Spa Day Sex And Hot Tub Handjob

Spa's are, I feel, something of a contradiction in terms. They're billed as the ultimate in relaxation getaways; places to be mindful and zen-like, to be pampered and allow the everyday stresses to dissipate into nothingness amongst the calming music, multiple pools, massages, steam rooms, mud treatments and near endless supply of inexplicably watermelon infused drinking water...

In other words; the very definition of calm serenity. A blissful environment to wile away the hours (and the wallet) in calm and soothing surroundings.

And, for some, I'm sure they are.

But for others, and I'm very much placing myself firmly in *this* camp; they're also among the horniest places it's possible to find yourself.

Because in addition to being veritable bastions of inner peace, they're filled to the brim with frequently beautiful examples of the human form, all of whom are largely resplendent in only their swimwear, are often found either bobbing around in seemingly handsome-enhancing water, or alternately parading around still enjoyably moist and dripping having only recently emerged.

And far from merely being granted to the opportunity to passively ogle these individuals, you find yourselves frequently in exceptionally close confines with them; sat near side by side watching the sweat glisten as it drips down their torso in a steam room, or occasionally wedged into gloriously skin-on-skin contact in a hot tub, while jets do their best to get you feeling fizzy in every sense of the word.

All of this is without even throwing in the possibility of having received a massage at some point during the experience; though you can be assured that being pummelled with magic fingers while you can do nothing but daydream about the glorious specimens you've encountered does equally little to lower the libido.

Am I exaggerating? Perhaps a little. I've certainly been at Spa's where almost none of the above applies and, instead, I've been surrounded largely by leathery pensioners wherein I've been dragging the average age of the clientele down by a quarter of a century. Or where the establishment has been populated almost entirely by self aggrandising wankers whose bespoke monogrammed towelling robe cost more than all of the treatment packages combined; the type of guy who says 'Yah' instead of yeah - a guaranteed means of making my sex drive switch immediately into hibernation mode.

But - old folk and unbearable wankers aside - Spa's are sexy.

They don't flaunt themselves as such, of course. Indeed more often than not, quite the opposite. The vast majority of spa retreats impose rules not entirely dissimilar to those of the 1990's public swimming baths of Britain; No heavy petting. I.e. let the watermelon water extinguish your burning loins, or find yourself getting kicked out. And, let me tell you, there is absolutely *no* way of saving your dignity when you are KICKED OUT of a relaxation retreat. But that is, quite literally, another story.

Because the thing is, while it's true to say that no Spa will actively lean in to its sexy undertones, there are certainly a few that are more than willing to be more (irony alert;) *relaxed* at the prospect. Content to simply look the other way in the face of exciting shenanigans.

And, for clarity, I'm not talking about the decidedly dodgy sort that offer happy ending massages, or that host secret sex parties on off peak days. Instead they tend to be the more remote 'countryside getaway' hotels and spas that might attract couples for romantic getaways and are understanding that, providing it's not making anyone else present uncomfortable, the 'sensual' atmosphere can have an effect, and are happy to allow things to become romantic as and when the desire takes hold. The variety who, instead of a 'No Heavy Petting' sign, may instead display the polite yet knowing instruction; 'Please ensure water is the only fluid present in our hot-tub. Thank you'.

It was at one such spa where I found myself earlier this year. Not for a romantic getaway, but instead accompanied by my friend Charlie who had purchased the experience for me as a Christmas present in order to (very kindly) 'help ease the stresses of December' (a long and entirely unrelated story which, like the pantomime it is associated with, is now mercifully 'BEHIND ME').

In her defence, Charlie hadn't realised it was an experience largely targeted at couples. Though she was delighted to lean into the notion when we were welcomed by a receptionist who clearly believed us to be a lesbian duo.

"I'm afraid it's a little... boisterous in there at the moment," warned the receptionist after running us through the usual pleasantries, her pause before the word 'boisterous' being such that she was clearly worried that utilising a derivative of the male signifier may upset our clearly feminist-only sensibilities. "There's a male group in I think celebrating a significant birthday. If they're any trouble *at all* please don't hesitate to let us know. They should only be in for the first hour of your experience before their allotted time is up. If you'd like I can see if we could push your start time back so there's not as much overlap?"

