by Tia Siren
“Wanda Jean, stop,” I said, rolling my eyes. She just cackled at me. I wasn’t sure how we got to be such good friends, because we were absolutely nothing alike.
I was a good Southern Baptist girl from Fort Worth who’d never even had a man’s hands under my shirt, and Wanda Jean was always the life of the party. With her black hair and dark Latino features, not to mention her huge boobs, Wanda Jean never failed to catch a man’s eye, or open her legs to him.
She had told me stories of her previous stints at Big Sky. She’d had sex with the head chef, a couple of cowhands, a bartender, and one very wealthy guest who had bought her the car we were riding in. I was pretty sure Wanda Jean loved to work at Big Sky not because it looked good on her resume, but for the sex and the benefits that came with it.
Personally, I was a little horrified at the mere thought of having sex with anyone. I’d never been with a man before and was not the promiscuous type. That was not to say that I didn’t have urges I satisfied myself some nights when I was alone in my room.
I was like most other women my age. I was a sexual being, maybe even more so than most. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I didn’t have desires and fantasies.
I longed for a man to put his hands on my body, to massage my breasts and squeeze my nipples, to taste the juices that flowed from between my legs, to press his naked body to mine.
I longed for the feeling of a man’s cock in my hand as I guided him toward the cherry that waited deep inside me. Just the thought of it made me wet.
But that was not what going to Big Sky was about for me. This was about working my ass off and making enough money to finish my degree so I could get a good-paying job as a physical therapist.
I had three brothers to raise, brothers who depend on me because they had no one else they could depend on. The last thing I needed was a man to complicate my life.
My brothers always came first.
That was how it had always been and how it would always be.
Period.
CHAPTER FIVE: Conner
Fuck, I was tired of travelling. It seemed like I spent my entire life on airplanes these days, travelling from one business meeting to the next, or in the back of a car stuck in traffic jams for hours.
I spent so much time in hotels that I didn’t even remember what my luxury penthouse in Dallas or the beach house in Malibu even looked like.
Wesley and I touched down at Amarillo Airport just after noon on Monday and immediately climbed onto the helicopter that would ferry us to Big Sky Ranch & Spa fifty miles away.
My old man would have shit a brick if he knew the marketing people had tacked on the word “Spa” to his beloved Big Sky Ranch. He would have shit an even bigger brick if he knew we now rented the place out to city slickers two months out of the year.
Wesley tried to talk to me again about my dad’s little bastard, but I shut him down quickly. I didn’t want to think about the kid, not this weekend. I was coming to Big Sky to decompress and relax for a few days. I didn’t want to talk business or think about the price of beef cattle or the price of crude oil coming out of the Gulf. I just wanted to forget who I was and shrug the weight of the world off my shoulders for a little while.
And if I got to stick my big cock into something strange and sweet while I was there, all the better. I was tired of fucking groupies and socialites and party girls and flight attendants.
I wanted to fuck someone who didn’t know who I was.
I wanted fuck someone who wasn’t looking for a payoff.
I wanted to fuck someone who didn’t know Conner Blackstone from Adam.
The problem was, I didn’t think that girl existed.
And if she did, I seriously doubted I’d find her at Big Sky Ranch & Spa.
* * *
“I forget how breathtakingly beautiful this place is,” Wesley said as we stood on the balcony of the private chateau where we’d be spending the weekend. The chateau was 4,000 square feet of logs and natural woods built into the hillside looking down on Big Sky Ranch and the surrounding grounds. From his vantage point, Wesley could see the lodge, the stables, the bunk houses, the corrals, and the wide expanse of pasture land covered with beef cattle. That was one of the differences between Wesley and I. He saw heads of cattle. I saw stacks of hundred dollar bills.
“So, do you want to just rest for a while before the employee orientation, or do you want to go for a ride?” Wesley asked, turning to face me. I was sitting at a marble table on the balcony with my legs stretched out and my face turned toward the sky. I had my eyes closed behind my expensive sunglasses.
“I’m actually thinking about getting a massage,” I said, leaning forward with my elbows planted on my knees. I let my head hang and rubbed the back of my neck, which felt like it was in knots. “What time’s the staff meet-and-greet thing?”
Wesley looked at his watch. “The employee orientation is scheduled for three to give everyone time to get here. I told Max, the general manager, to have all the employees together so you could officially welcome them. You have plenty of time.”
“Okay,” I said, blowing out a long breath. “Hopefully there’s a masseuse here already.”
“Want me to call over and make sure?” Wesley asked.
“Nah, I’m a big boy,” I said, pushing myself out of the chair. I stretched my arms toward the sky and blew out a long breath. “I’ll just mosey on over and see if there’s someone in the spa with big tits and strong hands who can work out these kinks in my back.”
Wesley shook his head at me. “Which is more important? Big tits or strong hands?”
“Normally I’d say big tits,” I said with a grin, “but at this point I’d settle for the strong hands.”
