My Bestie's Brother at the Spa

Writer's note: A more indulgent chapter, and a twist to the usual formula.

The little changing room smells like incense and freshly laundered towels. I take the robe from the hook and slide into it, luxuriating in the soft, cloudlike fabric against my skin. The belt cinches neatly around my waist with a satisfying tug.

Jules meets me in the hallway with a caring smile. She's tall and elegant despite wearing the same cosy gown as me and a discreet beach bag. And if I'm being real? A little intimidating, too.

My mind goes back to the text she sent Roman a few days ago, inviting us to join her and her boyfriend Trevor on their spa day.

Bring your little bunny

Well, here I am, very much in the mood to be petted and pampered.

Roman and I would've never splurged on something this luxurious, but Jules is in her forties and loaded. She waved the boys off to the pools and booked a whole string of treatments for us.

"Ah, Maddie. Ready to go?" she says when she sees me, already gliding toward our spa attendant.

I feel absurdly small behind her, like I have to take two steps for each of hers.

Five minutes later, we're sunk into plush chairs, feet soaking in warm baths, while two women work silently on our nails. They're elegant, focused, and way too cool to be fussing over my chipped polish.

"This is just the first step," Jules says, her voice a lazy purr. "To get us in the mood. Then the real treatment begins. You'll feel like a different person when we're done, you'll see."

I nod and take a sip of my mimosa.

"Pace yourself, sweetheart," she adds, not unkindly, but with just enough weight to make me pause mid-sip.

I set the glass down and shift in my seat.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, trying not to think that the last time she saw me, I was dressed as a Playboy reject, with a tailplug sticking out of my ass.

"Yes, of course."

"Why did you bring me here?" The rest of my question is implied: this has to cost as much as Rom's rent. Am I being recruited for a threesome? A cult? What's going on?

Jules lets out a distinguished little laugh.

"Do I need a reason to treat my friends?" She must catch the look on my face. "Well, maybe not quite friends yet, but we'll get there. I don't know if you've noticed, but my boyfriend spends most of his free time with yours."

I snort. "Tell me about it."

"But it's not just that," she pauses for a second, considering her words. "You made a big impression on me and the others at our Halloween party. And to be honest, I usually have a hard time connecting with Trevor's friends. What with the age gap and all. I thought you and I had a nice dynamic, and I want to keep that going."

Oh crap, even Jules has insecurities? She's just a lonely adult struggling to make friends, not some sort of succubus.

"Well, if you were planning on buying me off," I gesture vaguely to the mimosa, the room, the warm foot bath. "This is working really well. I don't want to seem ungrateful."

Again, I get a laugh out of her. She puts a gentle hand on my forearm.

"Enjoy," she says, "You deserve nice things."

===

The next room is more intimate than the last. It is full of soft material and dimly lit. At the center sit two plush-looking massage tables.

The airy ambient music makes the whole place feel like the set of an ASMR YouTube video come to life. I take a slow, indulgent breath.

Oh yes, I could get used to this.

We're greeted by two greying masseuses in neatly pressed scrubs. One is already helping Jules out of her bathrobe.

Oh no.

No, no, no. Jules has a swimsuit on underneath. A sleek, black bikini. Of course she does. I freeze in place.

"You can disrobe now, love," the kind old woman behind me says, tugging gently at my belt.

I feel the soft fabric glide down my skin. I might have gotten tingles if it weren't for the immediate contact of the air as I'm left exposed to the three pairs of eyes in the room.

Utterly naked.

"That's bold," Jules says, smiling with something that sounds like honest admiration.

"I'm so sorry," I blurt out, scrambling to cover both my chest and my crotch, unsuccessfully. "I thought..."

"It's alright, love," my masseuse answers in a professional tone. She's definitely seen worse. "Do you need me to go fetch your underwear?"

I consider it for half a second. But then I picture her digging through my ratty bag and pulling out my sad excuse for panties in the changing room.

Jules called me bold. That has to count for something, right?

