Prior to Covid, one of Tarantina and my favourite treats was to book ourselves into a hotel with a spa. A gorgeous girl in a bikini is guaranteed to bring out a bulge in my Vilbrequins and if I know that I'm going to be removing that bikini with my own hands in the very near future then the bulge can get very large indeed. We'd sauna, steam and jacuzzi, fondling while no-one was looking like a couple of teenagers, before retiring to a room for some even hotter action.
Spas bring back special memories for us. Shortly after we met, the first time we got down to some serious canoodling was in the basement spa of a hotel in Covent Garden. And the first time we fucked was in a hotel room in Shoreditch, again after a visit to a nearby spa. Did I say we're a couple who are married to other people? That's why all of our adventures take place in hidden corners of the city, where no-one really knows or cares what two horny people get up to (except our respective spouses, who are never going to know).
Even when hotels and gyms reopened over the summer, most of them - at least in this part of the world - kept their spas under lock and key. And although we were able to get down to some long-awaited adultery and enjoyed every well-lubed minute of it, the thrill of sitting only a few feet away from her in nothing but those tiny pieces of material and not being able to touch, and then later setting her lovely pair of tits free from the bikini top and reaching my fingers in to flick her clit beneath its tiny landing strip of hair eluded me.
But one day TT sent a text message with a link to a place called a Russian Banya, located literally across the street from Buckingham Palace. With visions of bumping into Wills and Kate getting hinky in the plunge pool, we met for a coffee, then collected out towels, robes, and flip flops and went to get changed.
A banya is a Nordic sauna, simple as. They'll also whack you with birch twigs for an extra fifty, but that's way too sub for me. In some ways the best thing about the banya experience is that it's designed not to be hurried. Bit of sauna. Come out for tea. Back in. Out for cake. Go for a fuck. It lasts all day. They're not nude though, at least not near the Palace, and no royals either, I'm sorry to report.
There were two women already in the banya when TT and I arrived. We spread our towels and stretched out on the sizzling boards. We hadn't seen each other in person for a couple of weeks so we had a lot to catch up on. One of the women, surprisingly, joined in our conversation. I say surprisingly because this is London, where accidentally making eye contact with a stranger on the tube can arouse suspicions of severe mental illness. She spoke with a Russian accent, so I guessed she felt free to play by different rules.
After twenty minutes or so we got out to cool down a little. We sat on chairs in a vestibule. I couldn't keep my hands off TT, pulling her towards me, kissing and trying not to paw her too much. Just as we were breaking off a long, slow kiss, the woman we'd been talking to, who'd introduced herself as Lucy, walked by.
'I wish my husband still wanted me that much,' she said.
We laughed.
'He's not my husband,' T said. 'Maybe that's the secret.'
Lucy raised a surprised eyebrow but said nothing more, and went back into the sweatroom. We followed shortly after and as soon as we did she started taking to us again, as if glad we'd come back.
At the next break we went to the café and ordered Russian tea. Lucy sat at the next table by herself. TT said to me, 'shall we invite her over'?
I didn't want to appear too eager and make my lover jealous, but by this time I'd grabbed enough glimpses of Lucy to already have had some naughty thoughts about her. She was tall and brunette with a wide face and striking blue eyes. Her bikini matched her eyes - carefully chosen - and her body and face, which were naturally gorgeous, had been expertly re-sculpted. Yes, those were fake tits, no question, and her face had a notable absence of wrinkles. Someone had paid proper money for this.
TT must have read my mind, because the next thing I knew, Lucy had joined our table and tea was being poured. After some more small talk, she said,
'I only come down here because it's so boring upstairs.'
'What's upstairs?' I asked.
'Private rooms. I always take one for the day. It's supposed to be more elite, but if there is no-one enjoy it with, what is the point? So I come down here to be with people.'
'Is it the same up there?' TT asked.
She nodded. 'Pretty much. Come and see if you want.'
We finished our tea and headed up. As we climbed the stairs, TT whispered in my ear, 'Private banya is £1,000 a day.'
Despite its price, the private banya was exactly like the 'public' one but smaller. The same tiled walls and dark wood slatted sauna seats, with a big metal stove in the corner blasting out dry heat.
'Best thing is you don't have to wear stupid swimsuit,' Lucy said. Quick as a flash the blue bikini came off. Fake tits aren't usually my thing, but I could make an exception. These had been done perfectly, to look almost natural, with a little hint of bounce. Her pussy, to my surprise, wasn't completely shaved. Dark hair had been trimmed into an oval, and thinned out at the sides, creating an effect almost like the strokes of a Van Gogh painting, drawing the eye in toward her inner folds. This had been done in a salon, no doubt, possibly for this very visit.
'My, my,' TT whispered to me. 'Someone's gone to a lot of trouble.'
I untied TT's bikini and slipped out of my shorts. Unfortunately, that meant my full interest in the situation was there for everyone to see.
'Your lover seems to be enjoying this,' Lucy said.
'Believe me, he is.'
We all spread our towels out and laid down. The women talked, pausing every so often to glance over and comment on the state of my flagpole - whether it was at full height, or had slipped back onto an angle.
After a while, TT sat up. 'I think another break.'