CHAPTER SIX: Miranda
Wanda Jean and I arrived at Big Sky Ranch just after lunch on Monday. We hurriedly stowed our things in the women’s bunkhouse, which was a hundred times nicer than my little apartment.
The bunk house was basically a huge log cabin that had an open living area with saddle-leather couches in the shape of a “U” set facing an enormous stone fireplace that had the head of a longhorn steer over the mantle. The sheer width of the horns was a little disconcerting at first, but I grew up in Fort Worth, so seeing the severed head or just the horns of a steer was nothing new to me. Heck, half the Cadillacs in Texas had steer horns mounted on the hoods.
There was a fully stocked kitchen and dining room combo, three full bathrooms with tubs and showers, and ten bedrooms that each held a set of twin beds and a large dresser for storage.
“Okay,” Wanda Jean said, looking at her watch as we stepped across the wide, plank porch of the bunkhouse. “There is an employee orientation at three, so I’m going to go to the kitchen and see if anyone is there yet. You should probably check in at the spa to get yourself acquainted with the manager and the other masseuses.”
“That sounds great,” I said, feeling more than a little nervous. I didn’t realize that I was wringing my hands. Wanda Jean saw the look in my eye and reached for my hand.
“You are going to do great,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Just remember, be nice to the guests, especially the rich older men. They’re the ones who tip the best.”
“Got it,” I said with a grin. “Uh, can you show me where the spa is?”
She held on to my hand and we literally skipped like little girls across the dusty yard and into the employee entrance at the back of the massive lodge. Wanda Jean pointed me in one direction and she went in another. I took a deep breath and didn’t let it out until I saw the words “SALON & SPA” etched into a thick glass door down the hallway ahead of me.
This is your chance, I told myself. Try not to screw it up.
* * *
The Salon & Spa manager was a super-nice, older lady named Carla, who welcomed me with a hug and gave me a tour of the facility. I was the first one there, so I think she was just happy to have someone to talk to.
“The hair salon is thr
ough there,” Carla said as she led me down a long hallway off the lobby. She pointed to the large open area beyond the glass. There were six stylist stations with barber chairs, six sinks for hair washing, and three old-style hair dryers. The walls were covered in mirrors. It almost looked like the Cost Cutters where I got my hair cut, only a thousand times nicer and much more expensive.
“The mani-pedi area is there,” Carla said. “And the massage rooms are down here at the end of the hall.” She opened a door so I could look inside. “There are three identical rooms, each with a massage table and a station with oils, lotions, that sort of thing. There’s a CD player and an assortment of CDs with relaxing music. There are scented candles in the drawer. Guest can book thirty, sixty, and ninety minute massages.” She glanced down. “Can I see your hands?”
“Sure,” I said, holding out my hands with my fingers outstretched. She took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Good, strong hands. You’ll need them in this job. You will probably have ten to twelve clients a day. Some will want deep tissue massages; others will barely want you to touch them.”
“I understand,” I said with a smile. “I’m used to being on my feet all day, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said, patting my arm. “There is one more thing I have to warn you about. Some of the male guests may come in with the wrong idea and get a little frisky on you.”
I frowned at her. “The wrong idea?”
She peered down the hallway to make sure we were alone. “Some of the men may want you to, you know.” She curled her fingers into a circle and made a pumping motion with them. “Give them a happy ending.”
“Really?” I sucked air in through my teeth. “Oh my god, what do I do?”
“You politely tell them that we don’t offer that level of service here,” Carla said with a grin. Obviously, she was amused by my reaction. “If there’s a problem, just come get me.”
“Wow, okay,” I said, probably much more shocked than I should have been. I wasn’t a prude. There had been an abundance of happy ending jokes in every massage class I ever took. But to be faced with such a reality…well…it was just a little scary to me. And maybe even a little exciting.
Carla turned toward the table that held the bottles of lotions and oils. There was a red button on the side of the table. She tapped a finger to it.
“If, for whatever reason, you can’t get out of the room, just push this button and I’ll come running.”
I stared at the button as if it would launch a nuclear strike. “Has anyone ever had to push that button before because a guest got out of hand? No pun intended.”
She smiled. “It’s happened a few times, sweetie, but don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way…no pun intended.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Conner
I shucked out of my Armani suit and pulled on a pair of old jeans and a torn Nirvana T-shirt that had probably hung in the closet at the chateau since my college days.
I left the two-thousand-dollar alligator cowboy boots in the closet and slipped on an old pair of sneakers I’d left there sometime before. I had to grin when I looked in the mirror over the dresser. I did not look like a billionaire cattle and oil baron. I looked like a punk kid about to go to a rave. I found an old Dallas Cowboys cap in the closet. I set it on my head and pulled the bill down low over my eyes.
I went down the path that led from the chateau to the lodge. The place wasn’t officially open to guests until the next day, but it was buzzing with employees arriving and vendors trucking in the ton of food we’d need for the next two weeks.
