Susan, Queen of Fucking Everything

Susan, Queen of Fucking Everything

or

Leah learns how to get cozy with a cock

A Nude Day story by SpaLover

Foreword: Brian has a bit of me in him. The Spa is inspired by a real spa, and The Bunker is unfortunately inspired by a real office. Essy is modeled on a figure model I met when I still had dreams of becoming an artist. Her pose, heels and jewelry, is one I vividly remember from an art class. I have used what makes two women special to make Susan very special. Lana and me are friends and collegues who challenge each other to write fiction, mostly in the hope that this will make our non-fiction writing less boring. Her latest challenge to me was a piece of erotica with a bit of femdom (just to get me totally out of my comfort zone). All characters are at least 18 years old.

My prose is probably too much that of a tech writer whose parents demanded 'proper English', which is what I am, but in this story I can conveniently hide behind the fact that Brian, the narrator, is an engineer. Last but not least, the 'Queen of Fucking Everything' merchandise mentioned below is commercially available. It's what gave me the idea to the story.

Section 1 - In which I meet Susan on the commuter train

The weather was hot by British standards. The AC in the commuter train was out of order (no surprise). Now and then the train company made their standard (not very convincing) apologies for this in a metallic voice through the PA system.

At Highridge station I was delighted, surprised, but also a tiny bit embarrassed to see my friend Susan making an entrance (Susan would certainly not just walk into a room). She sat down beside me with a hearty "Hello Brian, fancy seeing you here, small world and all that. Almost didn't recognise you with your clothes on. Speaking of clothes, we sure are overdressed in this particular sauna. Leah will be along in a couple of minutes." Susan winked, said "I'll just make myself a bit more comfortable" and hiked up her skirt to show off her strong and beautiful legs. She looked very smug when I stared at them and got a bit red faced by the fact that I couldn't resist doing so.

I sternly told myself to not be so easily manipulated and tried to avert my eyes, only to see Susan slouch down and slowly hike up her skirt even more... and it was obvious that she was, as usual, meticulously shaved. Susan's eyes were full of happy mischief when she told me, in her Strict School Teacher voice "But really Brian, you can see that bit of me on a regular basis. Why should it be any special to see it here?".

Without missing a beat, Susan switched into her soothing Agony Aunt persona and used it to tell me "In case you feel embarrassed about our handy little lesson with Leah, she is not as young as you possibly perceived her to be. Well above legal age and so on and so forth. Leah sometimes seems younger than she is because, well... Her upbringing was not very socially stimulating. Or at least a bit special. But I am working on that. And Leah loved our little lesson, she has talked about little else since we had it, she would really like a repeat."

Susan suddenly pulled herself up, went back to Stern School Teacher, and added "However. I do think that during our next lesson, you dear Brian need to contribute more in class. Just as we spoke about the last time. I am quite sure that you can do that very well if you just put your mind to it. You are a good student Brian. I am convinced that you could most certainly give Leah a very good oral... present... ation. However, if you are unsure, we could certainly have a preparatory lesson on oral mastery, just you and me. I wouldn't want you to act tounge tied with Leah." Susan smiled wickedly.

Section 2 - In which I first visit The Spa, on Nude Day no less

Some background to our meeting on the train is clearly in order. I know Susan from The Spa, which is a Naturist Spa, and, I will tell you a bit about The Spa, and how I got to be a regular, before I tell you how I met Susan there. And how that eventually led to that handy lesson with Leah. Then we will get back to the train. But it will take a while.

The Spa has a Finnish sauna, a steam room, a Caldarium (a 37^oC sauna for wimps like me, not in much use), a Jacuzzi, a Café with a TV usually showing football, a reading room with lounge chairs, and two massage rooms. A naked hostess is running the Café. The customers are naked also during the massages, which, and I need to stress this, do not include 'happy endings'. The therapists don robes when they enter the massage rooms to comply with city regulations (before those regulations they were naked also when providing the massages). It is what might perhaps be called a Naturist Sports Cafe. With massages.

