San Francisco Treat: The Spa

His mouth agape in an "O," Ross was a picture of admiring disbelief. "Be still my heart," he finally said. "Your derriere is perfection."

I tiptoed and pushed my ass out further; Ross accepted the invitation, and squeezed and caressed my ass with his large, warm hands. I swooned at the contact, and purred.

"Carla," said Ross, "Callipygian Carla, your derriere is marvelous in texture and proportion," he said. Suddenly, his hands spread my cheeks, and he buried his face into my ass.

"Ross!" I squeaked — quietly — as his tongue found and laved my hairless asshole. I managed to pant, "Ross, I hear someone on the stairs. And, I have to meet a friend for lunch."

Ross sighed and pulled away as I tugged my skirt to cover myself, but his thumbs continued to stroke the insides of my slender thighs as he gripped them in his hands.

"Fortunate friend," he said. "Can I get on that list?"

"I'm in San Francisco for the week." I replied, "Give me your card, and I'll be happy to call if I get a chance."

Ross handed me down from the stool, then pulled me into a deep kiss that I returned with interest. We broke off as footsteps approached.

"Callipygian Carla," said Ross, "until next time."

Thankfully, I'd already chosen my wife's birthday presents before encountering Ross, so I was just a matter of paying for the books ("Persuasion" and "Northanger Abbey") upstairs.

I retraced my route through Chinatown at a more purposeful pace, my mind awhirl. Had I really just bared my ass, and almost been tongue-fucked, in a public bookstore?

Back in my room, I unrolled the sheer hosiery from my legs with some regret, changed into my previous, less obviously female, outfit (black viscose women's CK's, unisex turtleneck, black women's chukkas), and set off to rendezvous with my wife for lunch.

We met near the Metreon in Yerba Buena Gardens, where she took my arm and led me into the food court.

"Smoothies?" I asked as it became clear where she was leading us. "What happened to lunch?"

"I got a great deal on a spa session," she explained. "You don't want to have a full belly when you're being pressed into a massage table."

"Do I want to be pressed into a massage table?" I asked.

"I'm sure you'll love it, hon," she said, as we grabbed our smoothies and set off in the direction of the Embarcadero, where remnants of the morning fog still hung over the Bay.

As we walked, half my mind was engaged with chatting with my wife, while the other half was replaying my daring morning en femme; we were soon standing before the spa's front desk without my having any recollection of how we got there.

My wife's discount was for a couples massage and facial package; but, while she wanted the hot stone massage, the deep tissue massage sounded more appealing to me.

One peculiarity of my wife's anatomy was that she had hardly any meat under her skin. (She had been on her college cross-country team, and was still lean and fit.) I sometimes joked that she must be part turtle, because she felt like she had a hard shell under her back.

So deep tissue massages held no appeal for her, since they only gave her pain.

"That's OK!" chirped the girl at the front desk. "You can each have different massages, and still do the couples facials. It's just that the room with the hot stones is separate from the one for deep tissue massages. Is that all right?"

My wife and I looked at each other and shrugged.

The next thing we knew, we were naked together, and being pummeled from all sides by jets of warm water, in an insane shower that had a rainforest flow coming from overhead, and spray nozzles on the walls. I guess they wanted us perfectly clean for our massages.

"I think I'm good already," I said to my wife, as we sat in fluffy bathrobes while attendants squeezed water from our hair and bound it in turbans, which they fastened with velcro.

"Silly, we're just getting to the good part," she said. She looked at me in my turban, said "You look adorable, hon," and smooched me good-bye as we were led to our separate 90-minute massages.

My attendant, clad in an attractive cream and medium-blue medical uniform, led me to a suite with a single, serious-looking massage table, covered with medium-blue pleather. I looked at the door as it sighed shut, noting its thickness, and how tightly it fit its frame.

"Yes, our massage rooms are all pretty sound-proof," the attendant said. "Can't have our guests distracted by screams coming from the other rooms." She grinned as she finished prepping the table, then handed me a towel.

