by Violet Blue
“I don’t think so, Mike, you’d better check with the desk.”
“I have the room number right here.” Mike moved closer to him with an official-looking piece of paper in his hand. Continuing under his breath he muttered, “This gig is mine and so is the tip that comes with it,” and he nodded in my direction.
“I have the same work order, so I guess we’ll have to go with who got here first.” Sean was holding his ground and made no moves to disassemble his table.
I held my up hands, interrupting them with my tendency to take control of a situation. “Why don’t you both stay and split the time that I’ve paid for; if you do a good job, then you can split the tip.” No need to let either of you go to waste, I added silently, pressing my lips together in anticipation of their response. I figured I might as well find a way to take advantage of the mistake and enjoy both of them for the price of one. They nodded and seemed to think it was a fair solution, so I peeked into my purse to see how much cash I had.
Unfortunately there was only a crisp fifty dollar bill. “You’ll have to break it,” I told them apologetically, waving it in the air.
It was Mike who came up with an alternative. “Maybe we could let you decide who deserves it more,” he said and glanced at Sean. “We’ll each take turns working out your kinks, like you said, and the one who does the best job wins.”
I had to admit, the notion of two ridiculously hot guys rubbing their hands over my body in a competition for my approval made me cream a little. I played the moment out, tapping my finger on my bottom lip and looking each of them up and down before responding. “Let’s find out which one of you has the magic touch,” I said finally, and after they turned for my privacy, I disrobed to let the games begin.
Facedown, I settled on the table, while Sean placed a towel over my bare bottom and Mike arranged my hair to expose my neck. Simultaneously their fingers danced lightly over my skin, giving me goose bumps even while performing these common tasks. Cool oil dripped over my back, and the first set of hands took hold of me from above, kneading each of my shoulders. I melted into the table as Sean worked through the pent-up tension there. Instantly, I felt the residue of my delayed flight, my missed meeting and the unsavory comments from my disappointed client fall away among his circular impressions in my flesh. His touch was definitive, yet not overly firm, and I wondered if he intended to be turning me on with his warm breath softly beating on the back of my neck.
When I was completely loose, his fingers slipped down the edges of my shoulder blades and briefly grazed the sides of my breasts. My skin lit with sensation as his hands continued down my torso and under the towel concealing my rear end. This endless stroke proceeded in one long motion to reach my inner thighs. Once there, he softly caressed the supple flesh, before gently spreading my legs apart. Cool air swept past the silky wetness developing in my most tender spot.
“How are you enjoying it so far?” he asked, his two fingers experiencing the slickness firsthand as they swept casually over my soft folds. I had to wonder if it was an accident. Either way, my hips rose off the table to find his hand again. It was reflexive—a subconscious response to the bliss he was granting me with his talented fingers.
My reaction wasn’t overlooked. His fingers swept back over my ass and to my waist, then down again under the towel and in between my legs, where this time they lingered in the elixir gathering there. “Is this the spot that has been giving you the most trouble?” he ventured boldly, and I asked myself the same question. I had been working like a dog for the past year and could count on one hand the occasions I’d found the time to invest in my sex life. Career minded to a fault, my drive for success had left me impatient with small talk and bored with first dates, let alone second ones. Worse still, I hadn’t even made a single fuckbuddy since my last boyfriend. This thought caused me to think about the dumb chick at the concierge desk and her obvious advantage over me in that category. I realized that most of my tension was right in my underworked vagina. It was high time that I let someone help with that, and he seemed perfectly up for the task, not to mention his hunky colleague waiting patiently on the bed. I decided to answer Sean with a long sighing moan while he slowly dipped his two fingers inside of me, and then retracted them with expert precision.
A smile tickled the corners of my mouth, and I openly let my hips play puppet with his fingers, like a marionette on sticky strings stretching from my cunt. In and out he sent them slowly, and my entire body began to gyrate with his controlled timing, my moans increasing in frequency. He leaned forward, his shirt tickling my back as he placed his mouth only inches from my ear. Sean’s words were heavy in his throat, moving over his lips as smoothly as his fingers entered my wetness. “Ah, yes. That’s the spot…isn’t it?”