Spa culture is normally about peace and quiet, people don't talk much, and mostly in hushed voices. The Spa however is a place where people chat excessively, except in the reading room. The hostesses, usually university students making some extra pounds, are accordingly selected for their 'chattiness'. I was introduced to the spa by Lana, one of those students, who I worked with on a truly wonderful 'Numerical Methods in Bio-Chemistry' course at the University. (We were both excited that our initially rather esoteric interest in Group Theory could be applied to something as practical as simulations on molecular configurations.)

I was quite shy in those days, the idea of showing my naked self to the world was daunting, and so at first I evaded Lana's attempts to get me to visit The Spa with her. Still, I had to give in when Lana used a bit of friendly blackmail as she told me "We're supposed to have this nice little event in summer, fun and games and good food. Reason is, July 14 is International Nude Day. Point is, I'm event manager, I could really do with your help in the kitchen. Plan is, we've managed to mass produce that spicy veggie Lasagna of yours before, you and I. The Spa people are gonna love it, I'm very sure of that. And, well, just a friendly reminder Brian, only a friendly reminder Brian, wouldn't like to put undue pressure on you Brian, perish that thought Brian, but, well, I did help you with The Bunker Brian".

And yes, I really did owe her a favor. The Bunker was a University office (now mercifully closed via a reorganization), and the bunkermen and bunkerwomen (I wonder where they were bred?) were remarkably unhelpful to those who failed to fill in its incomprehensible forms to their satisfaction. They normally just handed those forms back saying "Correct it, it's wrong" without any explanations. Or any guidance. On one horrible occasion I had tried for weeks, without any luck, to fill in an unfortunately important form, when Lana took pity on me and went along at my next visit. To my surprise and delight she managed to persuade one of the bunkermen to actually be helpful, and did so by talking about his cats. Lana always finds a way in. Which of course makes her into a perfect hostess.

On an unusually bright and sunny day, just before Nude Day, Lana was kind enough to take me out for Cappuccini & Panini and give me the lay of the Nudie land. This included the naturist erection etiquette, not surprisingly one of my main concerns, and one which she handled admirably matter-of-fact: "Right, no problem if you get hard, but you do need to cover up if it happens. And be careful to be, eeh, what's that word... non-intimidating. That's it, non-intimidating, marvelous weird and wonderful word isn't it, you should act non-intimidating. To those who might notice." In the end, I was mostly kept too busy in the kitchen to have the time to get into penile problems.

On one occasion however I had to 'look at the ceiling and compose myself' before I was able to leave my hiding place behind the counter. Essy, one of the massage therapists, was in the middle of the room, facing me, and she was being skillfully body painted by one of her collegues. She stood with her two feet three feet apart, her hands on her hips, and her hips thrust forward, to allow her collegue to more easily apply the paint. This pose made it clear that her ear, nipple and genital jewelry matched her necklace and high heels. The gold and emerald went perfectly with her allover tan. I had never seen such a self confident display before. Not too provocative, not too teasing, just very, very confident. And those legs. I was in awe.

Lana was thankfully the only one who saw my predicament, and she was very amused. She came over and whispered "Brian, my dear Brian, you sure are predictable. Essy is your wet dream, right? Hardbody, oozing confidence, nice sexy legs, the whole 'make Brian randy' package... She competes at a fairly high level in some latin style dance... might be Salsa. So, dancers legs... Oh, and I remember, competetive dancers must learn to look supremely confident to impress the judges, she told me that once. Nice cock there by the way Brian, you certainly don't suffer from erectile dysfunction Brian. I'll give you a call if I ever need a crowbar."

Me and Lana can be perfectly candid with each other precisely because there is no physical attraction between us. Lana is a 'small bombshell' kind of woman; Short, blonde, blue-eyed and very curvy, but while she does turn a lot of heads, she does not turn me on. I was born to do heavy lifting, and while a fair number of women seem to appreciate this look, Lana prefers men looking more like middle distance runners.

At the end of the evening, one man and two women, one of them Essy, had asked for my lasagna recipe, and I was inordinately proud of this. I found The Spa to be a very nice place indeed, not in the least because it had Essy in it. I have been a regular ever since.

Section 3 - In which I meet Susan and learn to appreciate juggling

I first met Susan a year later when she was a nursing student starting out as a spa hostess. Susan was hired since she is a good football player, the manager correctly assumed that she would chat knowingly about Premier League with the guests. But she, and The Spa, got much more than that. Possibly more than she bargained for.

