End of the Innocence

Chapter 32

May I remove the sheet?

With his question, with my response, I had given more than just permission to remove the sheet. I had opened the door, and I was slightly terrified about what would walk through it.

I lay on my stomach, my head on the pillow, grateful for the hide of my face, the layer of protection it, like my blindfold, gave. He started at my feet, behaving, normal kneading movements that shouldn’t have been sexual, shouldn’t have made my heart race and my pussy wet. Then he gently lifted and moved, one leg and then the other, spreading my legs slightly, the cold air of the room hitting my folds, alerting me to the fact that I was exposed, open to his eyes. His hands ran along my calves, oiling up my skin, his touch incredible on my tense muscles. I wondered how much he could see, if the moisture glistened between my legs. He worked silently, his touch slow enough to be sensual, practiced enough to be effective. I should have been relaxed, my muscles putty in his hands, but the fight to stay unaffected was only making me more aware. Aware of my open legs, aware of his strong hands, his masculine presence, the fact that I was naked before him. What would I do when it was time to turn over?

He moved closer, his hands sliding over the back of my knees and starting a slow, leisurely knead of my thighs, his large hands running and gripping their whole width, each movement insanely close to me, to the spot between my legs that was now soaked.

His hands stopped, releasing me, and he moved, coming around my body, my eyes opening and watching shadows pass until I felt his hands on my opposite side, taking the movement there. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, willing my muscles to loosen. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, tried to think about anything but the ten fingers that were inching their way up my thighs.

A hand touched my back, sliding up the curve of my spine until it reached the back of my neck. I frowned, my eyes opening, trying to understand the placement of the hand, and the location of the masseuse, my bombarded brain confused, then realizing the impossibility of the situation, the impossibility of three hands on one man, and I stiffened, starting to rise, but feeling the hand on my neck keep me down.

“Relax.” Brad’s voice was in my ear, his hand turning from strong to caressing in moments. “It’s me.” I obeyed, my body instantly releasing the tension, his presence reassuring to my nervous body. My limbs became loose, and the masseuse’s hands continued their perfect manipulation of my thighs. He nuzzled my ear, placing a quick kiss on my neck. “Do you want him to continue, or should I ask him to leave?”

I took a deep breath, knowing the answer before he even finished the question. “Continue.”

He chuckled in my ear, his mouth finding my neck again before he straightened. “I’ll be here, baby.”

Knowing he was there, in the room, in control of the situation, allowed me to fully enjoy Tyler’s touch. I inched my legs farther apart, and felt his touch change, the gain of confidence and control with the additional permission. He spread his fingers, the same strokes of my upper thigh now barely brushing my velvet folds, the soft sporadic contact driving me absolutely wild. I had never had so much buildup, so much teasing without fulfillment, and I had an ache that was running out of control. I arched my back, lifting my ass up, reaching, trying to get more, but he kept me at bay, kept his hands on my thighs, the only solace in the occasional brush that seemed almost accidental in its contact.

I heard Brad move, my ears attuned to every sound, the clunk of his watch as he unclipped it and dropped the heavy item on the dresser. His belt, the slide of leather through cloth as he removed it. Leather creaking as he settled into the chair in the corner of the room.

The hands on my body separated, now one on each thigh, and the man moved beyond the professional borders, running gentle hands down the skin of my inner thigh, then a soft hand over my sex, gently passing up and down my lips. I whimpered, holding back a beg, gripping the side of the table and fighting the urge to turn over and demand more.

“Flip over,” Brad’s voice spoke from the corner.

I complied, moving carefully on the narrow bed, lifting up, my vision suddenly open, my eyes taking in the room. Brad settled comfortably in the chair, one leg up on an ottoman, his dress shirt untucked, possession in his eyes. The masseuse, still fully dressed while I laid there naked, on display for the two men in the room.

“Proceed, Tyler.”

I relaxed my head, closing my eyes, and was surprised to feel the silk of the sheet, settling back over my body, my nakedness covered once again. The man spoke respectfully, his voice above me. “Should I continue what I was doing earlier?”