"Hang your robe over there, lie face down with your face here," she said, indicating the hole in the table, "and put this towel over your hips. David will be right with you."

I lay with my face in the hole, my arms at my side, breathing in the slightly herbal tang of the cool air, with soothing ambient music just audible.

The door sighed open, followed by a polite knock. "Good afternoon — Ms. Silver?" came a polite baritone voice.

Hmm; did my wife play games with the admission form, or did my hairless body look that feminine? I decided to play along.

"Hello. Call me Carla."

"Thank you, Ms. Silver," he replied. "I'm afraid that's against policy. My name is David, I will be your massage therapist today. We have you down for the 90-minute deep tissue, correct?"

"Yes, please," I replied.

Just minutes later, I was swooning with pleasure as David cracked and squeezed and probed my feet, and gently flexed my ankles.

"Ooo!" I squeaked, as he started in on my calves and lower legs. His hands felt enormous; his fingers easily encircled my admittedly slender calves.

"Are you a dancer, Ms. Silver?" David asked as his fingers elicited pain and pleasure. "You have the musculature."

"Mmmm-hmmm," was all I could say.

"You have such long, lovely limbs," he said, as he continued his deep strokes along my calves. "And your skin is exquisite in texture, I must say."

The feel of David's long thumbs along my inner thighs, as he his strokes traveled from my knees almost to my towel-covered ass, was making me quiver inside.

I was momentarily disappointed when he removed his hands from my legs, but then he started on my neck and shoulders.

I think I passed out or fell asleep for a bit; when consciousness returned, David was working my entire back; his strokes started with his fingers gripping my hips, his thumbs on my sacral dimples, then traveled slowly up my back, seeming to crack every vertebra.

His hands were large enough that he could keep his thumbs centered on my spine, as his fingers caressed the sides of my torso.

When he started on my upper glutes, his thumbs circling my dimples and dipping under my towel, I heard myself ask: "Do I need to keep my ass covered while you're massaging it?"

He paused. "That is your option, Ms. Silver," came his reply.

"Then please remove my towel," I said.

"As you wish." David whisked the towel away with the air of a waiter unveiling an entree. I heard him take a long breath as he applied massage oil to his hands.

Then his hands were caressing my ass, rubbing and squeezing the bubbles of my butt as he spread oil on my smooth skin.

"You have — there's that word again — an exquisite derriere, Ms. Silver," said David. "Beautifully toned and shaped, and covered with that lovely skin of yours. It almost glows."

I moaned as he ran his hands up the backs of my thighs, then began massaging my ass more thoroughly. I couldn't help but lift my hips against his hands.

David paused; I moaned as he gently ran his thumb along my waxed perineum.

"It seems, young miss" he said, "that there is... more of you than advertised."

I gasped as his hands parted the globes of my ass, and his thumb caressed the rosebud of my ass.

David said, "I would suggest an extra deep massage of this area, Ms. Silver" as he ran one thumb, then the other, along the cleft of my ass, while his big hands engulfed and squeezed my globes.

"Oh, yes, please!" I moaned. I gasped as the tip of one lubed thumb slipped inside me.

Before long, David was burying one big, long, thumb, then the other, deep into my asshole, as he kneaded my ass like dough.

"Deeper!" I gasped. "Please, I need it deeper!"

"As you like, Ms. Silver. With your consent, of course," he said, as he wiggled the thumb that was buried in my ass.

"Oh, yes!" I moaned, "do whatever you want to with me!"

"I do believe I have the tool for the job, Ms. Silver," said David.

I heard a rustle of fabric, then felt David's weight on the massage table as he straddled my body. Suddenly, there was a hot, firm tube of flesh nestled in the lubricated cleft of my ass.

David sandwiched his cock between the bubbles of my ass, sliding it between my oiled cheeks like a boa hunting for its prey. I pushed against him, trying to guide his big snake inside me.

The feel of the big, spongy head of his cock splitting my hole tore another girlish moan from my throat.

David rubbed my shoulders and neck as he pressed me into the table, trying to both relax and control me as he slowly split my ass open with what felt like an impressive cock.