Also, champagne brain. Not helping.

"I'm good," I say, dropping my arms. Very smooth, Maddie.

She guides me to the table, and I lie down, chest to the sheet, doing my best not to think about how exposed my entire ass still is.

Only when she drapes a soft towel over it do I breathe again.

"What are you ladies in the mood for today?" The other masseuse asks once we're both settled.

I glance at Jules. She looks like she wants me to decide.

"Uh, I've never been massaged before," I answer. "Professionally, I mean."

Jules' smile widens.

"Let's start simple," she tells the therapists. "Swedish massage. With sandalwood oil?"

"Ooh, great choice," my masseuse coos approvingly.

She might look like a sweet grandma, but her hands feel like a construction worker's when she presses into my shoulders. I'm melting into the table like butter on a pancake within seconds. Something turns off in my brain.

I let out a soft moan. Totally involuntary.

My masseuse chuckles. "First time is always fun."

Jules and I both blink at each other across the room. Okay. Did Nana just flirt with me?

The next thing I remember is when I'm told to flip. I obey without really thinking, my brain full of glowy fog. Thankfully, Grandma's got it down to a science. She flicks the towel open and re-drapes it across my front before I'm even done turning over.

I'm really getting into the mood. It's not even eleven in the morning, and I'm already tipsy, slippery, and mildly turned on.

This day's going to be a whole thing.

I could be a pet for a sheik somewhere. Pampered, rubbed down, and fed peeled grapes until I forget what 'student loans' even means. I'd be good at it. Roman needs to inherit a fortune or something.

The massage keeps dragging my limbs under, one by one, like she's tucking them in for a nap.

Something nudges my shoulder.

"Maddie?" Jules' voice is soft, and I blink awake to find her standing over me.

We're alone in the room, and I'm still covered by the towel.

"You fell asleep," she says, smiling. "Someone's coming to fetch us for the next treatment."

I groan and get to my feet. I feel light as a feather, arms floating in the hot air of the room. My spine has rearranged itself into a new shape without any consideration for aesthetics. I don't think I've ever looked less like a functioning biped.

Jules' hands pressing on my back and belly pull me right back to Earth.

"Mind your posture," she sounds almost stern. But my panicked sideways glance at her reveals her pleased expression.

I'm naked. I'm tiny. I'm a mess. I want to say, "Yes, Mommy."

But I swallow it back. Does she realize the effect she has on me? Also, why the fuck does she have that effect on me to beign with?

"Maybe put your bathrobe back on?" she says with a little chuckle.

===

Another total scene change. Still elegant in that rich-lady-spa way, but everything's slick tile and cold marble. The massage tables are gone, replaced with raised stone slabs surrounded by... tubing? Shower heads. Hoses.

And then there's the woman in her twenties waiting for us.

"Hello. I'm Lea, and I'll be your therapist administering your scrub today. " She smiles brightly, wearing booty shorts and a sports bra. "I'm really sorry, miss, but there was an issue with the booking. I'm the only staff member currently licensed to perform the treatment. My colleague is unavailable."

That last part is directed at Jules. I've clearly been identified as the sugar baby.

Jules' demeanor shifts. You're not supposed to look like you're in a boardroom meeting when wearing a bathrobe over a bikini.

When she's done negotiating, poor Lea is on her way to fetch a second employee to offer a complementary sophrology session. She's also booked another couples massage for her and Trevor later today. On the house, of course.

"A little bit of attitude goes a long way, huh?" She says once we're alone, with a wink.

"I could just go hang out with the guys, let you enjoy the scrub," I offer like I'm asking for a hall pass.

"Nonsense. You'll get more out of this than I could," she starts rummaging in her bag, producing a scrunchie. "Come over here."

I obey instinctively, and she gathers my hair in her hands. I'm an adult. I'm an adult. I'm an adult.

"Thanks," I squeak.

She's still tying the improvised ponytail into a tight bun when Lea walks back in with the second attendant.