Charlie and I eyed each other knowingly, declined the very generous offer, and hurried off to change into our swimwear.

Boisterous lads of a certain age, you say? Maybe it could be Christmas again after all!

As it turned out, the definition of 'Boisterous' turned out to be more of an indicator as to the sheer entrenched middle-class-ness of the establishment than of the gentlemen themselves. What it actually meant in this instance was 'four guys in their thirties with voices naturally a little louder than that you'd find on a typical golf course.'

Which I suppose would make them 'FORE' guys. (There it is. The worst joke I'll ever write. Remember me fondly.)

While none of the quartet were inherently natural Adonises (Adoni? Adoneese? I digress), they adequately fulfilled the usual variety of characteristics you'd fine in any group of men. There was the tall, sensible one; Nick, the slightly larger funny one; Aaron, the lanky, handsome quiet one; Nick and the 'other' one; Dougie.

Reader, I know what you're thinking. But no, this is no sleight on poor Dougie. Dougie was wonderful (as you'll eventually learn), but he was also, by any definition, the 'other' one. There's one in every group. He was neither the tallest, shortest, fattest, thinnest, funniest, loudest, quietest... He was the median man. So it's not just me being mean. (Second worst joke I'll ever write. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll actually mention something sexual eventually. Stick around.)

Secondly, you're thinking; "She's lost the plot and is clearly making this up ; two guys are called Nick! Gotcha!" Reader, I wish that were true. But, in fact, TWO guys in this group of FOUR were called Nick. Neither went by Nicholas or Nicky or any other variation. The group was 50% Nick. I suggested this should be their band name. Aaron suggested this was less a band name and more of a nickname. As I said; he was the funny one.

For ease I'll refer to them here as Tall Nick and Quiet Nick. I was incredibly tempted to call them PaNICKing and sNICKering, but I've saved you the ordeal of reading that typographical mess if nothing else.

I'll save on arduous detail as to the spa layout and contents - it occurs to me I've now written over 1200 words and not a single one of them could be considered even remotely 'arousing' as yet, which is pushing it even by my glacial anecdotal standards. All you need know is that there were several Sauna/Steam room setups (dry heat/wet heat and a third which i can only assume is a form of heat hitherto undiscovered by man) and three 'hot tubs' - one a jacuzzi style as part of the pool, one a standalone and one outdoor.

Charlie and I were in the outdoor hot-tub when we first encountered the quartet. Far from the loutish thugs they'd been unfairly painted, they'd headed outside for a bracing dip among the elements and discovered the two of us happily stewing away. Instead of leaping straight in, they'd assumed we perhaps didn't want any male company and so were instead awkwardly loitering in a manner that only British men can as they weighed up which was worse; politely asking to join two women in a hot tub, or retreating inside after presumably spending dozens of minutes summoning the willpower to head out into the cold in the first place.

I saved them the effort:

"Don't stand there freezing. There's plenty of room if you want in?"

Reader, were it not for the fact it was so cold outside of the tub that their penises had presumably long since withdrawn into their bodies unlikely to reemerge till the Spring, I'd have sworn Tall Nick ejaculated in his swimming shorts at the very prospect.

Needless to say; they joined us.

The tub's maximum occupancy was six, so while it wouldn't be accurate to call it a tight squeeze, we were very much 'close'. On my right side was Charlie, on my left Dougie, beside him Tall Nick, then Aaron, then quiet Nick closing the circle on the other side of Charlie.

What ensued was five minutes of jovial conversation - Yes it's cold/the water's lovely/the scenery's beautiful/It's Aaron's birthday/Getting over a stressful December/ etc, etc followed by what can only be described as fifteen minutes of the most careful, polite and agonisingly *slow* flirting the world has ever witnessed.

I'll not recount it. You'd die of boredom. (Assuming of course you haven't already. But if you've stuck with me this far, congratulations; something is *finally* about to happen!)

Charlie cracked first.

"We're not lesbians, if that's what you're wondering..."

Tall Nick looked almost disappointed. The remainder looked relieved. *That* was why they were being so careful.

"...Though Charlie's tits could very easily turn me." I followed up, taking her left breast in my hand beneath the water and giving it a jiggle and a squeeze.

