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Fantasy of the Month 9 (Spa) I stopped the VCR just as the station ID clip started. If they were going to show Red Dwarf, why in hell did they have to do it at half-past three in the morning? What's worse, Ren and Stimpy was going to be shown in four hour's time. One day, I'll have to work out the timer on the VCR. I rubbed my eyes and stretched the kinks out of my back; just as I recovered, exhaled and slumped forward, the phone rang. Startled, I snatched it up, knowing who it would be. There was only one person who would know that I'd still be up at this time of the morning. "Hello, elf," I said. Despite our familiarity, she was surprised. "Hello, troll! How did you know it was me? Oh, never mind ... look, I got stuck in the city last night, and the only buses running just happen to run to-" "- here. Surprise, surprise! Well, since you're in the area, maybe you'd like to-" "Could I?" "You're always welcome. You know that." "Great. I'm at the petrol station up the road." "You do know that the bus stops right outside my house?" "Yes, but I wanted to ring you first, so I got out there and walked to the petrol station, where there's a phone." "You could have come inside and used my phone." "Oh, very funny." "I'll see you in a few minutes." I was waiting, standing in the doorway when she walked up the driveway. She looked just as she had last time I'd seen her; nicely rounded figure, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and that old coat I'd given her; short hair tinted golden-red, which made her look like Denise Crosby playing 'Natasha Yar' in Star Trek: The Next Generation. She paused for a moment on the front step and we eyed each other warily; then she threw herself into my arms. It had been far too long; just seeing her sent a pang through me, reminding me of what we'd had. Holding her in my arms brought it all back in force. "Goddess, I'd forgotten how good this felt." Somewhat later, she ran her hand through her hair and yawned. "All I need now is a shower and somewhere warm to curl up and sleep." Aha! I thought. "You haven't seen the spa-bath yet, have you?" "What spa-bath?" I grinned, helped her take off her coat, tossed it at a chair in the lounge-room. "My mother wanted to try and raise the value of this place, so she had a spa installed." "She did this from Queensland?" "She sent me the money and told me to arrange it. They tore out most of the bathroom putting it in ... we don't have a shower any more. Sorry." She grinned wryly and went to see for herself. It took up most of the bathroom; the replacement sink was forced off into one corner, and the old shower recess and bath had given way to a pale blue lump of plastic set in white tile, almost large enough to comfortably seat two. Bright, chromed vents were set in places which I liked to imagine corresponded with the body's energy-centres. I could see that she was impressed. She looked at me with that glitter in her eye; I smiled, bowed subserviently and went to fetch some more towels. When I got back, she'd figured out the controls and the room was filling with steam. I leaned against the door and admired her as she got undressed. How a girl of her age had managed to acquire the body of a goddess painted by Titian was completely beyond me ... she turned to face me as the tub started filling, attempting to cover her breasts with one arm, just failing and looking all the more attractive for having tried. I bit my lip, whimpered quietly, and desperately thought of something to say that would cover the way I felt. "Your hair matches up now," I said, gesturing in the general direction of downward. She made a wry face and threw her T-shirt at me. It was still warm from her body. I caught a trace of her scent ... down boy, I thought. Down. The tub had filled to the point where the water was starting to spill into the overflow-vents; she turned off the main faucet and tested the water's temperature. "Yowch!" she withdrew her hand very quickly. "Perfect!" She lifted one leg over the side and tentatively let her foot dip onto the steaming surface. Apparently, it wasn't as hot as she'd made it out to be; she stepped over the side, the overflow-vents making sloshing sounds as she displaced water, and slowly lowered herself in. "I think you're sitting in it the wrong way," I commented, putting the four largest towels into the clothes-dryer and setting it for ten minutes. "Those are arm-rests ..." She sat back, placed her legs along the raised ridges on each side and grinned defiantly back at me. I crossed my arms and frowned. "You look like you're in a gynaecological examination chair." She smiled serenely, closed her eyes and settled back. There was a bank of taps along the