The Spa 7

It was a nasty business, and he was a nasty man. He was short, fat and sloppy and he sprayed spittle when he talked. I didn't like him, and I didn't like what he did for a living or what he stood for. If I controlled the law firm where I worked, I would not have him as a client, but the senior partners over ruled me and there I was, in my first year as a practicing attorney, ready to defend this piece of trash in his latest brush with the law. When I first met him in New York a few months earlier and we shook hands, I wanted to pull away and wipe my palm on my trousers or better yet, go wash my hands.

He owned a series of topless girlie bars and massage parlors in and around New Orleans. I went to Louisiana to meet with him and the local district attorney to see if we could get him off his latest pandering offense with a plea bargain. His office was in the French quarter, on the second floor, over one of his massage parlors, "THE SPA." The flight from New York had been delayed and the non air-conditioned taxi had broken down on the way in from the airport. It was a hot mid November and I loosened my tie as we drove down the grimy street toward his grimy office. My shirt was wilted, sopping wet with sweat under the arms and I already felt dirty. I was sure it wasn't going to get any better. I felt like I needed to wash my hands or at least wipe them on my handkerchief.

I was already pissed at having been torn away from my regimented life in the big apple with my neat apartment, my athletic club and most of all my friends. The only saving grace was the fight I had with my girlfriend a week ago. Maybe a few days away would make that pompous bitch realize what she was missing. With any luck, I could wrap this up in a few days and be home by Tuesday or Wednesday.

I had to enter the "THE SPA" to get to his office. Much to my surprise, the massage parlor was bright, neat and clean. It was almost 4 o'clock on a steamy Thursday afternoon when a very attractive, petite, young lady greeted me. She was dressed in a sheer, powder blue, Roman gladiators skirt and tunic. In response to my questions, her syrupy sweet Cajun voice said, "Mr. Ponte is expecting you. Just go down that corridor to the staircase on the left. His office is at the head of the stairs." She took my overnight bag and, in that same voice that made me want to hear more of it murmured softly, "You can get it from me when you finish your business with Mr. Ponte." I may not like Mr. Ponte but I was already in lust with one of his help.

I could hear whispering voices, giggles, and subdued laughter from the dark recesses of the cubicles as I passed. Somewhere, in one of the rooms, a male voice was moaning in what sounded like the throes of ecstasy. Through the open door of one vacant room, I could see a whirlpool type hot tub and a massage table with an elaborate shower system suspended from the ceiling above it.

With each step up the staircase, the décor got grungier until, by the time I got to the top of the stairs I was in a suite of gray, grimy, dirty, offices. The same girl, with the same blond, pageboy hair cut, except now in a yellow outfit, greeted me in the same sorghum syrup sweet voice, "I assume that you are Mr. Young. Have a seat, Mr. Ponte will be with you in a minute."

I was probably ogling her when I said, "Thank you. Sorry I'm late but everything went wrong today." I think she sensed my confusion. "How did you get up here so fast?"

She giggled self-consciously, "You must have met my twin sister, Chloe, downstairs. I'm Cleo."

Before I had a chance to make a pass at this sweet young thing, greasy Mel Ponte waddled out of the inner office and stuck out his hand. There was a fleck of some type of food, maybe pasta on his loose tie and his shirt was half out of his trousers. I had no option but to shake hands with him. I tried to duck the spray from his mouth as he began to talk but it was useless. "Sorry, I tried to reach you but your office said you already left. The meeting with the D. A. has been put off until Monday. Where are you staying?"

"I don't have a hotel yet, I was running late so I came directly from the airport. I'll get something close by."

"Good luck... There's a big convention in town and a Saints game Sunday so I doubt you will find anything. Why don't you stay in one of the rooms I keep for VIP visitors? It's in the old house out back. Chloe and Cleo live there. There's a spare bedroom."

I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought if it wasn't for the vision of Cleo and Chloe, their obvious charms and what could be. So I agreed (not too reluctantly).

"Good! Then it's all set. Go downstairs and let Cleo or Chloe, whichever one it is, give you a bath and massage, on the house of course." To the blond he said, "Take good care of him, Cleo or Chloe, whichever one you are."