The time for subtlety was over.

"Why is it girls can do that, but we can't?" asked Dougie. Mostly as a joke, but not entirely rhetorically.

"Hey, if you all want to take the opportunity to grab and jiggle each other's cocks, you've only yourselves stopping you."

I don't know why, but I've always found throwing the word 'cock' into formerly polite conversation has the most wonderful effect of altering the tone.

As predicted; it worked wonders.

Further increasingly crude conversation ensued which I'll spare you the detail of. Assume I was cheeky, Charlie was blatantly filthy, Tall Nick was nervous, Arron was funny, Quiet Nick was sneaky and Dougie was often endearingly the butt of the joke.

Cutting a long story short (bold words to utter at the 1800 word mark, I hear you cry); we'd reached the point of a 'You can feel me up if I can feel you up' situation - because we all love harkening back to the nostalgic schoolyard days, don't we? And everyone was taking the opportunity to get mildly handsy with each other. I say everyone; Tall Nick had thus far declined to get involved, adopting instead the look of a man who, should he find himself so much as accidentally brushing against a women, may feel obliged to sever all ties with mankind and disappear to join a monastery.

This was a great shame for twofold reasons.

First, he was a tall man. Easily 6'4 if not perhaps taller. And you know what they say about tall men... (Long fingers)

Second, he was a clearly shy and nervous yet good looking man. And if my dear friend Charlie loves anything, it's eating attractive shy men alive. Figuratively speaking. Mostly. And so, inadvertently, despite the other options available, Tall Nick and set himself firmly in her sights.

To be fair, to any onlookers (which, to the best of my knowledge, there weren't), *I'd* perhaps have looked a little reticent too. Charlie had been eagerly bouncing around swapping positions eagerly to allow opportunity for the gents to feel her up, and to reciprocate in kind. I meanwhile had been sat for the entire duration, more than happy to participate, but very much having the guys move to me.

It wasn't a power play. Far from it. There was very good reason I wasn't moving.

Because for the vast majority of the 'dirtier' end of the conversation, I'd been busy.

Beneath the surface of the water, helpfully obscured by the bubbles and the splashing, encouraged by the comment that had kicked everything off, I'd reached to my left.

And Dougie had shuffled his swimming shorts down.

So for the previous ten minutes, I'd be merrily wanking him off under the water.

If anyone had noticed they were doing as good a job of hiding it as we were. Well, I say we; *I* was doing sterling work, meanwhile you're now coming to realise why Dougie had become the butt of every joke - his mind was elsewhere and he was clearly operating several beats behind the rest of the chat, but he was doing solid work in hiding the pleased grin from his face.

It's always exciting to touch a cock before you've actually seen it. Touch is a powerful sense and you can soon build an image in your mind's eye which is fun to compare with the reality of the matter later. The word that had jumped to mind inexplicably was 'sleek' - which is to say not ostentatiously large, but something that would definitely draw the eye, but also slimline.

My work so far had been incredibly relaxed; more an exciting tease than with any intent to produce results. I'm a stickler for the rules, and certainly wasn't looking to add unnecessary extra fluids to the tub. He meanwhile had made two attempts to slyly return the favour but discovered that women's bathing suits are far less compromising than easily slip-downable shorts, and the angle wasn't doing him any favours.

It was Charlie who, perhaps inevitably, was the one to catch us. She'd been making her way around the group all but straddling the men during the reciprocal groping session and was both delighted to find Dougie already had his cock out, and not at all surprised to find my hand already wrapped around it.

"These cheeky fuckers have started without us!" she declared, clearly delighted.

We made no attempt to deny it during the chorus of 'Dirty Bastards!', 'Nice', and polite applause that ensued.

Instead, I explained I had no intention of doing anything but some polite teasing while sharing the hottub with them all - indicating once again toward the sign - before turning to Dougie and enquiring if he wanted to see if there was perhaps a sauna free to fuck in.

Needless to say; he was keen.

He pulled up his shorts before hauling himself out of the water, though given how little swimming shorts do to conceal a sizeable erection it seemed almost pointless. Charlie commented it nearly took her eye out as he passed her, which delighted him no end.