right-hand side of the tub which controlled the vents which lined the inside of the spa. I'd worked out a system of markings which identified each one; I turned on the jets which ran along the sides, aimed at her ribs. The water started bubbling. "Oh! Ah. That's, that's wonderful ..." she murmured. I watched her tensions melt away, her legs relaxing against the side-shelves; she looked as peaceful as I'd ever seen her. I almost hated to disturb her, but I knew she'd be disappointed if I didn't at least try. I found a small face-washer and dipped it in the water. It was an ugly military green colour to start with, and when wet, it was an even uglier moss-green, but it was a well-worn, utilitarian piece of material which, unbeknownst to her, had featured in a number of secret sunrise rituals dedicated to Latis and Eos. Old enough to be soft and yet new enough to be scratchy; I caressed it with an old sliver of soap, added a trickle of scented oil and began massaging the sole of her right foot with it. It was hard to see how, but she managed to convey the impression that she'd relaxed even further. Encouraged, I used a nail-brush to scrub her toes - the nails themselves were, as usual, immaculate (I could never figure out how she did that - went barefoot so much and yet ... well), while stroking the tops of her feet with the face-cloth. I went through my entire repertoire of tricks - the massaging-the-nerve-point-under-the-ball-of-the-big-toe, the supposed pressure-point-along-the-outer-side-of-the-foot, the longitudinal-bending-of-the-muscles ... I began to wish I'd read all of that book on acupressure instead of just scanning some of the more interesting diagrams. "You know very well that you're turning me on, playing with my toes," she murmured. Actually, I hadn't, yet; I supposed that she'd tired of waiting and wanted me to get on with it. She extended one leg straight up, let the water lap around the back of her thigh, then lowered her foot to where I could kiss her toes. I thought it wouldn't have been very subtle to simply suck on her big toe; instead, I moved from one to the next, gently kissing each one in turn and giving each the barest flick with my tongue. Summoning all my courage, I dared to dart my tongue between two of her toes, and was rewarded with a gasp, that old, familiar sound; my heart swelled with pride. I could still serve her the way she wanted to be served. That was all the incentive I needed. I began to work my way up her foot, around the ankle, taking it just as slowly as I could get away with, I thought, and not be accused of teasing. Apparently not fast enough; she lowered her leg into the water, grabbed me by my hair, dragged me within range and kissed me. For a few minutes, I lost track of the outside world; there wasn't anything else, just the two of us fixed on that axis. Initially, I was precariously balanced on the edge of the tub; as our embrace wound around a tighter focus, I was dragged in with her. Water sloshed over the side, the level raised too quickly for the overflow valves to deal with. There wasn't really enough room in there for us to lie side-by-side; she pushed me down onto my back, briefly submerging me; then she allowed me up again to breathe before climbing up to turn around and lie over me with her arms wrapped around my thighs, knees holding my ribs. Eagerly, I reached up for her hips and pulled her down to me, lips touching her thighs and then between. Ahh. I knew what to do. While I encouraged her clitoris to make an appearance, she tried to undo the belt-buckle on my pants, not helped by the fact that my pants were made of black vinyl and held together with an astonishing array of press-studs, all of which were soaked and rather slippery. My gently nibbling her labia and humming against her clitoris didn't help, either; fortunately, she managed to get the studs and the belt undone before becoming too frustrated. For a few moments, I shuddered with the sensation as she massaged my balls, gently and then not-so-gently digging into my thighs with her fingernails, then clasping her fist around my shaft and squeezing as hard as she could. As it had so often in the past, it became a competition; to see who could distract the other more. I think she had the advantage over me; if she wanted me to slow down, she would simply sit lower and force my head under water. Added incentive; besides which, the feeling as she ran her tongue around the head of my penis, gently kissing the end, was impossible to ignore. I settled down to a solid, repetitive stroke, running my tongue back and forth over her now-prominent clitoris; whenever my jaw began to ache, I'd lean forward slightly and kiss her there while humming as deep a bass tone as I could imagine, starting