A few of the ranch hands recognized me and waved. I just gave them a bob of my chin and went around to the employee entrance in the back of the lodge, knowing that if I came in through the lobby, Max, the manager, would have to make a big deal about it.
I found the Salon & Spa easily enough, though it had been a long time since I’d visited the place. The last time I was here I fucked a masseuse in the ass on one of the massage tables in the middle of the afternoon. It was a hell of a rush. Who knew, maybe I’d get lucky again.
I pushed through the thick glass door and entered the salon’s lobby. There was a tall counter and a few chairs for guests to wait in. One wall was covered in shampoos, conditioners, lotions, and oils, all with the Big Sky Ranch logo on them. I had to hand it to the marketing people; they did a great job of taking the guests’ money.
There was no one in the lobby, so I went around the counter and stood in the doorway that opened to the long hallway that led to the various spa treatment rooms.
I called out “hello” a few times and was about to leave, thinking that the staff had not arrived yet, when I heard music coming from the last room at the end of the hall.
I walked down the hallway, peering into the unoccupied rooms as I went. When I came to the last door I saw that it was a massage room and there was someone there.
It was a girl with a long blond ponytail that went from the crown of her head to halfway down her back. She was wearing a tight T-shirt that stopped above the small of her back and a pair of yoga pants that showed every perfect curve of her hips and her bubbly ass.
I let my eyes drift down her long legs, to her muscular calves and perfect ankles. I felt my cock starting to grow, pushing against my tight jeans like a cobra struggling to get out of a burlap sack.
She was facing a table covered with lotions and oils, humming to the soft music coming from the CD player as she examined the labels. I didn’t want to scare her, so I tapped on the door to let her know I was there. When she turned around, I came face to face with the most natural beauty I’d ever seen.
She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. She didn’t need it. Her skin was naturally tanned by the sun. Her eyes were cat-like, like two pools of blue water that nearly took my breath away. She seemed startled for just a moment, and then she gave me a smile that burned into my memory like a brand on cow’s hide.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She was holding a tall bottle of lotion. Her fingers were wrapped around it. For a split second I saw those same fingers wrapped around my cock.
“I’d like to get a massage,” I said, mustering up a smile. I took off my cap and used it to hide the growing bulge in my jeans.
“Oh, well, I don’t think we’re open yet,” she said with a concerned look. “Was the manager not out front? You could make an appointment to come back later.”
I put on a face like I was in pain and lied as easily as I breathed. “She wasn’t out there, but I called ahead when I got here a few minutes ago. I’ve spent the last six hours on the road, and if I don’t do something soon, I’m afraid my back might just give out on me.”
She stared at me for a moment and then darted her tongue across her plump lips and smiled. “Okay, well, I guess it’ll be all right.”
“Awesome,” I said, grinning on the inside. I never said “awesome,” but it had seemed like the right thing to say. I pulled the T-shirt over my head and tossed it onto the floor. Then I started to unbutton my jeans.
“Oh my god, uh, wait,” she said, holding up her hands. “Um…just give me a second…” There was a stack of large towels under the lotion station. She tugged one of them free and shoved it at me.
“Exactly what do you want me to do with this?” I asked, playing dumb. I think she noticed the huge bulge in my pants, because her eyes quickly darted up to mine and stayed there.
“Yes, um, get undressed and just wrap that around your, um…”
“My waist?” I offered. Oh my god, was she really this naïve? This was gonna be fun. I felt my cock growing harder by the minute.
“Yes. Wrap that around your waist,” she said, directing me with her hands. “I’m going to find a smock and wash my hands. Then I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here,” I said, grinning as she went out the door. She was as nervous as a brood mare in heat, and I was as horny as a stallion.
T
his was going to be the best massage I’d ever had.
And a great way to kick off my weekend.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Miranda
I heard the knock on the door and turned to find the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen standing in the doorway. He was tall and muscular, wearing a ratty T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders like a glove and a pair of jeans so tight that it looked like he had been melted and poured into them.
I could see the outline of his package through the faded denim. It made me tingle a little…down there…
He had a David Beckham face, if you know what I mean, with short dark hair and deep brown eyes and a mouth full of perfect white teeth. His lips were curled into a sheepish smile.
He took off his cap and covered his crotch with it and asked if I would give him a massage. I was holding a big round bottle of lotion. I had to stop my fingers from sliding up and down on it subconsciously as I stared at him.
I just assumed that he was a guest, so I said yes. Then he took off his T-shirt and started to take off his pants, and I was thinking, oh my god! I nearly fainted because I thought he was just going to drop his pants and fling that big thing out at me!
It took a moment for me to regain my composure. I gave him a towel and used the excuse that I had to go find a smock. I went down the hall to the restroom and stood with my hands braced on the sink. I didn’t know why, but I was breathing heavy and was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Snap out of it, girl,” I told myself. I spoke to my reflection in the mirror. “You trained for this. You’re really, really good at it. Now wash your hands and get back in there. You have a client!”
I found myself smiling as I washed my hands.