It was really not a question, and I left no room for misinterpretation as I purred a syrupy, “Yes.” His lips did not leave my ear and his breathing, hard and smoldering, spoke of his own enjoyment.
Curious to see how my other masseur was reacting to this scene, I lifted my head to find Mike rubbing his rather large bulge through his white cotton pants. Meeting my gaze he boasted, “Just get ready for what I will do for you next,” and I thought he looked too good for words.
I was enticed. “Why don’t you show me what you have in mind?”
He needed no further encouragement, and in an instant he was in position at my side. Sean’s fingers, which had pleasured me so effectively, retracted one last time, and Mike instructed me to turn over. Holding a towel up for privacy in the traditional fashion, he allowed me a moment to arrange myself comfortably, face up. When he placed the folded towel over the very zones I was hoping to have attended to, I wondered what he could possibly have in mind to surpass Sean’s performance.
Once I was settled, Mike asked quite plainly, “Where is your vibrator?” His mouth curled slightly in a teasing smirk, and he blinked in a leisurely way, confident of his presumption.
I crinkled my brow, hating to be read so perfectly but thinking his cockiness was sexy as hell. Indeed, his instincts were correct—I am seldom without my favorite toy for any extended time. “It’s in the night table,” I confessed, and he retrieved it with a bit of a swagger. As he slid the humming staff under the folded towel, I considered how erotic it was to be so modestly concealed while he shamelessly fondled me with it.
Though I made no secret of my eagerness to experience the tricks he had planned, he only gently tapped my vibrator on the surface playfully, making me squirm and whimper for more. I cooed at its touch and fought the urge to open my legs for him, challenging myself to maintain the same amount of composure that he exhibited with his calculated maneuvers. My eyes, which had been closed, refocused to find him staring at me, intently studying my expressions and recognizing every occasion when he discovered a sweet spot. Finally, when I could wait no more, he moved it inside, while his index finger began to rub my clit. Both hands performed their tasks with remarkable skill. His eyes were locked with mine as he smiled back at my beaming grin. I gripped the sheet on the table, lying there, enjoying every stroke. He had a gentle and subdued technique, with a slow and desirous rhythm that left me consumed with lust. I cried out for more and he upped the pace and vibration, his finger continuing to sweep against my swollen bud. Nearing the point of no return, I felt that familiar tingling pressure build, and I was sure that I would erupt any minute.
My teeth clenched behind pursed lips, and Mike, who was completely in tune to the flood that was nearing, whispered, “That’s it, come all over my hand,” while squeezing his fingers into my thigh. I pulled the towel away to give him a better look, allowing him to delight in his accomplishment. He took full advantage of the view, and his mouth fell open, tasting the air between us.
Sean, who had maintained his position at my side, was enjoying the spectacle just as much. He crouched next to me, skimming the surface of my torso with the palm of his hand. “You are so incredibly sexy,” he said and placed his fingers in
to my parted lips, reminding me of where they had been. Then he added with a nibble on my ear, “I don’t even care about the stupid competition. I just want more of you.”
I answered both of them with a throat-rasping, “Yessss,” and I turned to kiss Sean, shuddering, still in orgasm. It was the sweetest release I’d had in long time, so selfishly received for my enjoyment alone. Sean lifted me off the table and carried me to the bed. I waved for Mike to join us and grabbed him by the collar. “I think we would all like some more,” I breathed, and he nodded in agreement, taking his first taste of me from my collarbone. Sean promptly followed, licking my breast and suckling softly on my nipple. I arched my back and stretched myself long against the plush down comforter beneath me, reveling in their wet mouths as they trailed over my skin.