I bid Charlie the best of luck in keeping the remaining three entertained - if anyone was capable it was her - and set off in pursuit of Dougie.

To his credit, Dougie had swiftly found us an unoccupied sauna. It was, however, in what I'd already come to learn - despite having known him for fewer than thirty minutes - something of 'typical' Dougie fashion, was the WORST possible option, being as it was the *dry heat* room.

I pondered explaining what effect the extreme dry heat might have on such useful things as natural lubrication, but decided this would be largely counterintuitive, and so politely suggested we try the actually *steamy* steam room instead.

The room was hot, moist, and gloriously awaiting some action. Words that could equally have been applied to a certain region of my anatomy at the time. There was just one issue; there was already a couple inside. And, very clearly, a romantic one at that.

They'd only been kissing when we walked in but, bless them, they pulled apart as quickly and looked so guilty you could have believed we'd stepped in to find him balls deep while she was ball gagged. They were so embarrassed we barely heard the obligatory 'Hi' as they bolted from the room.

Dougie was thrilled, and somehow whipped of his swimming shorts faster than my eye could follow, eager to get started. I however made him wait a few moments longer as I wrote a message on the door using the condensation:

WARNING. ROMANTIC COUPLE INSIDE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN EMBARRASSMENT.

I knew it wouldn't last, but at least I'd made an effort.

Reader; as I took a moment to look at Dougie properly; stood naked before me, lightly perspiring surrounded by hot steam, he may not have been the tallest, or the broadest, or necessarily even the best looking, but I knew he was the right choice.

I tried to take my own swimming costume off in one fluid motion, much as he'd achieved. I failed miserably. The things simply aren't designed for quickies, and I ended up with the back end disappearing half way up my arse before Dougie stepped in, albeit far too late to save my dignity.

Thankfully, my ungainliness did nothing to quell his libido - being naked helps in that regard- and, with him pausing only to give my arse a quick slap for 'trying to eat my swimming costume', things could finally get steamy as figuratively as they were literally.

Dougie, I learned much later, was a mechanic, and thus was very, VERY good with hands. I'm not sure precisely what motion he was performing on my clitoris, but let me tell you engines are wasted on him. The fact he managed to perform this dextrous act whilst we were both still standing was something of a miracle.

During this magic act, I happily went back to tugging on his cock. My mental image had been pretty accurate - It was an excitingly pleasing size, if lacking anything noteworthy in terms of girth. What I'd failed to account for were his balls. They were as large as they were pendulous. I swear if I'd taken one and swung it in the style of a Newton's cradle it would have made as loud a smack of skin on skin as when he smacked my arse.

I couldn't keep my hands off them.

However, being so excessively handsy with each other was taking it's toll, and all too soon we were hungry for more.

"I believe I suggested something about fucking?"

Dougie took no persuading.

Normally in any circumstances I'd immediately assume a standing doggie position. It's a classic for a reason. However in this instance I thought it better to take a different route. Firstly because I'd got the phrase 'Doggie with Dougie' stuck in my head, and I knew if it happened I'd start laughing and kill the mood, and second because standing doggie stands proud at the more 'energetic' end of the sexual scale, and this was a spa where we were supposed to be relaxing, plus the surrounding hot steam had something of an enervating effect on the energy.

Instead I suggested he sit himself down on one of the wooden benches, whereupon I proceeded to straddle him in a manner Charlie had adopted not long ago in a hot-tub, and mounted him ready to bounce until we both felt very relaxed indeed.

His cock felt fantastic, and I rode him with an enthusiasm that can only truly be known to someone safe in the knowledge that there was zero risk of accidentally landing on his balls, given they were safely hanging over the side of the bench.

The vigorous bouncing worked wonders for Dougie, not least as it meant my tits were jiggling and heaving in a position ripe for both grabbing and thrusting his face between, something he took great delight in telling me was a 'favourite of his'.

At some point during this, Aaron popped his head around the door apparently intent on discovering where we were and what we were up to. Seeing me mounted and bouncing vigorously upon his friend he passed some comment about it being an appropriate place for things to get steamy. Without pausing, I told him I'd already made that joke and, to his credit, he laughed before politely leaving us to it, presumably heading to rejoin whatever nonsense Charlie had found herself involved in.