Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
"You're very tense here," Beth said, her tone taking on a teasing note as she pushed her slender finger against my anus. "Mr. Ashe made it clear that we were to provide thorough relaxation and preparation."
I made a strangled noise.
This is what you're here for, isn't it? The horniest part of my brain shouted at me. To experience new things?
"I'm going to use my thumb to try to get some of this tightness out," she told me, and pressed firmly around the rim of my asshole.
"You look a little stiff here," Canson said, sliding a finger on either side of my clit.
I moaned aloud.
"Let me see what we can do about that." He squeezed the knuckles of those fingers slightly together and gently rocked his hand. "Now, it's important that you don't tense up."
That would have been a lot easier if my body wasn't weeping for release already. And I meant weeping; the fluid dripping from my clutching cunt wasn't the massage oil.
Beth's thumb pressed forward. I fought my body's immediate response and kept my muscles relaxed like Canson had instructed. There was pressure and resistance, but no pain when she breached my hole, and I gasped as the oiled digit penetrated me all the way to her hand.
"You're tensing," Canson said.
"There's a lot of internal tightness," Beth noted. Their clinical speech patterns were driving me almost as wild as their hands. Because there was nothing sexual about their words, the pleasure I felt seemed out of place. Like I was doing something wrong, like I shouldn't be thinking of or wanting an orgasm. That this was a massage and I shouldn't be getting off on it, despite the fact they were clearly going to get me off.
"Maybe you can give me a hand?" Beth suggested to Canson, who slipped a finger from his other hand in my cunt.
I gripped the sides of the table.
"Like that," Beth told him, pressing her thumb down in firm circles that he repeated from below. Their fingers touched, separated only by the wall between my intimate passages, and I moaned.
"You're tensing up," Canson warned, his knuckles alternating the pressure on my clit.
Relaxing made my impending orgasm seem too far away, and I gasped in frustration.
"I do tense up when I come," I told them. "Don't most people?"
"They do," Beth agreed. "But our job isn't to bring you to orgasm."
"Then you're doing a terrible job," I laughed in dismay.
"Mr. Ashe has strictly instructed us not to let you come, I'm afraid," Canson said, withdrawing his finger a little to access my g-spot. "Which is exactly why you need to relax."
"I think you're ready for the final part of your treatment," Beth said, withdrawing her finger. I groaned in frustration as Canson removed his hand, as well.
I lifted my head to see Beth take something from a small wicker cabinet. "What's the final part of the treatment? You show me an ice cream sundae and say I can't have it while putting the spoon to my mouth?"
Canson chuckled at that.
"No, silly," Beth said with a laugh. She turned and held up a spool of wide red satin ribbon in one hand and a small steel butt plug in the other. "You've got to be giftwrapped for Mr. Ashe's birthday."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
(Matthew)
No birthday gift in my life had ever or would ever top the sight of Charlotte arriving at my door, bound in lengths of red satin ribbon and miserably horny.
“Is this for me?” I asked, pretending to be surprised as she glared at me above the huge red bow serving as a gag. The two staff members who’d brought her stepped out and closed the doors of “the residence,” the private house reserved only for my stays on the island. Charlotte didn’t move from her spot, though her legs weren’t bound in any way; it would have made it far too difficult to parade her up here.
I walked around her, admiring the handiwork of our spa employees. The ribbon that passed around the back of her head and in front of her mouth was a separate piece from the length that wound around her golden braid and bound her arms together at her back. The impossibly intricate binding passed down to the huge bow she wore like a bunny tail, the ribbon no doubt passing through the steel loop of the butt plug they’d used on her. More slashes of bright red looped around her thighs and between them, up to bracket her hips and crisscross below and above her perfect tits.
“Happy birthday to me,” I said with a low whistle.
Whatever she tried to say behind the gag sounded impatient. And I couldn’t blame her. I brushed the backs of my fingers down her arm and she visibly shivered, so I repeated the action on her tight pink nipples.