Sean slurped on my hip bone and Mike grazed his teeth against my jaw, teasing me and driving me wild. Next he solicited my tongue to dance lightly with his, and Sean slipped his lips onto my sopping vagina. The room was spinning, as I lost myself in the heart-pounding whirlwind of pure ecstasy. Sean kissed at my pussy carefully at first, tasting me, savoring me. And when he plunged his undulating tongue into my silky cavern, I moaned into Mike’s open mouth. Our delicate kiss ignited, while Sean bathed my clit with saliva and sipped on my juices until the rush of satisfaction began to fill me once again. I tore my lips away from Mike only to cry out, “Don’t stop!” But Sean did stop nonetheless, rising to his feet and speaking with glistened lips.
“More?” he asked, with the marked weight of one simple word.
“Yes,” I uttered, breathless with want. He was unzipping his pants immediately and releasing his ready cock. I threw my legs apart. “More,” I confirmed again, propping up on my elbows to watch as he placed his throbbing head at my entry. While he pushed into me, Mike lavished my tongue once again with his own. He filled his hands with my breasts, and Sean’s fingers wrapped around my hips, steadying them as I bucked violently against him. It was only moments before I careened into another orgasm, this one rigorous and unabashed. I screamed, loud enough to startle myself, surprised that I could come that hard. He withdrew, stroking himself to his own final release and falling over with a hard sigh next to me.
It would be an hour before we would pick up round two and I would have the pleasure of seeing Mike’s beautifully formed and remarkable-sized cock. Revitalized and ready to know what further pleasures awaited me, I pulled it from his white cotton pants and watched it spring forward, ready to show and prove its promise. Sean sat up in the bed, roused by our shifting, and leaned against the headboard. I placed myself between his legs, resting my back against his hairless chest.
Mike approached from the front, kneeling in front of me. We communicated without words—through only the intensity of our piercing stares—while Sean caressed my thighs with the cadence of a butterfly, sparking my nerve endings anew. Then with a nuzzle to my temple, he lifted my legs in his open palms to spread me wide for Mike. The look on Mike’s face signaled that I was in store for a wild ride, and I braced myself against Sean, holding on to his neck with my raised arms. Mike slid into me with total knowledge of his daunting size, allowing me to become accustomed to the feel of him filling me. I sucked in a slow, deep breath as he pressed deeper, while thoughts of Sean’s cock throbbing against my back lapped delightfully at my subconscious. Sean lifted my legs higher, rotating my hips upward while Mike grabbed my ankles and gently spread my legs even farther apart. Then he licked his luscious lips and proceeded to withdraw from me all the way. I gasped, and he smirked knowing just what a game he was playing. He positioned himself at my portal a second time, and I arched against Sean, reaching for Mike’s missing cock with my dripping cunt. With one deep stroke he filled me again and then withdrew entirely.
Desperate for it now I yelled, “Fuck me, you tease!” And he grinned, as full of himself as ever, though rightfully so—in that moment he was holding all the cards. Sadistically, he would subject me to one more slow and agonizingly sweet introduction of his rigid penis before he finally gave me what I wanted, whipping his cock in and out with abandon and ushering us both to yet another fiery explosion.
Breathless, I relaxed my trembling frame onto Sean, my body a mound of tingling nerves and electric chills. I could feel the faint meanderings of Sean’s fingers as he ran them absently through my hair and the warm weight of Mike’s head on my thigh as he used it for a pillow. We stayed like that for some time, drifting in and out of sleep and replaying the night’s events in our thoughts and dreams. Our final good-byes during the wee hours of the morning would find us all in agreement about two things: the race for my fifty bucks had gone right out the window somewhere after my second orgasm, and we should definitely get together again if I happened to return to town. But at that moment, lying there nestled between the two of them and floating on a level of satisfaction I hadn’t imagined I would find during any massage session—I silently called it a tie.
