Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...A private massage...with a man...

The attendant next to the table was a tall, athletic man who looked like he worked out every day--twice. His uniform was crisp and his clean-shaven face handsome and young. Leah could hardly believe how distractingly handsome he was- chiseled jaw, two-day stubble, and eyes so blue she wondered if it was a contact lens prank. His nametag read “Ethan.” He smelled like eucalyptus and warm bread.

“You can disrobe to your comfort level and settle under the towels,” he intoned. “I will knock before I return.” His eyes lingered an extra beat, then he closed the door behind him. Leah felt her entire face flush.

Leah only had her robe on so she hung it up and kicked off her spa slippers and then slid onto the massage table, chest-down, the sheet barely large enough to cover her ass. The padded horseshoe for her face was warm and smelled faintly of lemon. Leah’s nerves skittered; she’d never had a male masseur before, let alone one who looked like he belonged in a high-end vodka ad.

Ethan re-entered with the gentle courtesy of a cat burglar and folded the sheet down to mid-back. His hands were huge and steady, pressing into her shoulders with slow, deliberate ****. Leah melted under his touch. She felt the tension draining from her body as he worked up and down her spine, the strong, sure pressure of his thumbs unlocking knots she didn’t know she had.

For a while it was purely professional—maybe even clinical. But after the first ten minutes, Leah noticed Ilia’s fingertips grazing the top of her buttocks, a little lower, a little slower than necessary. When his hands slid under the towel to knead her upper thighs, she tensed, but he just said, “If you are comfortable, I can work deeper.” His accent made the word “deeper” feel like a dare.

Leah made a small, involuntary sound. “That’s fine,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say more.

Ethan’s hands explored her thighs, working closer and closer to the edge of her sex. Leah’s heart pounded in her ears. She felt herself clench, then relax, then melt into the table as his strokes became more deliberate, more intimate. He trailed his fingertips up, grazing the crease of her inner thigh, teasing the soft folds just shy of her most private place.

“If you wish, I can give you extra attention,” Ethan murmured, his breath hot and close to her ear.