Speaking of football, Susan's much admired juggling exhibitions, which may occur at any time she thinks the place needs to be brightened up, soon evolved to include moves which are impressive in so many ways. Let me at least try to give you an example: Think Limbo. With the ball kept in place between her breasts and chin. And somehow she is able to move around the room like that. The way she limbers up before such limbo also highlights how, shall we say, revealingly flexible Susan is. Add to this that her shows take place in a moderately sized room, and it should be clear that the audience is given a quite close up view of her moves. And of course of her wonderful female bits and pieces.

After some initial embarrassment I learned to sit down, position my legs to ensure that nothing should pop up, but even so place a towel on top for good measure, before I enjoy her shows. Most men do the same. The male part of her audience is bound to look rather silly, but, fortunately the women just tend to smile knowingly.

Speaking of exposure, it is fair to say that some, if not all, hostesses and therapists allow themselves to be mildly exhibitionistic, even though the place is set up to be a prim and proper naturist establishment. Susan however is never mildy anything. Her skills, her hardbody, her gift of the gab, Susan will happily show everything off. She is also remarkably well read. This is one of the reasons why I have never, at least as far as I can remember, and my memory i usually good if I say so myself, heard her lose an argument she had decided to win. Another is her sheer verbal ability.

Susan in stand-up comedy mode really knows how to get her audience to laugh (and blush), especially when she uses her 'Pamela, the confused nympho from Backborough' persona. When Susan does Horny Pam, her female bits sometimes respond and, well, reinforces the image of horniness. This is often made all the more visible since, when in Horny Pam mode, she does tend to slip into more, well, open poses. Let's call it serious method acting. And I actually do believe it works like that, Susan's way of handling her personae is intense.

Short note to any reader not from the UK: Anyone who excels at 'fast and witty' dirty puns is King, or in the case of Susan Queen, in any (chatty) establishment in the UK. It is at the core of being British that high wages, a good sex life and professional respect are all very well, but what really gives satisfaction is the ability to floor those around with a nice and fast and preferably naughty pun which makes them groan and laugh. To be honest I am not very good at this.

Since Susan is undoubtedly a Queen she is allowed to bend the proper naturist etiquette rules quite a bit. No one, including the manager (who naturally likes the idea of getting more regular visitors), wants to rein her in. A lot of us, men and women, go to The Spa when we know she will be there, just to get our weekly dose of Susan. She may be Horny Pam, juggle, drastically explain an episode during the French revolution, list the founder crops for the agricultural revolution, or describe how Beckham managed to get that special curl on his free kicks. You never know which Susan you will meet, but you can be sure of one thing: She will be center stage.

Section 4 - In which Susan becomes as laptop therapist

After about a year as a hostess Susan became Essy's apprentice (on top of football and her nursing studies which she continued to ace). Under her tutelage Susan became a 'laptop therapist', Essy's definition of someone who mitigates the effects of 'sitting in a cramped position in front of a laptop'. I do this (in particular on the commuter train), and when I started to suffer the consequences I became Susan's client.

While I had a hard time for a short time during my first visit to The Spa, I thankfully got used to the nudity quite quickly. After the first few visits I never again needed to cover up outside the massage rooms (except during Susan's juggling shows of course), and male arousal must, as already mentioned, be covered up. Before Susan I was also seldom visibly aroused, and then only for brief periods, during massages. But, on Susan's table, I got embarrassingly hard and stayed hard.

One reason is the, shall we say, very casual way Susan handles the robe rule. If it's on her shoulders, she apparently thinks that she has done her part, regardless of whether her nips and nether lips are covered. Susan's now you see it, now you don't is, as far as I'm concerned, a lot more erotic than mere nudity. Also, if and when I close my eyes to avoid this too arousing sight and get some control of myself, my inner Youtube system tends to play clips from Susan's most memorable juggling and Horny Pam shows. And Susan is of course the woman of my wettest dreams. Such strength. Such confidence. And those legs!