I, ANITA
Lana Fox
The Baron first set eyes on me during my burlesque, in which I slow-danced in a corset with a garter belt and stockings. I enjoyed swinging my hips within the tight, boned basque, its sleek red silk stretched taut. Apart from my costume, I had only a wooden chair, which awaited my arrival on the limelit stage. Leaning forward, I’d raise my knee and place my heeled sandal upon the seat, smoothing a stocking along my thigh, my red lips pouting, my eyes heavily kohled. I used my body, arching my spine so my breasts pushed up against the strapless bodice, as if at any moment, in their buoyancy, they’d spring from the fabric. There, as the music played, I’d slowly gyrate, making love to the men with my stare. Not that I could see them—they were lost in the shadows—but I could feel their desire burning my flesh, could hear their throaty cries.
But this was just the prelude; I was famous for the wooden chair. A member of the audience would be led to the stage where I’d take his hand, and his dewy vulnerability never failed to affect me. As he sat in the chair, I knelt at his feet clutching his knees, fingers covered with rings and bangles—before I unbuttoned his flies.
There with quiet moans rising from our audience, I’d take the man’s sex in my hands and with my tongue, my mouth, my slick-glossed lips, I would bestow my pleasure. Velvet Tongue, they called me, for that’s how I worked: with my breasts rising inside my corset, and the garter-straps digging into my thighs, and my dark curls tumbling, I’d lick and suck, rub and tease, my own sex growing wetter, until I’d feel him clutching at his seat with trembling, white knuckles.
I’d somehow know exactly what each man craved the most.
He’d yell out, bucking into my mouth, crying wildly as he filled my throat—thrusting over and over, he’d often fill me so fully that the fluid would seep from the corners of my mouth. At other times, when he reached the point of no return, I’d know to pull back, allowing the first flash of my oil-rubbed breasts to catch his coming. The pale stream would streak across my cleavage and down the boned bodice; the moans of approval from the audience made me long to touch myself. The man would gratefully collapse. Whoever he was, he’d ask me out on a date.
I always told them no.
Until I met the Baron.
Whenever I returned backstage, I’d lock the door to my dressing room, and there on the chair I’d brought from my act, I would slide two fingers inside my slick lace and rub myself quickly, the fluid still warm on my nipples, arching as I came. Thus, before I met the Baron, I never had to be close to a man. Sex for me was either public or terribly alone.
I didn’t know how miserable I was.
Well, you will hear dastardly things said of the Baron, and most of them are true. How he held sleeping girls in his bed and touched himself without their knowing; how he fucked his wives then left them, robbing them of their money, counting on the fact that they’d be too high from his loving to report his hasty crimes. Though the rank of baron is the lowest of the nobles, he still had money and the manners of a lord—could hide his
true nature beneath a decorous mask. But as with all rogues, he was also a liberator.
I, you see, was a little like the Baron.
The night he arrived, it was raining outside. I’d just returned from the stage, the chair in my arms, and I entered my dressing room to find him standing at the window smoking a clove cigarette, elegantly slouched to one side. He was wearing a red velvet jacket, which matched my corset, and his black hair glinted in the light from old-style lamp I’d set on my dressing table. He turned, his face lascivious, as if he knew all my ills, and I noticed his tiny moustache like that of a classic villain.
I asked what he was doing there.
He told me to put down the chair.
I challenged him: “Why?”
He said, “I’ll take you over my knee.”
I threw back my head and laughed, but no sooner had I done so than he was grabbing the chair and throwing it down on the boards. He kicked the door shut behind us, clasped me by the arm, sat in the chair and pulled me across his lap. I gasped out, astonished, before I felt him spanking me, each strike making a slapping noise against my lace-clasped buttocks. I could smell his cologne rising from his flesh. Aroused as I was from the man I’d just pleasured onstage, each spank made me more wanting and hot. I parted my thighs a little, hoping he’d touch my sex, but he kept to my buttocks, talking as he struck: “You are talented, Anita. But you must learn to relent. You won’t achieve true heights unless you accept your nature.” His spanking grew fiercer, tugging at the lace of my knickers—the rough material plucked at the lips of my pussy and I begged him for more.