Cleo's baby blue eyes were sparkling when took me by the arm and said, "I'll take you down and introduce you to Chloe. I have some work to finish up and will come back down and join you shortly." I watched as her well-shaped bottom swished down the steps ahead of me.

Mel must have called ahead because Chloe was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. She smiled and giggled a little as she said, "Mr. Ponte said I was to take good care of you. Come with me."

Cleo scampered back up the steps while Chloe took my arm and steered me into one of the vacant cubicles. "Hang your clothes on the hanger behind the door and get in the hot tub. Spend 15 minutes in there, then, dry off and lay down on your tummy on the table. I'll be back to check on you soon."

She blew me a kiss as she backed out and closed the door. Her smile hovered in the room behind her like intoxicating perfume. I did as she said and made myself comfortable in the tub. There was soft, relaxing music coming from some concealed speakers with subdued lighting, along the ceiling. The music and the warm water had the desired effect. The day's tensions and frustrations rinsed away like rainwater down the drain, leaving my mind clean and at ease like the streets after a downpour.

I was almost asleep 15 minutes later when she stuck her head in and said, "O K sleepy-head, enough of the tub, get on the table and I'll be back in a minute."

I climbed out, dried off and sat on the side of the massage table. It was padded with a thin, plastic covered mattress. This was covered, in turn, with a cotton sheet and pad. There was a light rap on the door. Chloe stuck her head in and said, "May I come in? Are you ready for me?"

I wasn't sure what she meant but, at the end of a long, hot day, I was surely ready for something, damn near any thing, especially from someone that looked as nice as Cleo or Chloe. I had to leave all of my friends in New York, so why shouldn't I have a little action in this hell-hole. Besides, I had been working like a dog and hadn't done anything socially since I the fight with my girl last week.

I was a little disappointed to see that, unlike me, Chloe was still fully clothed, carrying an armload of soaps, oils, lotions and towels.

"OK, lay down on your tummy and let me take care of you. We'll start with a nice, warm, body shampoo. I don't want to get my tunic wet. Will it bother you if I take it off?" She put her hand in front of her mouth and giggled a little when she said, "Ooh, you look like you are a little bothered already."

Her comment made me realize that I was paying her the ultimate compliment and saluting her beauty. It made me a little self-conscious but, I was sure she had seen a few hard dicks before if she had been working here for any length of time. Anyway, there was nothing I could do about it now, so I did as I was told. I took my place on the table, face down and she covered my buttocks with a towel.

I craned my head around, trying to see her as she disrobed but she kept pretty much out of my line of sight. She pushed my head around and said, "Quit peeking and enjoy your body shampoo. Just close your eyes and take pleasure in what I am going to do to you."

I closed my eyes and there was a warm, soft hand on my back, followed by a tepid shower of water. Her hands, now lubricated with soap were slipping easily over my back and shoulders. The remnants of the day's tensions and frustrations were soon replaced by a feeling of contentment and relaxation.

When she removed the towel and her hand moved down to my buttocks and legs the contentment was in turn replaced by a feeling of anticipation. Visions of things to come began to dance in my head. I had to wiggle a little to make room under me for the added growth in my groin. Disappointment ruled when her hands left the proximity of my crotch and moved down to my feet.

Then, there was a wonderful shock! I felt a second pair of hands slipping and sliding over my shoulders and back. I opened my eyes to see a yellow tunic on the chair, lying on top of the blue one. A hand quickly covered my eyes. "No peaking, just enjoy."

So I did. The feeling of tranquility continued to build and I thought I could easily fall asleep if I wasn't so horny. I remembered the last time I was with my girlfriend back in New York...

Suddenly someone was shaking me. "Wake up sleepyhead, its time to go." I opened my eyes to find both girls, fully dressed, cleaning up the room. Chloe (Or was it Cleo) said, "Get dressed and I'll show you to the guest bedroom."

"But I -- er -- I thought there would be -- ah -- more."

"Sorry, but we don't do that. Do you want me to get one of the other girls?"

I was embarrassed and for some reason not quite as horny as I was earlier. "Ah, no, that's alright, I just didn't understand."

Yellow dress said, "I know what you thought and there is a lot of that goes on here but Chloe and I don't do it, at least not for money," she added with a laugh. The men make private deals with many of the girls. I think that's why Mr. Ponte keeps us. We are a hot attraction and many men think they may get to us. Mr. Ponte use to think so too but he finally gave up."

