Five Friends and the Mature Pool Massage Therapist

What I’m about to tell you happened the last weekend in June, that one when summer is already hitting hard even though the calendar still seems unsure. I changed the names, because one thing is enjoying yourself and another is pointing fingers at anyone, but the rest happened exactly as it did. Whoever wants to believe it, let them believe it; whoever doesn’t, can entertain themselves imagining it.

There are five of us. Noa, Bea, Irene, Vera and me, Carla. We’re all around twenty-five, all bisexual, all with the same habit of not tying ourselves to anyone for longer than we feel like. We live right by the sea, in a town on the Levante coast, and precisely for that reason, when the heat arrives, all we dream of is escaping anywhere with shade and no people looking at us sideways.

And this year there was a new addition to the group. Or rather, a new name: Marcos.

Marcos is a client of mine. He’s fifty-four, which for some will be a lot and for us was exactly what we were looking for. He’s divorced, lives alone in a rented house with a pool, and makes a living giving massages. Only to women, by his own choice. He says they tip better and that word of mouth works better for him that way. That’s not the important thing, anyway. The important thing is his hands.

The five of us had talked more than once about Marcos’s hands. I had already fucked him —that’s no secret among us— and I knew firsthand that a man who spends years touching other people’s bodies learns things a twenty-year-old kid can’t even imagine. He knew how to open my cunt with his fingers until he made me come with barely a flick of his wrist, how to suck my nipples until they were hard as stones, how to slide his cock into me slowly and wait still inside me until I was the one begging him to move. The others suspected it. They wanted to find out for themselves.

***

We’d spent the whole week trying to organize a getaway. The problem with living across from a beach is that the last thing you feel like doing is going to another beach, so we were weighing up the mountains, a rural house, the usual. But coordinating five different jobs just as tourist season starts is impossible. Marcos, who had ended up in the messaging group because one of us added him “for work matters,” finally pulled on that thread.

—Let’s see, girls —he wrote—. You want to switch off, sunbathe without any sleazy guy coming up to you, be naked if you feel like it, and come and go whenever you want. I work every morning until mid-afternoon in summer, so I can’t take you sightseeing. But my house has a pool, tall trees that block the view, and air conditioning. It’s yours. I’ll give you keys. The only thing I ask is that you don’t touch my office or the console.

And then he topped it off with the line that left us all staring at the screen in silence:

—How long has it been since anyone gave you a massage focused solely and exclusively on your breasts?

Bea burst out laughing loud enough to be heard from the kitchen. Vera typed three question marks in a row. Irene, who’s the oldest in the group and the most demanding about everything, replied that we accepted before any of us could object.

I was curious, I’ll admit it. I’d had full-body massages once or twice, but never just that part. And knowing my friends, I knew that wasn’t going to stay just a massage.

***

We arrived on Friday at six in the evening, with heat that was melting the asphalt, in two cars and wearing very little: bikinis, a couple of light dresses for the night, and not much else. Marcos met us at the door and we all threw ourselves at him like spoiled nieces, with kisses, hugs, and the occasional naughty hand sliding over his swim trunks to squeeze his package beneath the fabric. Noa was the boldest; she grabbed his limp cock through the trunks and weighed it in her palm for a full second, like someone testing fruit at the market, before letting go with a little laugh and moving on to the kisses.

Never tell a group of women they can do whatever they want. They will.

He showed us the house, two floors all to himself, the bedrooms with the sheets already changed —a gentleman’s touch— and the kitchen. We started making a shopping list and he appeared with a serious face.

—Did you really think I’d have left the fridge empty? —he said.

He took me by the hand, I took Noa, Noa took Bea, and like that, in a chain, he led us to the fridge and opened it. It was full. Water, fruit, vegetables, meat, a few treats, and on the bottom shelf, a cake. Because it turned out that week was Irene’s and Vera’s birthday, and he’d remembered. I think that cake won us over more than anything else.

Then he led us to the garden, still in a chain, and in front of us he took off all his clothes and got into the pool, inviting us to do the same.

There’s something you need to understand about Marcos. He spends all day touching women’s bodies of every age and every shape. Seeing five naked girls didn’t give him any erection; he didn’t even flinch. His cock hung soft, calm, as if he were alone in his house. And far from offending us, that relaxed us. He wasn’t looking at us like five horny kids. He was looking at us like five women who wanted to go for a swim.

So we got undressed. Top off, bottoms off, thongs tossed onto the loungers, and the five bodies in the water.