I suddenly pictured Ross in the bookstore burying his tongue in my ass, which allowed me to open to all of David's cock.

"Oh, yes," David grunted as buried the full length of his cock in me, and held it there. "Now to give your wonderful ass all of the attention it deserves."

It's good that the room was soundproofed, because high-pitched moans and oaths issued from me almost continuously as David fucked my ass with the control and intent of the master masseur that he was.

At first, David's hands continued to squeeze my shoulders and neck with each stroke of his cock; but then he shifted his position so that the fat head of his cock was teasing my G-spot. His hands squeezed and caressed the globes of my ass like he was milking a pair of breasts.

After a delicious eternity where David kept me hovering on the border of ecstasy, I dimly heard a soft chime, and David eased his rhythm. I whimpered in protest as he gently slid his cock from my no doubt gaping ass, and stepped off the table.

"30 minutes left, Ms. Silver," he said. "Shall we give your other side some attention?"

David draped a towel over my hips, gently helped me roll over and sit up, and handed me a cup with a straw. I sipped lemon water as I watched him wipe his cock with a warm washcloth.

His cock was a muscular baton about 8 inches long, with a girth that I might have been just able to get my fingers around, and a fat, triangular head. I could see why it gave my asshole such a delightfully deep reaming.

David himself was about 6'1", with close-shorn dark hair, the physique of a martial artist or a fencer, skin like milk chocolate, and a definite Asian cast to his features. His hands were the size of dinner plates, but finely articulated like a concert pianist's.

He smiled at my scrutiny, and said, "My mother is Japanese." He nodded at me, and said, "I would have guessed from your complexion that you might be Chinese, but your eyes look Western. They are quite lovely."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm Chinese and Scots-Irish."

David inserted a headrest of sorts into the table where the hole had been. He gently laid me back on the table, with my head on the headrest.

Unexpectedly, he stretched my arms above my head, strapped my wrists together with something covered in terry cloth, and fastened the straps to the top of the table.

David climbed up on the table and straddled my belly, squirted massage oil on his hands, ceremoniously extended his arms, clapped his hands, and rubbed them together.

I gasped as his palms engulfed my big puffy nipples and started mashing them into my chest with circular strokes; then he flicked them with his long thumbs; then he gently pinched them in his long fingers, and pulled on them like he was milking me. Then he returned to the circular strokes, and started the entire sequence over.

My wife would sometimes play with my nipples, but this was the first time that a man had pleasured them with intent.

Before long, I was panting, and practically bouncing on the massage table in response to David's ministrations. My deliciously engorged nipples felt like they were going to pop.

But I was also getting fixated on David's cock, which showed his own excitement. I stared at the chocolate one-eyed monster as it bounced while David's hands skillfully massaged my nipples.

David saw that not only was my gaze fixed on his cock, but my mouth was open, and my tongue was moving like I was trying to lure his cock onto it.

He paused with my nipples pinched in his fingers; I squealed as he gave an extra tug.

"Something I can do for you, Ms. Silver?"

"I want you to massage my mouth with that," I said, nodding toward his rampant cock.

"As you will," he said. He gently slid one hand behind my neck, and guided the head of his cock to my mouth with the other. I closed my eyes as the tip made contact with my extended tongue.

"Eyes open, if you please, Ms. Silver," said David. "Seduce me with your lovely eyes."

I tried my best, although I probably looked cross-eyed as David slowly fed me more and more of his beautiful cock. It was only the second time I had a man's cock in my mouth, but I was a fast learner, and very enthusiastic.

I was somehow able to relax my throat as the tip of his cock nudged it; David felt it, and slowly pushed until his entire cock was inside my stretched-open mouth.

David smiled down at me. "You are a beautiful sight, Ms. Siver," he said.

David held my head, and fucked my face as I stared into his eyes, and willed him to flood my mouth with his seed as I inhaled his cock and bathed it with my tongue. But his control was masterful; he withdrew his cock from my mouth with a "pop" as another chime sounded softly.

"Fifteen minutes, Ms. Silver. Let's finish you properly, shall we?"