"Come on and I will show you to the guest accommodations. It's really an old ante-bellum mansion that belonged to his grandfather. I'm off for dinner now but Chloe has to stay here and manage the business. When I finish, I'll come back and relieve her so she can eat and then we both work until midnight."

I was really disappointment when Cleo turned her back. I dressed but was still hoping something, anything would happen. Once we retrieved my bag from Chloe, she took me by the arm and we went back down the same hallway that led to the staircase. We passed by that and went out a back door into what may have been a lawn in the far distant past. Now it was just a few straggly weeds and dusty patches of earth and an old broken up walkway. About 15 feet away, straight ahead, was the sagging rear porch of a very old house that obviously fronted on the next street. Up the porch steps, we went into a large kitchen where a very tall, very attractive, very light colored, black woman was busily preparing something on the stove.

"Rachel, this is Mr. Young. He has some business with Mr. Ponte and will be staying with us until Monday or Tuesday." With a twinkle in her eye, she smiled at me but said to Rachel, "Mr. Ponte said we are to take very good care of him! What are you cooking? It smells delicious."

Rachel beamed when she said, "Thank you, it's an old family recipe for Cajun Jambalaya. Dinner will be at seven." Her voice had the same sorghum syrupy smooth tone but had a stronger Cajun influence.

There will just be Mr. Young and I for dinner, Mr. Ponte has other business and Chloe will be along later. I am going to show Mr. Young to his room."

"Why doesn't every one just call me Tom?"

Cleo again took me by the hand and led me through a swinging door from the kitchen into a beautiful, formal dining room, paneled with dark, rich wood. There was a huge table that could have seated at least 12 people. From there, we went into a hallway that had a staircase going up to what I assumed were the sleeping quarters.

As we climbed the steps, she explained, "Rachel is in charge of the house. Chloe and I live here along with Rachel. Mr. Ponte used to live here too but he moved into a high-rise condo with his girlfriend. I love this old house and its history. There was a carpetbagger murdered here not long after the war of Northern aggression was over. It has six bedrooms, and three baths upstairs. It was built around 1820. Dinner will be in just a few minutes, and we don't dress."

She left after showing me into a large, comfortable room at the front of the house overlooking a surprisingly quiet, tree lined, residential street. I had not expected to stay very long so I only had the one suit I was wearing, a pair of jeans and two clean shirts with me. Although I had enjoyed the bath in The Spa, a warm shower and shave refreshed me and I was just putting on a clean polo shirt when there was a knock on the door.

It was Rachel. She had changed and was wearing white slacks and a sleeveless blouse that showed off her beautiful breasts to advantage. To call her black may have been politically correct but was an injustice to her beauty. Her skin, the color of burnished gold was only a part of her overall elegance. She was tall and slim with the well-rounded arms and legs of an athlete and the confident poise of a beauty queen. All in all, she was a lovely and exquisite woman. "Come and join us when you are ready, Cleo is waiting for us downstairs."

Dinner was a succession of surprises. First, an older black woman served the meal. I really hadn't expected to waited on by a servant. Second, the food and wine was far superior to anything I had ever experienced anywhere in New Orleans, a town well known for its excellent cuisine. The biggest surprise was when Cleo told me that Rachel and Mel Ponte were cousins. "They had the same Grandfather. He left this house to both of them, jointly, along with a lot of other property in New Orleans and Baton Rouge."

Cleo hurried through the meal while Rachel and I took our time, savoring the food, the wine and each other's company. By the time the maid came to clear the dishes away, we were on the second bottle of wine and were feeling pretty good. I was completely infatuated with this bronze goddess. I found that she was a graduate of LSU with a degree in fine arts and was a well-respected sculptor all over Louisiana and the South.

Rachel got unsteadily to her feet and said, "Lets go into the living room for after dinner drinks. What would you like?"

She poured me a Drambuie on the rocks while she opted for cream sherry. I took a seat on the couch and was about to take a sip of my drink when she plopped herself into my lap and wrapped her right arm around my neck. I put both of our drinks on the coffee table and kissed her.

