by Avery Aster
“I’ll dip gauze strips in the paraffin then place them on your skin,” Ernie said.
Blake felt it as the first one was applied, and instantly his back muscles relaxed. He wiggled his butt, getting more into it. “Amazing,” he murmured as the final strip came over his shoulders.
“Rest. I’m going to step out and get some lotion. Be right back.”
A few minutes passed and he heard Ernie return. Blake felt the sugaring guru’s fingers glide over his ass cheeks with cream. They were affectionate, with intent. Damn.
He grew nervous. “About done back there?”
Ernie didn’t say a word. But his breathing sounded louder, more irregular, different.
Sure, the sugaring therapist was okay, but not so cute that he’d want the service to go any further than what it was. But he’d go with it. He had to. Closing his eyes, Blake tried to take a few deep breaths to relax. He lowered his shoulders to the table, and then he felt...
Huh?
Fingers. It had to be. They traced around the edges of his asshole. With his face pressed into the pillow, he tried to think. Lotion doesn’t go in there…fingers don’t, either.
Except, they did.
Before he could ask Ernie to stop, two thick fingers slid in deeper. His body quivered. Every inch of him awoke. Hello.
Digits, thick and long, man-hands, slid back and forth as he was stretched out. Just as he let his mind wander and his ass opened, he clenched tight. This was too much. He couldn’t. No way. He wasn’t ready for this.
Maybe the therapist could tell his body needed to be touched. That’s why he kept on massaging his ass. Ahhh.
To his surprise, Blake relaxed a little. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for a few seconds. Relax. Upon exhale, his fissure unglued as never before, taking the penetration of several…more…fingers. I can’t believe...I’m letting some stranger...do this.
Blake’s hard cock pressed into the table. Slightly closing his eyes as they crossed, he saw brilliant stars. The previous night’s single malt scotch and Lex’s pregnancy news became a distant memory.
Ernie reached under him and stroked his balls. They tightened as blood rushed through his cock. His head swelled. You’re just back there, playing with my butt. How can I turn around and face you?
Ass-play remained new for him. He buried his head further in the pillow. He saw nothing, only black. His legs spread wider. Letting his guard down, he allowed himself to go there and pushed his back up, a little, in the air. He’d never aimed his ass for sex before, but somehow, someway, his instincts were guiding him along.
“Go. Deeper. Please.” He had an urge to growl something animalistic.
Sandwiched between his trembling legs, friction fashioned a heat. Blake had craved the violation for some time. He couldn’t remember how long.
Often, he masturbated to the fantasy of a guy playing with his ass. The top would worship him, tear him apart, and force entry. Maybe this was the power of positive thought Thor had referred to last night. He’d wished for it, and it had come. Should I come now?
He pressed his forehead further into the cotton, lavender aromatic pillow and drew air in through his dry mouth. Do it. He tried to make sense of this. Again, he arched his back for Ernie as electricity-like enthusiasm darted from his sphincter muscle. The stimulation ran in guilty excess over his groin, down his thighs, out his toes, up and down his cock, which, to his surprise, oozed pre-cum. Whoa...
Reaching down, Blake stroked his dick. Slick and wet, the moisture confirmed his arousal. Pre-cum seeped.
Fuck. Even my scalp tingles. This is exhilarating. I will never doubt Vive and Thor as long as I live again.
He didn’t have a clue he’d be paying for sex, disguised as spa services, to get his Seven Desires done. But, he realized it right then. How could he have not figured this out sooner? He hadn’t been with anyone except his ex-husband. He kept telling himself that nothing bad was going to happen.
Everything on his body was acutely sensitive. Nipples hard enough to cut glass, this was as close to natural ecstasy as he’d ever experienced. Why hadn’t he played with himself like this before? Diego was the first excuse which came to mind. His masturbation rituals were jacking off, never massaging his prostate, ever. It sure did feel good, though.
