Ignored in bed for over a year, a neglected wife is left alone at a country hotel spa while her husband plays golf, and the masseuse who notices her wedding ring decides to give her everything he won’t.
Graham teed off at nine.
He kissed $name1 on the cheek in the hotel lobby, already in his ridiculous checked trousers, already looking past her at the men waiting by the buggies.
“Treat yourself, love,” he said. “Book the spa. Put it on the room. I’ll be back for dinner.”
Then he was gone, and $name1 was standing alone in a country house hotel in the middle of nowhere for their fifteenth wedding anniversary weekend.
She was thirty-nine. She had a good figure still, round hips, full breasts, long legs she kept in shape at the gym for no reason anyone ever noticed. She and Graham had last had sex fourteen months ago. She knew because she had counted. It had lasted four minutes and he had fallen asleep straight afterwards.
She went to the spa because there was nothing else to do.
The spa was in the old orangery, all glass and palms and the smell of eucalyptus. The receptionist booked her in for the signature full body massage, ninety minutes, with someone called Nadia.
Nadia was waiting in the corridor in a black tunic. Late thirties, dark-skinned, with long braids tied back and a soft, knowing face. She was curvy and strong, with wide hips and a slow walk.
“$name1? Lovely to meet you. Here on your own?”
“My husband’s playing golf.”
Nadia’s eyes dropped, very briefly, to $name1’s left hand and the thick gold band there. Then back up.
“His loss,” she said lightly. “This way.”
The treatment room had a glass ceiling half-covered with vines, so the light came in green and soft. There was a deep, wide table under a fleece cover, and a little speaker playing something with cellos.
“Robe off, panties too if you’re happy. Under the towel, face down. Take as long as you need.”
$name1 undressed. She took off everything. She lay down under the warm towel and felt, for the first time in a very long time, the strange thrill of being naked and waiting for someone.
Nadia came back and folded the towel down to her waist.
“Tell me where you hold your stress.”
$name1 laughed hollowly. “Everywhere.”
“Then we’ll go everywhere.”
The oil smelled of rose and vanilla. Nadia’s hands were warm and slow. She started at $name1’s feet, oddly, kneading the soles, pressing her thumbs up the arches, then working up her calves. Then the backs of her knees. Then her thighs.
She took her time. Long, kneading strokes, all the way up to where the towel lay across $name1’s arse, then back down. Over and over. A little higher every time.
“You’ve got lovely legs,” Nadia said conversationally.
“Thank you. Nobody notices.”
“I noticed.”
Nadia moved to her back, folding the towel lower so that it barely covered the cleft of her arse. She worked her shoulders, her spine, her sides. Her fingers trailed along the sides of $name1’s ribs and brushed the soft swell of her breasts where they pressed against the table.
The first time, $name1 thought it was an accident. The second time, she knew it wasn’t. The third time, she lifted her chest a fraction off the table to give her more room.
Nadia’s fingertips slid further in, under her, stroking the curve of her breast. Slowly. Deliberately.
$name1 held her breath.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Nadia said.
“Yes.”
“When did someone last touch you like they meant it?”
$name1 felt her throat tighten. She lay there with her face in the cradle and the cellos playing and she said, very quietly, “Fourteen months. And he didn’t mean it then.”
Nadia’s hand stilled on her back.
“That’s a terrible waste,” she said softly. “Of a woman like you.”
She folded the towel down off $name1’s arse completely and let it fall to the floor.
Then she poured warm oil right into the small of her back and let it run down between her cheeks.
$name1 gasped.
Nadia’s hands followed it. She kneaded $name1’s arse, firm and slow, spreading her open, letting her thumbs slide down into the slippery crease and graze over her tight hole, then lower, until the tip of one finger brushed the wet lips of her pussy.
$name1 moaned. It just came out of her.
“Shh,” Nadia said. “It’s all right. Do you want this?”
$name1 thought of Graham on the fourth hole, laughing with his friends, not thinking of her at all.
“Yes,” she said. “God, yes.”
“Turn over, then. I want to see your face.”
$name1 turned onto her back. Her breasts were flushed, nipples standing hard. Her legs fell open on their own.
Nadia looked down at her body slowly, from her face to her tits to the trimmed dark triangle between her thighs, and then at the wedding ring on her hand where it lay on her stomach.
“You can keep that on,” Nadia said. “I like it.”
She poured oil over $name1’s breasts and took them in her hands.
It was the first time in fifteen years that anyone but her husband had touched them. Nadia massaged them slowly and sensually, cupping them, lifting them, circling her palms over the hard nipples. Then she bent down and took a nipple into her mouth and sucked, long and hard, and $name1 grabbed the edge of the table and cried out.
