6

She pulled away. "I-I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay, emma. I don't mind. Really!"

She paced to and fro, her hands a flurry of activity. "No, no, I'm, I'm a little bit tipsy and..." She turned back to me. "Oh, don't pout. It's not you! I promise. Just...not tonight. Not now. I don't want to do anything we'll regret.

"Tomorrow, I'll give you your reward, okay? We'll talk. I'm in Bungalow 813. Come by tomorrow morning. Let's say, 10 am. I'll be waiting for you, alright?"

"Alright."

"I'll see you then. Goodnight," she said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, and walking off into the evening. My chest ached. I felt as though I had been stabbed in my solar plexus.

I spent the rest of the night in a funk, trying to decipher what it had all meant. Had it meant anything? Had it just been an ****-fueled mistake? What did she think she was going to regret? Did she regret our kiss? Did she regret our time together? What was going through that head of hers?

I tossed and turned in bed, trying to deduce her feelings for hours, as though the truth could be solved with the right algorithm. One question dominating my mind: did she like me?

It wasn't until after 1 am that I finally fell asleep.

The next morning, I found myself walking down the path to the resort's bungalows by 9:45. It was still slightly cool, the breeze brisk and refreshing, the sun not yet applying its full strength, a few clouds blocking its weakened rays. I worried that every person I walked past knew the lascivious thoughts on my mind. The glances of a few of them made it obvious that my thoughts were having an effect on me already, but I ignored the smirks and raised eyebrows.

I reached my destination. The wooden, green door in front of me radiated intimidation. I knocked and waited. Would she answer? Seconds felt like hours. I heard a click behind the door. I straightened my posture and smiled as it swung inward.

"John!" she beamed, hugging me tightly, her thin, silk robe an unwelcome barrier between our bodies. "How are you doing?"

"Great," I replied, uncertain how tightly to hug her back. I didn't want to scare her off again. Why was she dressed? Did she no longer trust me enough to be naked in front of me? Was she trying to stop any indecent thoughts of mine?

"Come in, come in," she said, waving me into the living room. She closed and locked the door behind me. She glanced at a clock on the wall. "You're early," she observed. Her eyes swung down. "Guess you were excited to get here, huh?"

"Guilty," I confessed. How could I not be? "What's with the robe?"

"Today, I'm your masseuse," she explained. "It would be inappropriate for me to be naked, now, wouldn't it?" I wasn't certain her robe quite met the standard of propriety. It was certainly lovely, a black robe with a crimson cherry blossom pattern, its edges pure white. But even from here, the front of her robe was open enough to reveal that she had nothing under it, the edges of her breasts just barely visible in the wide delta of skin exposed by her loose robe. Her nipples poked proudly through the soft, thin fabric. It ended just a few inches down her thighs, just barely covering her pussy and ass, hiding them from view. A sight that had been open to me for the last few days was now cruelly denied.

"Do I get one, too?"

"Of course not. It's traditional for the client to be nude. Please, follow me, Mister Miller."

She led me through her dwelling to her bedroom. As we walked past the kitchen, I noticed a half-eaten bowl of fruit and a large, white ceramic stein on the table, along with a familiar-looking yearbook. She opened the door to her room and ushered me in. The lights were off. Candles flickered, providing a dim light, suffusing the room with a floral scent. Her bed had a large, white towel atop its red sheets. Would it still be warm from her sleeping body?

"Please lie down, sir," she instructed me. I climbed onto her bed and got comfortable. "Face down..." I sighed and turned over. She walked over to her cluttered bookshelf and turned on her iPod, her robe doing little to hide the contours of her ass as she bent over to do so. I stared, enraptured, as the robe rode up inch by inch, only to stop just short of revelation. Soothing music flowed into the room.

She walked over to her end table, picked up a small bottle of oil, and poured some into her palms. Her nails were freshly painted a dark, wine red. She rubbed her hands together and pressed against my back, her hands moving in long, slow strokes, pressing firmly against me, pushing me into her bed. "Are you enjoying it?" emma asked me.

"Mmhmmm," I mumbled into the pillow.

"Good." She moved down my back, squeezing the stress out of my body with her gentle pressure. She squirted some more oil into her hands, and wrapped them around my thigh. I tensed, my balls retracting at this sudden intrusion. Her hands danced around my leg, stroking my muscles. My cock grew against her bed sheets.

I tried to bring my legs together to conceal her effect on me, but she kept my legs parted. I could only imagine her view from behind me, my ass, my cock, my balls, everything exposed and laid bare. She had seen them before at the beach, but this felt more intimate, more ****. I was at her mercy.

Her fingernails pressed insistently against my inner thighs. Her hands pushed against my legs, going deeper and deeper, coming closer and closer to my manhood. Her fingertip brushed against my hard-on. I shuddered. "Oops," she giggled. My breath hissed through my teeth as I clenched the sheets. She traced my shaft, torturously slowly along its length all the way to my balls. I was worried I'd cum right then and there. "Well, someone's enjoying this already," she purred. I could only grunt in response. Touch me, I begged silently. Grab me. Stroke me. Take me.

She walked around the table, standing in front of my face. She leaned over and grasped my arm, her breasts ready to spill out of her robe's open top. I shifted my head, hoping for a peek at her once-again-forbidden breasts, her newly-hidden nipples. But before I could, she was once again upright, pulling my arm gently in alternating strokes. She held my hand in hers, our fingers intertwined. I squeezed, savoring the brief moment before she released.

"Turn over," she instructed. I was still rock hard. She had to know that... I turned over.

She covered her mouth with her hand. "Mister Miller!" she cried. "My, my... I didn't realize..." Liar... She pulled a small, white towel off of her nightstand and covered my lap, looking away. Not that it helped much. If anything, it only drew attention to it.

emma placed her hands on my chest and massaged, her full breasts hanging precipitously over my face. If she tripped, I'd probably suffocate. But at least I'd die happy. She held my head, tenderizing my neck by rocking her wrists back and forth. I closed my eyes. "I wish I could enjoy this every day," I sighed.

"So long as you're here, your wish is my command. Is there...anything else you'd like to wish for?" her fingers walking down my chest.

I opened my eyes, looking up into her upside-down face. She knew my wish. It was obvious. My body couldn't keep it a secret. I glanced downwards, then back at her.

"Ahh...I see..." She leaned in against my ear, and whispered huskily, her lips brushing against me as she spoke. "You're not the only one with talented hands... Yesterday, you made your move. Today, I'll make mine. Just lay back and enjoy."

She stood back up. She walked slowly around the bed until she was at my feet. emma climbed up onto the mattress with a feline grace, and kneeled between my open legs. She leaned over me, her fingernails just barely brushing against my skin as she carefully grazed against me from my chest down to my thighs and back, her hard nipples caressing me through her robe every time she leaned too far forward.

She sat up and brought her hands to my thighs, massaging them firmly, her hands under the edges of the towel. If she would just move a bit more, just come a bit closer, I'd be in heaven. I was so close to bliss... Please, I silently begged. Just a little closer. But she avoided my cock with a deft grace as her hands caressed everything but what I wanted them to. All the while, her eyes kept switching back and forth from my face to my crotch as she watched my body react to her.

"Are you ready for your happy ending?" she asked.

"God, yes..."

With one hand scratching out slow circles upon my inner thigh, and a wickedly mischievous grin on her face, her hand slowly slid under the towel.

She grasped me tightly. I gasped. The towel began to slowly bounce up and down as her hand stroked my rigid shaft. "How does this feel, Mister Miller?" she whispered.

"Amazing. Don't stop. Never stop," I pleaded.