Regrets from five years of his failed marriage consumed him. How could he have shared his life with someone who’d never enjoyed his body? Embarrassed, he worked through his despair and pushed the bad thoughts away. Warm tears washed over his face and collected on the cushion. He didn’t care. To be touched like this…he couldn’t remember the last time…it had been that long.
Fuck you, Diego. I am better than our pathetic excuse for a marriage. I deserved to be treated better. What you did was criminal. More tears flowed. He didn’t wipe his eyes.
No longer slow, Ernie’s fingers built up speed. Then they became fast and furious. Two fingers slid inside him from what seemed the other hand. Suddenly, different fingers, from what must’ve been the left, slid in and out. This guy, a stranger, was in tune with his needs. How did he know to touch him like that?
“Please—don’t stop. You feel so good.” He begged for the sensation to continue. It must. His body—and he realized, his mind—needed it. This was his prescription for happiness.
Blake forgot how non-hot the guy behind him was. Who cares? Right?
He started jacking himself off. Come on. The sound of his hand slapping his flesh was loud. That’s it. Focused on how good this felt, he was going to come at any second.
Ernie sunk deeper into his ass.
“Yes.”
There must’ve been at least four fingers in him, shattering his innocence apart.
“I’m going to come.”
Ernie swatted Blake’s hand away as he tugged, hard, on his cock.
Huh?
A gentle smack on his ass followed with a lick as if to say, No, don’t come. Not yet.
“Keep going.” He dropped his shoulders and held on to the table’s edge, begging for more. His back pushed up higher, letting the tech go to town on his crack in a total ass-busting frenzy. Cloud nine, here I come.
From the fingering sensation, he felt a surging wetness and softness, which, to his best guess, came from a tongue.
Oh. My. God.
Rapture. He was being rimmed by a complete stranger.
“That’s it. Right there. Uh-huh, yes. Yes. YES. Amazing.” Blake stuttered as if having a form of Tourette’s. “Get in there. Eat me.” He’d never felt so sexy before. This must be how Thor climaxed without touching himself. It all made sense to him right then. Would he be able to come without stroking himself, too?
Quaked in arousal, he didn’t care how hideous the spa tech was. He needed to see his face, buried in his hole. What a hot sight that would be.
Lifting his head from the bolster, Blake opened his moist eyes and glanced under his pelvis. Ernie’s legs were all he could see. He tried to turn around.
Whap. Ernie smacked his ass—hard. He held him down by his backside, preventing him from examining the situation. His cock stood at rapid attention.
“Let me see you.” The hot towel on the back of his head and neck fell as he turned.
With a grunt as if to say no, Ernie kept eating his ass and biting at his cheeks. The sugaring expert showed his masterful skills. He tapped him from behind, and Blake felt the lengthy tongue withdraw.
“Don’t stop.”
Wet licks to the inside left cheek blurred his ability to think clearly. Then came a long stroke to the right, followed by the tongue dancing clockwise around his pucker.
“Harder. Get your tongue in there.”
A deep moan came from within, and then the tech plunged his tongue inside as if he was fucking him. Not that he’d know what getting fucked in the ass felt like, but he imagined the tongue thing was pretty darn close.
His hands held the edge of the table like he was taking off on some ride. He didn’t know where
to, but wherever they were headed was surely someplace new, and nowhere he’d ever been before.
Once the tongue plowed in, perhaps as far as it could humanly go, it turned and twisted and stimulated the nerve-endings in his body. He curled his toes. How cliché, right? But they, in fact, coiled tight as he arched his feet. Don’t get a Charley horse now. Please, no.
The tongue stabbed him with determination. Then followed a spit, a lick to the left then to the right, and started all over again and again.
Blake cherished his newfound capitulation. The guy was a loud rimmer. Oh, man, is this fucking hot. He wanted to see the guy’s face. Enough already.
He’d have to use his leg muscles to overturn himself and get free from Ernie’s hold.
On three…One. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He inhaled. Two. I hope the guy won’t be pissed. Three...