Nobody even flinches when Lea takes the robe off my shoulders. She keeps the friendly smile as she helps me onto the marble slab. Nudity's no big deal to her it seems.

"Ooh, it's warm," I murmur as she guides me to lie on my front.

"Told you you'd like it," Jules says, drinking in my constant amazement.

Lea places a thin towel over my butt, then rests one hand on the small of my back and the other behind my knee.

"So, Maddie," she begins, pulling her hands away. "I'll be using a blend of finely milled oats, crushed almond shells, and wildflower honey. It's a little scrubby, but I promise it's worth it."

"Are you seasoning me?"

Lea snorts softly, but the moment is short-lived. She starts working the mixture into my back. Warm, sticky, and immediately abrasive.

"Careful," Jules calls from her perch, where her attendant trails delicate fingers across her forearms. "They do eat rabbit in France, you know."

She's laid out like some kind of marble deity. From there, she's got the perfect view of my transformation into a rotisserie chicken.

"Il faut souffrir pour être belle," she adds in a perfect accent when she sees me wince from the torture Lea is cheerfully inflicting.

But once the initial shock of the texture fades, the sensation shifts.

Lea's touch is precise and strong. She moves in long, sure lines from the base of my neck to my shoulders and down the length of my spine.

I shiver when she drags her hands over my waist. I had no idea I wanted to be wrapped in a hot, sticky cocoon this badly.

"We usually take off the towel to do the glutes," Lea says softly after a brief pause. "But it's entirely up to you."

"I'm way past caring."

I cringe a little when she kneads the scrub into my butt. She can probably tell what I ate yesterday, judging by how things feel down there.

Still, it turns out to be the right call. Because once she moves down my thighs and calves, I realize how ridiculous it would've been to leave one part of me cold and covered by the damp towel.

"So," Jules calls sweetly from her throne. "You're looking real comfy right now."

Well, she's paying. She gets to gloat.

I indulge her by letting out a deep, contented sigh. To be fair, I'd purr if I were physically able to do so.

"Feel free to make a lot more choices for me in the future."

That's the moment Lea decides to start rinsing me off.

A thousand different hot water jets blast all around me, getting into every crevice of my body. I finally get why she's dressed so flimsily. She stays inside the splash zone to help guide the water and brush away the stickiest chunks.

Jules' eyes stay on me as water runs along my crack. I wish it were her fingers slipping in there. Wait, do I?

"Alright, Maddie," Lea says, stroking my shoulder like I'm some nervous show pony. "In a second, I'll to ask you to flip over. I can provide whatever amount of cover you're comfortable with."

My pussy makes the decision for me, and I quickly wriggle around to lie on my back.

"I'm not shy," I declare boldly as if my hands weren't nervously rubbing against my thighs.

"Great choice," she offers with a sisterly smile, our eyes meeting for the first time since she's been exploring my backside. "Didn't want to pressure you, but it's way easier for me that way."

There is one slight miscalculation on my part. In that new position, Lea's head will hover close to mine. Free to notice every single little change in my expression from her ministrations or Jules' voice.

She catches on to my embarrassment almost immediately. "I can put a warm, scented towel over your face if you feel like it. Very relaxing."

I nod, convinced my voice would crack if I tried to speak.

Another great suggestion from Lea. But even the pleasant citrusy smell can't distract me when her hands rub around my breasts, doing her best not to graze them.

I don't know if I'll be able to return to dollar store cosmetics after today. Jules might let me raid her cabinet if I play my hand right.

"Maddie," Jules starts, reading my mind. "Have you ever thought about getting a Brazilian? I know a woman who works wonders."

My soul leaves my body. I can imagine the three women in the room focusing on my exposed bush, like I'm some sort of feral girl raised by wolves.

Lea once again comes to my rescue as I melt from shame and horniness.

"I think it's brave to keep things natural," she offers, patting my thigh. "Pretty much every client is waxed or shaved these days."

"Thank you," I whimper, voice muffled by the towel.

"Roman would love it," Jules continues, headstrong.