somewhere around low D and going up by a semitone each time. I knew I'd find the right note eventually; I just had to hold off my own climax until then. Ah. I definitely had her worried; she'd stopped teasing me with her lips and was now slowly, forcefully jerking me while sucking hard on the head. This meant that I was gaining on her. I reached up and slowly inserted my index finger (at rather an awkward angle), probing with a gentle rolling motion until I could hook the end of my finger down and press softly against where I imagined the g-spot was. Ah. After that, she didn't stand a chance. She tried to pull away, but I had my left arm firmly around her hip and she wasn't in any state to think of a less subtle tactic, like sitting down and trying to drown me. I tensed the muscles in my right hand until my finger started quivering like a bargain-basement vibrator; that, combined with more steady tongue-work, finally sent her over the edge. She almost crushed my ribs with the force of her climax; she half-rose out of the water, thighs quivering for almost thirty seconds (yes, I counted) and then fell back with a splash. Fortunately, I was ready for this and managed to avoid jamming my nose into anything sensitive. I cautiously experimented with a few more gentle movements of my index finger; distracted, she'd lost concentration and wasn't prepared for this. I caught her unawares and before she could distract me - though she did try, desperately squeezing me with a rhythm based more on desperation than anything else - I'd coaxed her up towards another climax. This time, she bore down on me and hung on for dear life, and instead of considerately pausing and waiting for her to finish coming, I kept stroking with my tongue and beckoning, almost to the point of holding her down with my finger. It was as if I'd pushed her up onto the plateau of orgasm and was holding her there; she rode a series of slow cyclic contractions which got so strong that she was gasping, then almost crying out with each one. The pulses slowed slightly; the last one held on, wavered and then she collapsed with a groan. I took the opportunity to grab a breath before I was forced under again. When she'd recovered, she got up shakily and kneeled astride me, my erection still in her fist. She gave me that dangerous look through her eyelashes while slowly moving it back and forth, like a video-game professional biding her time; when she thought I was as hard as I could get, she leaned forward slightly and then lowered herself onto me slowly, teasing me as I'd teased her, allowing the head of my penis into her and then moving away again. When I tried to thrust upward, she pushed me down again with an evil grin; after only a few minutes of this, I was begging her for release. She leaned forward, dangling her breasts just out of reach; all I had to do was touch her nipples with my tongue, and she'd give in to me. I had to push up with my hips at just the right moment before I could do this; once my lips closed over her left nipple, she couldn't resist and, as slowly as possible, she sank down onto my painfully engorged shaft. Rather than up and down, she moved back and forth along me, pressing her breasts together so that I could just get both nipples into my mouth at once. I sucked as hard as I could; she shuddered, forced herself down on me hard and clutched my shoulders, fingernails digging in painfully. I relented slightly, letting her swollen nipples slide out from between my lips, then sucked them in again and ran my tongue over them; that was all it took to make her come once more. Her contractions squeezed me and I came too, heels thumping against the base of the spa; she leaned back, riding me, and my head went beneath the surface again. She grabbed me (coughing and spluttering, wracked with orgasm) around the neck and held my head above the water until I had sufficient composure to lean up on one elbow. I looked up at her victorious smile, coughed again; then she collapsed against me and we hugged, almost drowning me again. I don't think I would have survived if she hadn't reached behind my head and pulled out the plug, letting the water drain out. Just then, the clothes-drier went 'ping'. We staggered out of the tub and dried each other with hot towels. Seeing that I'd kept her awake for far too long, I led her to the spare bedroom with the guest's double bed, lay her down in it and then joined her, hugging her spoon-fashion, her behind nestled in my lap. Just before we drifted off to sleep, she murmured: "You know, I like to have a shower first thing in the morning." "Mm-hm. Sorry, I don't have a shower any more." "Ahh. I guess it'll have to be another bath." I smiled.

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