He flipped over so fast the tech didn’t have a chance in Hell to respond. Blake sat up in shock. “What the f…”
Upper East Side
Lex waited for a response. She needed to know what Birdie might’ve done differently as a parent, a question she imagined any new mom would ask. “You’re sober now. I’m sure you’ve reflected over the past. Please, tell me.” They’d never gone to counseling together, but she’d been tempted to make an appointment.
Birdie straightened a pillow on the bed, collecting her thoughts. “Like you…I wasn’t married when I got pregnant. Eddie was already an established musician. He had a dozen albums out by then, had won countless Grammy’s.”
“And you?”
“Lucifer’s Mistress was my first song to go big. Glam metal, which I largely invented, was a worldwide phenomenon. I was just getting started. I didn’t want to be a one-hit wonder.” Birdie pulled a string on the pillow. “Lex, honey, I fought so hard to get that spot. Then you came and everything…changed.”
“Right, I ruined your life.”
“No, you didn’t.” Her face reddened. “When a sex symbol has a baby, the fans’ perceptions of her changes. People don’t see you the same anymore.”
“So—”
“I wasn’t booked for parties. No more endorsement deals. As your mother, I should’ve evolved with my new role. Instead, I fought to hold on to the past, to the way I’d envisioned them.” Her dark eyebrows drew up almost as one and she put her hand on her hip. “Sound familiar?”
Oh, brother. “I am not doing the same thing with Easton Essentials and my family as you did with your singing career and me. Nice reach, though.”
Birdie’s long, false eyelashes flittered as she cupped her hands under her chin and nodded. She didn’t say anything. But in a way, she’d already said enough.
“You really believe I parent M2 the same…”
“What’s the saying?” Birdie snapped her long fingers causing the diamond bangles to clang; the ones she never took off because they covered her track-mark scars from years past. “History repeats itself.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“Really…is that so?”
“Mom, I don’t do drugs.”
“Thank the Lord & Taylor.” Birdie rolled her eyes, matching her sarcastic tone.
“Massimo and I are monogamous, Mother. We don’t swing or screw around like you and Daddy did.”
“I get that, honey. But I’m talking about the time you spend with your family as a wife and mother. Not at work, being all fashion-designer-famous.”
“Oh.” Lex had worked so hard over the years to be nothing like her parents. She didn’t factor in that while her folks partied their life away, they were indeed working. Or so they thought. She guessed it was no different than her hours spent in the showroom creating fashion. “Maybe I am…you…after all.” She wasn’t comfortable saying that.
“Honey, you don’t have to be. Embrace being a mom. Learn from my mistakes so you don’t repeat them.”
“I do love being a mother to M2. I do.”
“No, I mean be proud of it. Motherhood is the greatest gift you’ll ever be given. More than designing a dress, getting some CFDA award, or having your line sold at Saks. There is nothing greater than being a mom.”
She didn’t know what to say. Sobriety had brought Birdie a sense of newfound wisdom.
“Promise me something, honey.”
“Anything.”
“That you will cut back on your schedule and play with your babies.”
“I will.”
“Have fun with your family.”
Her cell phone chimed. The screen lit up, Edwards. She hit the speakerphone button and greeted, “Hi, Thor.” She glanced at her mother who pulled out a stack of envelopes.
“Lex-love, I’m with Preston Bailey, your florist.”
“And?” Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. Whenever Thor or Blake addressed her as ‘Lex-love’, she was in for an earful.
“We’ve got a problemo.”
“What’s wrong?” She flinched as her mother’s hands went up in the air.
Flower fiascos could be any number of things. From hanging pomanders to the three hundred night-flowering cereus, which were scheduled to bloom during the cocktail hour. The room for errors was huge. The ballroom was one of the largest in the city.
“Our passionflower shipment, you know, the ones designed to go into the floating bowls at your red wine station, won’t be here in time.”
“How come?”
“Uruguay is having a drought, girl. Dried everything up.”
“What have they offered as a backup?” She remembered the insurance they’d taken out from the florist, so Plan B was guaranteed.