When I concentrate hard (in particular when turning models into code or modeling ideas into reports) I tend to tense my jaws just as hard, and so I suffered quite badly from headaches before I got regular help from Susan. When she treats me for this her nips will be now hidden, now visible, just above my eyes. My forearms require her attention because of how I punish them with 'lap top, chin-ups and kettlebells'. Susan is usually sitting on a chair beside the massage table, pinning my hand on her lap or chest to allow her to apply the necessary force and control. As you can imagine, I will see my fingertips mere centimeters from her nips or perfectly shaven lips if her robe opens up. As it quite often does. At first I was even naive enough to assume that this happened by pure chance.

On one memorable occasion my eyes were helplessly drawn to that small distance between fingertips and lips, and I saw her get that special Susan mischief in her eyes when she noticed. Susan scooted forward until that distance was measured in mere millimeters, and smiled broadly when my manhood turned crowbar. She winked at me, scooted forward a bit more, made brief contact, and launched herself into a wonderfully silly fake orgasm using all of her impressive theatrical abilities. And exploded in laughter when I quickly wilted. This truly was the quintessential Susan. If and when Susan get's a 'naughty joke' idea, she is liable to go all in. Immidiately. Never a dull moment with Susan.

At one of the first sessions (before I got to know her better) I tried to apologize, but Susan brushed it aside and told me, in her Stern School Teachers voice "I am literally getting your blood flowing when I release the tensions in your muscles. Standard anatomy suggests that this should make it easier to fill up your pride and joy. I am reasonably certain about that conclusion even though the underlying data might to some extent be skewed by these." And as she was saying this she pinched her nips, which made them pop out, and winked at me. "I have in fact massaged nearly all regulars, most of them have been happy to see me at some time or another, so, no reason to be ashamed my dear Brian."

Then her eyes were suddenly full of that wonderful Susan mischief, she switched to Horny Pam, and told me (something like) "Sitting in the cafe I was. T'snowed outside it did. T'was full of naked men t'was. Well, the Cafe. Not the snow. That woulda been stupid! Hard'n nice for me. Not in the Cafe, that woulda been stupid! But they'd all been hard for me on the table. The massage table, not the cafe table. That woulda been stupid. Made me happy with meself. And Pete, he's soo yummy, he sat at one table. Tried to jump his bones, but missed and hit the floor. Hurt real bad it did. Had me wrong glasses on I did." (While this was hilarious in real life, I need to apologise for the way I wrote it. My ability to make her Backbourough Pam persona justice is limited.)

Susan theatrically snapped her fingers to signal a change of persona, smoothly went back to Stern School Teacher (her favorite character, she is after all a bit of a control freak) and told me "However, and to be serious, and I guess I should be serious at least occasionally, most men do not get this hard. And definately not this persistently hard. You are quite special my dear horny Brian. But since I am who I am this is not a problem on my table as long as you accept the rules: You don't touch me here in this room. None of us are allowed to manhandle your manhood here in this room. I suggest that you take a nice shower afterwards. To, shall we say, release any tensions I am not supposed to release for you. These are The Spa rules. I have been known to bend some rules, but I'm not going to break them, and certainly not in ways which might cause legal problems for The Spa. Or me. Or you."

After Susan graduated she still continued part time at The Spa. Her official line was that "It makes a nice contrast to the hospital" and I am sure that this was (and is) true. Since we knew each other quite well by then she felt able to tell me "It also allows me to continue to show off a bit." True to form Susan smiled broadly and untied her robe while saying this, and then grinned even more when she saw my penile reaction to this. She then got serious and added "And I can hardly banter and joke like this with my patients."

After the first massage session with Susan, I was treated by her about twice a month. I ceased to be constantly hard at every session, but now and then, out of the blue, a session would get me going again. Susan would just smile wickedly and say "Time for a nice shower again, right?" During those sessions when I was not (too) aroused, we were happy to realize that we could enjoy each others company more intellectually, brought each other books to read, CD's to listen to, and so on. And when I was 'persistently hard' it was clear that Susan was if anything amused and rather flattered. But she gave no signals whatsoever that she might physically act on it. She remained professional in this respect, even though she often went into Horny Pam mode and teased me mercilessly. Never a dull moment with Susan.