I nodded. “Please.” Inside, I was screaming the word, my sub-conscious dragging herself up his thighs, shaking with excitement as she clapped with greedy hands.

It was the same as before, but different, my body so ready, no needy, that every touch was electrified. The knowledge of where Brad was, the possession in his eyes, the knowledge that he was watching, compounded my arousal. The masseuse continued, resuming his movement, his hands caressing as they moved, up and over the swell of my breasts, then back down the side of my stomach. The heat of a hand against a cool sheet, my skin both hating and loving the material, all at the same time. The push and pull of the fabric as his hand moved, brushing against my nipples when he was pressing down along my stomach, tugged at the place where I was wet on his journey upward. Up and down, each swipe seeming to move down, but so teasingly slow I was wondering if it was all in my imagination. The sheet shifted, one hand definitely lower, taking the sheet with it, and I felt cool air slip along one breast, the nipple close to exposure. Up. Down. Closer, but not there. My nipples tender, alive with stimulation. My pussy crying, begging for attention and touch.

Then, his movements were finally long enough, and I felt his hand slide slowly downward until it completely covered my sex.

Brad was watching, but not participating. Is this cheating? Is this allowed? Alarm bells rang in my head, but I was unable to listen, a need so great pulsing between my legs, his hand moving slightly as he pulled it away, north along my body, and then back downward. The sheet between us was now soaked, one hand passing aggressively, then softly, then aggressively, down between my legs, the other hand moving back and forth along my breasts, strumming my nipples, my body beginning to arch from his touch. Fuck rules and commitments, anything sane or rational. Brad wasn’t going to open my sexual boundaries, send this madness in, and not expect me to fucking enjoy it. I moaned, the sound loud and begged, my lips parting, my eyes opening, and I propped myself up, the sheet falling from my breasts, and stared into the masseuse’s eyes.

“I need you to fuck me. Now.” I gasped the words, my mouth hanging open, the cold air against erect nipples, his hand cupping me, and one finger moved, swiping under the sheet; he slid it inside of me, and my world went dark.

My arms gave out, and I fell back, arching, a second finger joining the first, and he moved them together, his other hand sliding the sheet farther down, baring my upper half, my body offered to him as I pushed against his hand. He curved his fingers, stroking my g-spot, his other hand worshipping my breasts, now lifting, squeezing and then the additional stimulation of his mouth, hot and wet, sucking and pulling me against his tongue. I reached out, gripping his shirt, my eyes squeezed shut and bucked, my orgasm flooding uncontrolled, an explosion of De Luca proportions. He kept up the movement, my other hand reaching out and finding his shoulder, holding on for dear life as my body let out a final shudder, and then I collapsed on the bed, aftershocks twitching like erratic tics through my body.

My eyes closed, and I heard footsteps travel, latches click, the door open, and then shut. I opened my eyes, turning my head until I could see Brad, at my side, his eyes on my body. I watched him, watched as he placed a hand lightly on my ribcage, running it down my body as he circled the table, his eyes traveling along my skin, an intent, brooding look mixed in with his possessive standard. I murmured, a soft tone of satisfaction that had his eyes looking to mine, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he rounded the end of the table and stopped beside me. Bending over, he slid his arms under my body and stood, cradling me to his chest, my body curving, and I instinctively leaned into him, inhaling his scent, one that was 100% Brad, a smile crossing my face when I smelled only him on his shirt and neck. He carried me to the bed, lying me down on the pillow top, my face turning to him as he stood next to the bed, looking down at me.

“Did you enjoy that?”

I nodded, my eyes closing softly, a small smile on my lips. “Why’d he leave?”

He chuckled. “I can bring him back if you’d like. Call and get a later flight.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at the bedside table. “Almost 4:45.”

My eyes opened fully, and I pushed off the bed. “Shit! We’ve got to go.”

He pressed me back down, black need in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. “Not yet.”