Seventeen
He had made an appointment for her to receive a massage, something he knew she loved to enjoy. The appointment was for the middle of the morning, at a private cabana on the beach. She had no idea what she was in store for, other than a massage. The appointment card that was waiting for her when she had checked in the previous evening had just given her a time, a location, and a request to wear her bathing suit.
A few minutes before 10:30am, she left their room. He had already gone off doing something manly, since he knew she would be occupied for most of the morning. In fact, he knew a lot more about what she was going to be doing than she did, since he had arranged for the 'special' service.
Arriving at the cabana, she pushes her way in through the brightly colored vertically hung fabric panels that provided privacy for those inside. There is an elevated massage table in the center, and a couple of chairs bracketing a table with some glasses and a carafe of orange colored liquid. A vanity with a chair and a variety of beauty supplies is across the way, she surmises it is for the ladies to repair their faces after getting their 'treatments'.
"Ah, you have arrived," she hears from off to her left. It startles her just a bit; she had not seen anyone when she first poked her head in.
"My name is Armando. I am your masseuse for this morning. Would you care for a mimosa?"
'Oh yes, please," she manages to stammer out. A bit of alcohol would help the upcoming experience, certainly.
Her host moves across the small enclosure to the table with the refreshments. As he pours her a glass of orange juice and ice chilled champagne, her breath quickens.
Armando is a caramel skinned Hispanic, maybe in his mid-20s. About 5'10", with jet black locks swaying against his shoulders. This cabana boy is drop dead gorgeous, ripped like a Channel No.5 model, she thinks to herself.
As the young man brings her the drink, she notices his bare chest, and then her eyes involuntarily drop down. His bottom/shorts/swimsuit/whatever is very thin. Although it is not really tight, it does absolutely nothing to hide his 'personality'. His package is significant, to say the least, and she would swear she could make out the outline of the mushroom tip against the slick looking fabric.
He turns back to the massage table, and picks up a luxurious looking towel. Turning, he presents it to her. "If you would like to get started, please remove your suit. You may wrap yourself in this. When you are ready, please lay down on the table, face up, please."
Taking a large gulp of the delicious drink, she wonders what she's gotten herself into. Although this guy is gorgeous, she hadn't expected to be naked in front of him. Oh, what the fuck, she thinks. He sees white bootie all day long, he's not even going to notice your ass, she reasons.
Putting the glass and the towel down, she needs both hands to wiggle out of her one piece suit. Catching a glimpse of him while reaching for the towel, she notices he's facing away from her, prepping the table. She wraps the white towel around her, covering her breasts and privates.
Fortunately, the massage table is not high, and she easily sits on the edge. Swinging her legs around and wriggling into place is a bit more difficult, her hands are busy trying to keep the towel in place. She leans back, positioning her head in the low cradle provided to support her neck. The material on the table is smooth, and cool -- far cooler than she would suspect, given the moderate temps outside in the sun. The analytical part of her mind wonders if it is cooled some how.
Eyes closed, her muscles start to relax. The slight breeze coming from the ceiling fan, coupled with the cool surface of the table tingle her skin. The background noise of the waves coming ashore a bare 100 feet away is mesmerizing. In just a few moments, she feels herself cruising just above unconsciousness.
She feels something wet and warm dripping onto her left foot. Then, a few drops onto her right.
"You have such beautiful feet. I'll start with them. If you feel uncomfortable with anything I am doing, or if anything hurts, please let me know. I am here for your pleasure," Armando informs her.
She has a rather perverted thought right then, something about how that monster between his legs is what she needed for her pleasure. Nothing wrong with some innocent fantasy, was there? She manages to softly reply, "Be my guest".
His hands close around her left foot. He gently massages it between his fingers, the warm oil providing a slick lubrication. She marvels to herself how soft the skin of his hands feels. He is definitely not a hard laborer! His fingers knead her sole, and roll her ankle around. He pops each toe, starting with the pinky and working in towards the big one. His fingers slide in and out between her toes. She wonders if he is thinking of the appropriate sexual metaphor as he does that. Her mouth falls open as a low moan of pleasure escapes.
His work is not dainty. He is really working over her muscles and ankle joint. It is not painful, but she certainly knows that this is going to be a workout.
Finishing with the left foot, he moves to the right one and repeats the treatment. This time he pauses for a moment to add some more oil. There is so much now that his skin occasionally makes obscene slurping noises as it moves against hers. She thinks it sounds kind of like what she'd hear if his belly was slapping against her ass as he slid that huge member in and out while fucking her from behind. As soon as the thought is there, she chastises herself -- come on, she tells herself, he's only working on your feet!