The hint of sweetness from the sherry paled in comparison to the natural sweetness of her mouth. Her parted lips let my tongue feel the smoothness of her teeth and probe into her inner softness. Her body, molding itself to my hands was yielding and supple. I traced a path from her hip up to her shoulder, my arm brushing lightly against her breast. The contact, no matter how slight, only caused her kiss to become more passionate.

Her left hand, which had been on my chest, dropped to my lap and groped the lump she found there. "I want you to make love to me," She whispered into my ear. "I know you want to do it too, I can feel how hard you are."

The closeness of this lovely creature, her perfume clouding my mind, the vestiges of my arousal from the massage earlier in the day all came together to manifest itself at this moment. I could no more deny her than I could stop the sun from rising.

With her directing me where to go, I picked her up in my arms and made for the staircase. As light as she was and as horny as I was, I was still winded by the time we got to the top of the stairs. It was probably my male ego pushing me on but I wouldn't put her down until I put her into her bed. Her arms, still around my neck, pulled me down for another kiss, even more passionate than the first few, if that were possible. The exchange of our tongues left me wanting to know even more of her body while she cuddled harder against my chest and sighed.

With her help, we removed my shirt, and then her blouse. I already knew that she wasn't wearing a bra; her perky breasts didn't need one to support her beautiful golden orbs. Next came her slacks and then my trousers. We were now down to her bikini panties and my boxer shorts. With her on her back giggling, I slid her panties down and off her feet, leaving her completely nude. She pulled my shorts down and I stepped put of them. My manhood, freed of its confines, stood up proudly. The touch of her hand on it made me realize that she could conquer me with a stroke or two.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, I buried my face in the softness of her breasts. Her hands, now on the back of my head, were pushing me into her; my lips were caressing, nursing, suckling on her nipples. Before long my hands found the smoothness of her thighs and slowly inched upward to the shaven mound that was the outmost edge of her sensitivity. Soon, my fingers encountered soft, wet lips. When I touched them she gasped and pushed my head even harder into her breasts. My fingers, lubricated by her moisture, pushed their way inside her, past the lips of her vagina and past the little knot that I knew was her clitoris.

Now, there was no resistance when I moved my head to follow the path of my hand. When my mouth touched the lips of her pussy, she let out an audible gasp and the barest touch of my tongue brought, "Oh my god!"

Without breaking contact, I inched my way around to the bottom of the bed so that most of my body was off the end while my head was between her legs. From this position my arms were under either side of her buttocks, up along her sides and my hands were caressing her breasts. I buried my face in this garden of aphrodisia, delighting in both the pleasure I was bringing her and the nectar it was producing.

As much as I was enjoying this exercise, I had needs of my own. My penis was so hard it actually hurt and was crying for relief. Her body arched, pushing herself hard against my tongue and at the point where I knew a climax was about to overtake her, I quickly moved to replace my tongue with my cock. I entered her and drove it in as hard and deep as I could.

With her arms wrapped around my body and her legs around my ass, I pounded my phallus home again and again. Each thrust brought an exclamation of passion from her and a feeling of exhilaration for me. Time stood still as I slipped in and out of her warm body. Time after time, her pussy welcomed my blood-engorged member. Thoughts of pleasing her slowly disappeared and were soon replaced by my own pure, animal lust. I believe she was in the throws of a second or third orgasm when my own climax began building deep in me. It finally manifested itself and I was rewarded by the exhilaration of my cum exploding deep into her and I wilted as the eventual feelings of euphoria overtook my entire body.

I lay beside her, too spent to move, holding her warm body in my arms. In her ear, I whispered "Thank you." There was no response from her beyond a contented "MMM" and she snuggled deeper into my arms and began to snore ever so softly. In the spoon position I cuddled close to her and fell asleep, my soft manhood lodged against her warm bottom.

I don't know when but sometime later I was awakened by gentle nudge on my shoulder. By the dim night-light I could see the powder blue outfit and I knew it was Chloe. "Shush, we don't want to wake Rachel. Come with me, we need you to do something for us."

She waited by the door while I found my boxers and put them on. She took me by the hand and whispered, "That's good enough, that's all you'll need." She pulled me out into the hallway and closed the door softly without disturbing Rachel. Still leading me by the hand, she took me to the far end of the hallway and opened the door to another bedroom.