restrictive after hours of luxurious nakedness.
When they left the spa, they wandered through the resort’s marble-floored boutiques, fingers lingering on silk and sequins before deciding to splurge on scandalous dresses to wear for the evening. Back in their ocean-view room, with the sunset painting the walls coral and gold, they did their hair and primped for dinner. Tina applied a smoky charcoal shadow that transformed her gaze into something dangerously wild, and Lindsay dabbed musky perfume in the hollow between her heavy breasts and behind her knees, where the scent would bloom with her body heat. When they were ready, they stepped back to admire each other before gathering their tiny clutch purses and sashaying down the corridor toward the elevator, the scent of their perfumes mingling in their wake.
Thanks for reading. Likes and favorites are greatly appreciated, and your comments are always welcome.