He stepped off the table to its foot, where he oiled his hands, then pushed my legs up and apart as he kneeled between them.

"You have such long, spreadable thighs, Ms. Silver," he said, as he stroked the backs of my legs from my buttocks to my knees, his thumbs tracing delicious paths along the insides of my thighs, coming perilously close to the hairless pubes that lay between.

"Excellent flexibility as well," he said, as pushed my knees to the table to either side of me.

I gasped as the lubed head of David's cock entered my still-slick ass, then cried, "Ohhh!" as he possessed me in one long, insistent thrust.

David gave me a deep, passionate fucking as his hands stroked and spread my thighs with each stroke. I almost lost it when he reached around and grabbed my ass in his big hands, and squeezed and caressed it vigorously as his cock split me open, over and over.

Suddenly, his elbows were pinning my knees, his fingers were milking my nipples, and his cock was assaulting my G-spot insistently.

David played me like an unstrung fuck-puppet as I bucked and moaned uncontrollably under his expert sexual stimulation.

A spray of my cum hit my chin as I blanked out with pleasure; I howled girlish cries of, "Ohh! Ohhh!" at the wrenching contractions of my titanic orgasm.

When consciousness returned, I found that David had unbound my wrists, and was gently wiping me down with warm washcloths.

"Turn over, please, Ms. Silver," he said, and ran warm washcloths over my backside. I moaned as he gently wiped between my legs, from my perineum, over my rosebud, and along the cleft of my well-fucked ass.

"Up you go, Ms. Silver," David said. He gave me a hand off the massage table, and helped me into my robe.

"You are an exquisite creature, Ms. Silver," he said. "My business card is in your robe pocket. I have a private studio in the Richmond if you'd like another session. Now, if you'll have a seat, Jenna will be in to take you to your facial."

I smiled up at him, and said, "I was trying to make you give me a facial, David!"

David smiled, and turned to the door.

"Oh, David?" I said.

"Yes, Ms. Silver?"

"You didn't cum?" I asked.

He smiled, and said softly, "We can't have you leaking during your facial, now can we?"

Jenna came for me with a wheelchair, which I gratefully accepted, wheeled me into the salon, and helped seat me at the station next to my wife.

"How you feel, hon?" she asked.

"Tenderized," I murmured, not trusting whose voice would come out of my mouth, Carla's or mine. "You?"

"I can take that kind of stoning," she replied.

The cosmetologists came in. The senior one looked at our ticket, and said, "Hello, ladies. The couples facial?"

My wife didn't bat an eye. "That's us!"

***

"Ms. Silver? Ms. Silver?"

I must have dozed off during the first part of the facial. I glanced at my wife, who seemed to be in dreamland herself.

"Sorry, miss, what was that?"

"No worries, Ms. Silver. I just wanted to clean up your eyebrows a bit, is that OK?"

My eyebrows weren't bushy, but I did tend to get stray hairs close to my eyelids.

"Sure, that would be great."

The facial exfoliation and extraction kept me somewhat awake, but I must have dozed again during the facial massage and the rest.

My wife looked at me as we were led to the sinks to have our hair rinsed out. "Wow, hon, now your eyes really pop!"

I didn't have a chance to ask what she meant, as my attendant sat me down, removed my turban, and lowered me toward the sink.

When I sat in the stylist's chair, my hair wrapped in a towel, I stared at my reflection in shock.

My face had always been androgynous, but now, with my reshaped eyebrows, I saw a young woman looking back at me, her long-lashed doe eyes huge under thinner, more arched eyebrows.

The stylist unwrapped my hair, squeezed more moisture from it, and tsked at the wavy, unruly mass. "Let's smooth this out, yes?"

A few minutes later, the stylist had blown my hair out into a straight, shining fullness that fell around my face, making me look even more feminine.

My wife grinned at my appearance as we went into our changing room. "Oh, hon, you look beautiful! Let's get dressed, we have an appointment at the MAC cosmetics counter!"

Cosmetics counter? And did she say "we?"