White Tile – A Fantasy (NC-17)

Steam rose thick, opaque from the vents along the rim of the small room.  There was music being piped into the room but the steam distorted it, making it sound far away, ethereal.  I was lying on the shelf, alone with my thoughts.  No one ever used this room this late.  That’s why I liked it.  It sat at the back of the spa, away from the regular visitors to the resort’s health and beauty venue.  Vacations were made extra special knowing that I could come down late in the evening after a full day of sight seeing activity and not be bothered by any of the other guests.  The attendants knew me by name now.  My towels would be waiting, a personalized selection of music set up on the audio system for this room.  One of the female attendants, Collette, would wrap my hair for me.  We’d chat for a few minutes as I took off my clothes, folding them up for storage in the large locker at the end of the row.  She was in her last year of college, the first one in her family to go beyond elementary school.  She and I had met when I first started coming to the island resort.  Back then, she had been a shy, somewhat awkward teenager.  I had watched her transform into a confident young woman over the years and was quite proud of her.  I’d helped her with her studies on a few occasions, even sent money for books or food when the work she did at the resort wasn’t enough to cover all of her school expenses.

Tonight, she was excited.  She’d passed all of her finals, which meant she would graduate with honors that spring.  I smiled proudly, promising to come back for her graduation.  She floated out of the locker room, leaving me to my thoughts of joy at her success.  I wrapped in the luxurious towel she’d handed me and had made my way to my favorite steam room.

Since then, I’d been lying still.  Letting the heat and moisture seep through me, pushing out any lingering tension from the day.  I had been horseback riding earlier.  My thighs and buttocks were stiff, sore.  I loved the feeling though.  It reminded me of a day well spent exploring some areas of the island I hadn’t visited before.  I lay there encased in steam, legs slightly parted to allow the heat to penetrate me in the places I needed it most.

His hands were cooler than the air inside the room but no less soothing.  I didn’t move as fingertips traced the veins along the top of my feet, drew patterns around my ankles, then up the sides of my calves.  He parted my legs, sliding me gently across the tile so my hips sat upon his thighs.  An awkward position, but one that would allow me to continue resting on my back while giving him full access to my body.  He massaged my thighs, the pain from the saddle retreating; my hips, the joints loosening under his expert ministrations.  When he reached my breasts I came.  Just a small shudder of the climaxes yet to happen.  I sighed as he played, no, rather as he teased each nipple to its fullest erection.

Aided by the moisture already building inside me, the lubrication on the condom made his entry into my body smooth despite his girth.  I could feel every inch of him as the head of his penis slipped between my swollen vaginal lips.  He was large.  Almost painfully so.  I felt stretched; filled to the furthest reaches of what I’d thought to be my limit.  It was nothing but pleasure though.  I wanted him deeper but the heat had rendered me liquid, without muscle control beyond breathing.  I lie there letting him conduct his sweet tortuously slow insertion.  When our pelvises met, I could feel the tip of his manhood straining against my depths.  He didn’t move for several beats allowing my body to grow accustomed to the intrusion.  My legs parted fully, he slipped an impossible inch more inside me.  I barely contained him.

I don’t move to see his face.  I can barely keep my eyes open as I continue to be carried blissfully on wave after wave of sensation.  When I can ease my lids up, I see only the white tile, its iridescent pearl finish lending the entire experience a wonderful dream like quality.  I wonder if the pleasure of him inside me is real at all.  But then he sinks back into me, the pounding against my g-spot disrupting any care I have over whether it’s real or fantasy.  The heat of him, the force of his thrust, my moans echoing off the white tile as I come again and again for him; that is real.Image

(c) 2012 Dana Ellington Myles

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