My nipple could cut through the marble if I were still on my belly. Instead, they poke, ignored in the warm, humid air of the room.

"He doesn't get a vote," I say.

Which is a total lie, of course. I'd dye my hair black if I thought he had a thing for goth girls.

Lea keeps working down my body, scrubbing my belly and hips. Every one of her long, deep strokes strips away another layer of my modesty.

She lifts my legs one by one to work on my calves, and I feel the air on places I wasn't aware of before. I hope the paste's sweet smell masks the one gathering on my thighs.

But like a poor farm animal in heat, my squirming is cut short by the return of the water jets. Lea's nimble fingers go back to brushing the fine grains away.

I have to blink a few times to get used to the bright lights when Lea pulls the towel off my face. She's beaming down at me, the proud look of an artist at her creation.

Then I notice Jules.

Her sophrology session must have ended a while ago because she's standing beside Lea. She's back in her bathrobe, her beach bag slung over her shoulder. How long has she been staring at my naked, wriggling body?

Her hand drifts down and brushes my arm.

"I told you this was a miracle treatment," she says softly. "Touch."

I push myself upright on the slab, facing the two women. My fingertips skim along my thigh.

And I gasp.

"Oh my god..." I run my palm over my skin in disbelief, completely forgetting there's an audience. "I didn't know I could get this smooth."

For a few seconds, I just marvel. Then I remember what my mother taught me about modesty.

"You're welcome," Lea says, that perfect balance of pride and professionalism. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Maddie. I'll let you get dressed, but I hope to have you back here soon."

I manage a dazed wave as she glances back one last time before closing the door behind her. I already know what I'm asking Roman for my birthday.

Jules fishes for something inside her bag. She produces a little container from an obscure French cosmetics brand I heard an influencer talk about once or twice.

"Let's get some moisture back on your face before we pack up," she says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

She starts applying the unscented cream to my face in a succession of sharp dabs. Like a mother, putting sunscreen on her toddler. And I happily regress with her, despite my grown woman's tits swaying when she starts working on the top of my chest.

But she's not as bold as I would like her to be. She doesn't go any lower.

Instead, she finishes with a greasy boop on my nose, which shouldn't make me giggle this hard.

"Ready to get back to the real world?" She asks with a warm grin.

===

If this is the real world, sign me up.

The boys meet us at the spa's upscale restaurant, both in matching bathrobes. Roman can really rock damp hair.

We're sitting at a clean little table, eating thirty-dollar salads I know no one expects me to pay for. Not that I could. All my stuff's still locked in the changing room. Whoops.

"So," Trevor asks, between two bites. "What have you guys planned for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I wanna take Maddie to the pools," Roman says. Even for dumb stuff like that, his decisive tone always makes me melt a little. " Then I guess we head back home."

"That's too bad, Roman," Jules chimes in. "You're the only one not getting any treatment. You should at least try one. I'm sure Maddie can vouch for them."

I crumble as discreetly as possible, looking right down at my plate to hide the blush I can feel burning my face.

Thank God he doesn't catch the edge in her tone.

Pretty soon, we're done eating and split up. Trevor and Jules head for their couple's massage while Roman drags me to the communal section like he's never seen a hot tub before.

His strong arm hooks casually around my waist as we walk.

Does he even know the effect he has on women?

Probably not, but I'm not about to tell him. His ignorance is my bliss.

"Jules is right, you know," I say as he's already shedding his robe to reveal the Speedo men are mandated to wear here. "The attendants are pretty awesome. You should try something."

"Not about to let some stranger put their hands on me," he shrugs, stepping over the basin's edge. "Come on, get in."

But I don't move.

"So, uh..." How to phrase it. "I'm not wearing anything under the robe."

He stops mid-step and turns to me slowly.

"What?" He asks, incredulous, rushing back to my side.

"Yeah, I thought you needed to be naked for the treatments..."

His eyes widen, and he looks around, panicked, like we're breaking the law or something.