Nadia sucked one nipple, then the other, her tongue swirling, her teeth tugging. Her oiled hand slid down $name1’s belly and between her legs.
“Oh, darling,” she murmured against her breast. “You’re dripping. All that, just waiting for someone.”
She slid two fingers inside her.
$name1 bucked. Nadia fucked her slowly, curling her fingers up, finding the spot inside her that Graham had never once found in fifteen years, and pressing it. Her thumb found her clit and circled it.
$name1 came almost immediately. Hard, shocking, her hips jerking off the table, her pussy clamping around Nadia’s fingers. She hadn’t come with anyone else in the room in so long that she burst into tears halfway through it.
Nadia held her. Kept her fingers inside her, kissed her wet cheeks, stroked her hair.
“That’s just the start,” she whispered. “I’m going to make you come until you forget his name.”
She pulled her tunic over her head. She was naked underneath, her body full and dark and gorgeous, heavy breasts with chocolate-brown nipples, a soft belly, broad hips, her pussy shaved smooth. She climbed onto the wide table and pushed $name1’s thighs apart and knelt between them.
Then she lowered her mouth to $name1’s pussy.
Nadia ate her like a woman who loved doing it. Long slow licks, the flat of her tongue pressing up through her folds. Her lips wrapped around $name1’s clit, sucking gently, then harder. She pushed her tongue deep inside her and moaned into her, the vibration rippling right through $name1’s body.
“Graham never –” $name1 gasped. “He never once –”
“I know, baby.” Nadia licked her clit in tight fast circles. “Forget him. You’re mine for the next hour.”
She slid two fingers back inside and sucked and licked until $name1 came again, grinding her pussy against Nadia’s face, crying out to the green glass ceiling.
Then Nadia shifted. She lay on her side and lifted one of $name1’s legs, and slid her own leg under, and scooted forward until their pussies touched.
Scissoring. $name1 had seen it in porn, alone, late at night, while Graham snored in the next room. She had never imagined doing it.
Nadia’s pussy was hot and slippery against hers, clit to clit. Nadia gripped $name1’s raised thigh and began to rock.
“Oh my god,” $name1 moaned.
They ground together, wet sliding against wet, the oil and their juices making obscene slick sounds. Nadia rolled her hips in slow, deep circles, pressing their clits together, and then faster, harder, until they were bucking against each other, their thighs locked, their breasts bouncing.
$name1 grabbed Nadia’s leg and pulled her harder against her and ground back with everything she had. Fourteen months. Fifteen years. All of it.
“Yes,” Nadia panted. “That’s it, fuck me back. Fuck me, you gorgeous married slut.”
The filthy words lit $name1 on fire. She came screaming, her pussy pulsing against Nadia’s, and Nadia came with her, both of them shaking and gasping, their clits throbbing together.
They lay tangled for a minute. Then Nadia leaned off the table and opened a cupboard.
She came back holding a long, thick, double-ended dildo, pink and glossy and curved at both ends.
$name1 stared at it. Then she laughed.
“Is that part of the signature package?”
“Only for very special guests.”
Nadia slicked both ends with oil. She knelt facing $name1 and slid one end slowly into her own pussy, groaning as it filled her. Then she guided the other end between $name1’s legs and pushed.
It stretched her. It was thick, much thicker than Graham, and $name1 moaned as it slid inside her, deeper and deeper, until she and Nadia were sitting pressed together, the pink shaft buried in both of them.
“Now move,” Nadia whispered.
They rocked against each other. Every time $name1 pushed forward, the dildo drove deeper into Nadia, and every time Nadia pushed back, it filled $name1. They found a rhythm, grinding, fucking each other, their breasts pressed together, their mouths finding each other in deep, messy kisses.
$name1 had never been kissed like this while being fucked. Ever.
Nadia reached down and rubbed $name1’s clit with her thumb. $name1 reached down and did the same to her. They fucked faster, harder, the table rocking, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.
They came together one last time, clinging to each other, the dildo trapped deep inside them both, shaking through it until neither of them could move.
Afterwards Nadia cleaned her gently with warm towels and wrapped her in a robe.
At seven, Graham came back to the room, sunburnt and pleased with himself.
“Good day, love?” he said, not looking up from his phone.
$name1 was sitting by the window in her robe, twisting her wedding ring slowly around her finger, her body still aching deliciously.
“Wonderful,” she said. “I’ve booked the spa again tomorrow. And the next day.”
“Good for you,” said Graham, and turned on the golf.