“Cacti.”
“Oh, dear.” Birdie gasped as her expression grew serious.
“Can’t beat Mother Nature, can we?” She tried to joke. A Santa Fe-style reception would certainly clash with the old-world luxuries of The Plaza.
“Let’s go with the standard, white roses.” Thor had suggested this from the start.
“Boring.” She glanced up at her mother who encouraged her to agree. Earlier, Birdie also thought traditional flowers for The Plaza were best. Lex didn’t see it their way. Or would she?
“Calla lilies?” Thor suggested.
“Too typical.”
“Miss Thang, how about gardenias?” His voice became saucy.
“Yuk. I can’t stand the sweet smell of them.” As New York’s most promising fashion designer, she didn’t want any of the above. Style, décor, and uniqueness were her calling card. She couldn’t have the usual. However, she was realizing why everyone always opted for the same. They were easy to come by and reduced the onset of unnecessary headaches such as the one starting to dance at her temples.
“Honey,” Birdie interrupted.
“Thor, one sec.”
“Spend the day in bed sorting through the pictures. I’ll get your driver to take me down to the florist. Thor and I will fix this. Don’t worry.”
A clanging noise came from out front in the foyer.
“Bella,” Massimo whispered in his usual ‘the baby is asleep’ voice. “We…are…home.”
“Thor, my mom is coming down to help. She’ll see you in about twenty minutes.” Lex said her pleasantries, thanked him, and then hung up.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Birdie reached for her purse then turned to look at the pile of boxes she left behind. “We need about five hundred more pictures.”
“Noted.” She had a long day ahead of her. Maybe one of the girls could come over and help.
“I’m glad we talked. I love you.” She blew her a kiss.
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Birdie walked toward the bedroom door as Massimo entered, and they hugged. He kissed her the European way, on both cheeks. Each of them talked softly for a minute. Lex couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could tell it was about her by the way they kept starting at her.
Massimo approached with his warm, perfect smile and black romantic eyes, which never failed to melt her heart. He tucked
the covers up over her. “M2 is asleep in the stroller. I’ll take him out when he wakes up.”
“Wheel M2 in here. I’ll watch him.” She tugged at the sheets to get up.
“No, relassarti.” His big hand covered hers, tapping fingers as he told her to relax over and over again. “You need your rest.” Massimo took her iPhone from her bed and slipped it into his front pocket. “No distrazioni. No stress.”
“Masi...” She couldn’t believe him. She wasn’t sick.
“I’ll make us lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sì, you are eating and then resting.”
He basked in the power he had over her. The glow on his face told her he enjoyed taking charge.
“Give me twenty minutes. I’ll come with M2. We’ll eat together.”
“Yes, sir.” She winked, knowing there was no arguing.
Lex admired his hot backside as he left. Not only was Massimo the sexiest man she’d ever met, he’d taken up cooking. It didn’t get any better than Prince Tittoni. His efforts in the kitchen awarded him countless hours of lovemaking in the bedroom.
So much to do. She waited until she was certain he was in the kitchen. Her attention returned to the box labeled Eddie. She pulled out a stack of photos, along with an unfamiliar small, thin envelope in the folder addressed to her father. It was postmarked to their old penthouse at the San Remo on the Upper West Side. Dated a while back, Lex figured she’d been around thirteen when it was sent.
She opened the letter to read:
City DNA Labs
555 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10065
Alleged Father: Easton, Edward
Mother: Brillford, Irma
Child: Brillford, Tabitha
Alleged Father’s Race: Caucasian
Mother’s Race: Caucasian
Blood Rec’d: AF-05/02/96, M-05/02/96, C-5/02/96
Comments:
Mr. Eddie Easton is not excluded from being the father.
Probability of paternity remains uncertain due to a human error at our facility. The sample was contaminated and disposed. Please call to reschedule another test. We apologize for the inconvenience.
(Accredited for testing by the United Association of Blood Banks.)