"I mean, I can still take it off if you really want us to stay in the pools," I continue. "But the attendant told me the spa rents private rooms. I could show off some of the massage techniques I learned."

I don't always figure out in advance how I'll destroy the poor man's resolve on a particular day. But I'm extra proud of this one.

Okay, Jules helped. Still.

That's how I end up watching from a distance as he finishes paying for the private massage room at the front desk.

A horny and defeated Roman gestures for me to follow him and an attendant guides us to our room. I blush a little. We've not booked a masseur or anything, just a door with a lock. She has to know what's about to happen in there.

The spa's interior decorator really was on a roll. It feels like we're standing in an alpine cabin. Even the small hot tub has wooden accents. But it's not my focus for today. We're here for the massage table and the collection of body oils.

"Alright, sir," I say, putting my hands on Roman's shoulder, tugging on his robe. "Why don't you disrobe and lie down on the table for me?"

I hope I'm able to conjure a quarter of Lea's confident professionalism. I probably sound closer to a third rate pornstar.

Roman chuckles, but he's a good sport. He shrugs off the robe, and I hang it on a hook like I do this sort of thing all the time. He drops onto the table, bare and relaxed.

"My name is Maddie, and I'll be your therapist today."

I fuss over the little shelf, scrambling to find a scent that would work for both of us. Something dry, warm, and masculine. There it is, cedarwood.

When I turn around, he's on his back, arms crossed under his head, an amused smile on his lips.

"Hello Maddie," he says, looking straight at me.

I swoon, just a little. Seriously, he jogs, like, twice a week. He has no business looking this sculpted.

I step closer, keeping my voice light and clinical.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Our establishment has rigorous policies. Male customers aren't allowed to wear underwear." My fingers hook under the waistband of his Speedo, and he lifts his hips without a word. Helpful. Obedient.

"For hygiene," I add, all sweetness. "Of course, the same rule applies to our female staff."

His cock stirs halfway to life, resting against his stomach.

And then I drop my robe. The silence between us lingers. He stares like he's seeing me for the first time. My skin's flushed from the scrub.

He goes hard in seconds.

"I'm all about hygiene," he says, dreamy, reaching for me without thinking.

I swat his hand away sharply.

"Sir!" I scold, barely suppressing a smile. "This is a strict no-touching area."

I dip my fingers into the jar of oil, scooping a generous portion into my palm.

"Today, I suggest a blend of cedarwood and a rare moss that only grows on the north sides of thousand-year-old olive trees. It's been used by Vikings to enhance virility and grow chest hair."

Why is no one stopping my bullshit? This is usually Rom's job, but he lets out a polite chuckle instead.

"First," I say, stepping around the table to stand above his head, "I'll warm the oil for you."

I bend slightly, my bare breasts hovering just inches from his chest, and tip the oil across the curves of each one. The cool slickness hits my nipples like a spark. I bite my lip as it trails down, slow and perfect.

And then it drips directly onto him. Every drop earns me a gasp for him.

I lower myself carefully onto the table, body to body. His head presses gently against my belly, and I begin to slide my oiled chest, leaving a glassy sheen all over his torso.

Roman respectfully keeps his arms to his side, letting me stand back up without interfering with my work.

I put my hands on his chest, grazing his nipples, kneading the solid swell of his pecs beneath my palms.

"This massage will help me pool your energy to your lower chakras," I say calmly, like we're not both primed to fuck each other senseless. "So it'll be easier to relieve your excess chi later."

"I've been feeling a little backed up recently," he plays along in the tone of a confession. "My girlfriend's kind of frigid, you see."

He's lucky I'm gunning for employee of the month. Otherwise, I'd break protocol and punch him straight in his dumb, handsome face.

So I smile sweetly and press my weight into my hands, sliding them slowly down the length of his torso, until I reach the curls above his cock.

"Deep breath," I murmur.

Then I veer off, hands trailing over his hips and gliding back up along his sides, up to his shoulders.

I repeat the motion. Again. And again. Watching his body twitch beneath me. He's tense and melting at the same time, taut muscles, fluttering breath, a cock standing at full attention like it's waiting for orders.

The smoothness of his belly. The stubborn prickle of his chest. The warmth radiating off his skin. He smells of cedar and sweat. I'm drunk on him.

The next few minutes are a blur of improvisation. Neck, shoulders, arms, thighs, no part of him escapes my touch.

Roman startles slightly when I plant one knee beside his head on the table. His hands find my waist automatically, steadying me as I swing my other knee up to straddle him. They fall away again the second I settle, like he's reminding himself to behave.

Just like that, my bare heat is right above his face. I want to squeal at the way he stares, wide-eyed, hungry. I keep it together, slipping back into my best Lea voice.

"Our next treatment," I announce, tilting my hips forward just enough to tease him, "is inspired by the ancient beauty rituals of Amazonian warrior women. Sadly, the usual application tool is... currently out of service. I'll have to dispense the product manually."

Before I even finish the sentence, I lower myself onto him.

His stubble scratches my thighs, but I couldn't care less. I slide up and down his features, feeling his chin, mouth, and nose rubbing me, making my toes curl.

His tongue flicks out, slipping between my folds, and I shudder so hard I almost lose my balance. Wet, obscene noises rise up immediately, filling the steamy room along with the sharp, helpless sounds breaking from my own throat.

Roman stays maddeningly still beneath me, hands flat on the table, letting me use him. Obedient. Too obedient.

I grind down harder, desperate to feel him break.

I plant my forehead on his belly, periodically looking down to find him eating me out dutifully. I can't get more proof that he doesn't mind my bush.

All the messy, pent-up lust and shame Jules burned into my skin this morning pours straight onto Roman's face. I hug his torso tighter, a stupid ache swelling in my chest, wishing it had been him ordering my naked, dripping body around all morning.

The thought pushes me over the edge.

My whole body arches, frantic and shameless, in a attempt to push as much of my needy pussy onto him. I can imagine blushing customers hearing my howls in some quiet treatment room.

Roman's hands finally find me, breaking the illusion of my control. He grabs my hips, keeping his mouth around my painfully sensitive clit. He knows what I need and leaves me a trembling and satisfied heap on top of him.

When the worst of the spasms pass, he strokes my thighs and lower back, soothing me with the easy sweeps of his hands.

"You were wound up," he murmurs, low and smug against my skin. "What the hell did Jules do to you?"

I groan, burying my face inside the crook of his crotch.

"I can't even explain," I whimper. "I think she has a giant mommy-crush on me."

Roman chuckles, rubbing his palm along over my butt.

"Should I be amused or worried?"

I prop myself up on my elbows, meeting his gaze. I have to bite my lip at the sheer hunger burning there.

"Don't worry," I murmur, my voice dropping into a low purr. "You've got one big argument she can't compete with."

His cock twitches, begging for attention.

I wrap my fingers around him and sink down, swallowing him deep like my whole life has just been training to be his perfect, mindless sheath. Serving him, making him groan, filling my throat until there's no room left for anything but him

Next time, we're getting edible massage oil. This stuff's taste is not enough to ruin the moment for me, but still, it's pretty bad. It is soon replaced by the pearling, salty pre I lap happily.

"Gonna cum," Roman moans, like I can't tell with the pulsing on my tongue and lips.

I pull off at the last second, wrapping my hand around him and jerking fast. His orgasm hits immediately, thick ropes splattering across his stomach, painting his perfect abs.

I can't help but admire the sight for a second, dazed and stupid with pride.

Then I clamber up to lie face-to-face with him on the narrow table, and of course, I nearly fall off like an idiot. Roman catches me easily, hauling me against his messy, slick chest.

The kiss we share melts the confusion Jules unknowingly sowed in my mind. Yeah, I'm in love. No doubt about that.

"Rinse off in the jacuzzi?" Roman offers, dead serious.

What is it with him and hot tubs?