***

The water was exactly the right temperature, neither cold nor lukewarm. We played, splashed each other, flirted. Bea clung to Marcos’s back like a limpet, rubbing her hard tits against his shoulder blades and laughing in his ear. Vera ducked under the water and ran her tongue over his navel, slowly climbing up, leaving a trail of soft bites until she emerged at one nipple, where she latched on and sucked hungrily. We all ended up touching him under the water, his cock shriveled by the coolness between our fingers, and he didn’t stay still either: one hand on a breast, the nipple trapped between index finger and thumb, the other on a hip, fingers brushing crotches as if by accident, sliding over already parted lips, sinking a centimeter in and then coming back out. He slipped two fingers into my cunt without warning, with the water as his accomplice, and moved them slowly while he kept chatting nonsense with Noa over his shoulder, as if his left hand weren’t inside me. We were genuinely comfortable, warming up without rushing, nipples stiff and our cunts already with that itch that tells you it’s not going to stop for a while, laughing like idiots.

At one point he came up with something we dubbed, laughing, the “underwater kiss.” We sat on the edge of the pool, legs open, feet in the water, cunts exposed to the sun, and he would submerge, gather momentum, and spring up to kiss us right between the legs before sinking back down. Up, kiss a pussy, down, up, kiss another. But it wasn’t just a little peck. Each time he surfaced he managed to bury his tongue for a long second inside the chosen cunt, suck the clit before dropping back, or run the tip from bottom to top along the slit. When it was my turn he locked eyes with me, stuck out his tongue and drove it into my slit with surgical precision; he sucked my clit three times, fast, fast, fast, and dropped into the water just as I clamped my thighs around his face. On the next round it was Bea, who let out a “fuck’s sake” the moment she felt the tongue, and then Noa, who gripped the edge with both hands so she wouldn’t slip. With all that water falling and all those leaps, it was more comic than pornographic, but the mix of laughter and Marcos’s tongue brushing me where it brushed had my pulse racing and my cunt dripping something that was no longer pool water.

The birthday girls wanted to copy him. Irene and Vera got in the water and started jumping up to kiss us the same way, only they have long hair and, every time they came up, what brushed our groins wasn’t their lips but a tangle of wet hair stuck to our faces. It looked more like a horror movie scene than anything else. We laughed until it hurt.

***

Marcos got out of the water before the birthday girls were completely exhausted. We saw him climb out by the ladder, drenched, his cock still swinging limp between his thighs, and I remember thinking that man could make us come without ever getting himself off if he set his mind to it. He went into the house and came back with a portable massage table that he set up under the shade of the biggest tree in the garden. He kept bringing things: towels, bottles of oil, and a canvas bag whose contents we still couldn’t see.

When everything was ready, he said his line:

—First candidate for the special massage. Come out, dry yourself properly so you don’t slip, and lie down on your back.

The first was Irene. I don’t know why, but she shot out of the water, dried herself and lay down on the table before anyone could react, her tits pointing at the sky and her legs already a little open by instinct. The rest of us stayed at the pool edge, feet in the water and cunts still hot from the underwater kisses, watching.

He started gently, rubbing oil all over her torso, warming her skin without touching her breasts yet. He moved his open palm from collarbone to navel, circling her breasts without lifting them, down her sides, back again. Each time he passed closer to the nipples, but never quite there. Irene, who has very little patience, got impatient right away.

—Marcos, stop trying to relax me and just get me going already —she complained, opening her legs wide to make the hint obvious and showing him her cunt, already gleaming, from where he stood.

We all laughed. But instead of touching her sex, he withdrew his hand calmly and spoke in that deep, steady voice of his.

—I’m not going to masturbate you, Irene. I told you I’d give you a breast massage, and that’s what I’m going to do. If you want something down there, call one of those little lizards sunning themselves on the edge. Though I warn you to choose well, or you might get a surprise.

Irene grumbled, but let him continue, expecting one of us to get up and lend a hand. None of us moved. Sometimes we’re a little cruel, I admit it.

Then Marcos put his hands on her breasts. And we saw how Irene, without even realizing it, closed her legs and relaxed completely.

***

I’m not going to describe the whole technique, because I didn’t fully understand it myself. I’ll just say he took all the time in the world. He cupped her tits with open palms and lifted them from the base, pressing them upward with a firmness that made her arch her back. He kneaded them as if they were bread dough, turning his hands in opposite directions, trapping her nipples between his knuckles, pinching them with thumb and forefinger and stretching them toward the sky until Irene let out a short moan. He made them hard without barely touching them, just biting into them with his fingertips, and every so often he bent down, took one fully into his mouth and sucked hungrily before going back to his palms. He wrung the first serious gasps out of her like that, just with the nipples. We heard them from the water, closer and closer together, raspier and raspier.

Noa’s curiosity got her out of her seat. She sat on a nearby hammock to watch, her cunt still dripping onto the cushion, and Marcos, without stopping the massage, told her to look inside the bag and choose whatever she wanted. Noa crouched, rummaged, and let out a cry of joy.

—You have it! I can’t believe it, you’re a box of surprises.

The rest of us turned our heads. Curiosity again. We saw Noa standing beside the table, her hands lost between Irene’s thighs, which were now spread wide. And we heard Irene panting much harder.

One by one, Bea, Vera and I moved closer to see. And there it was: Noa was sliding a thick black silicone vibrator in and out of Irene’s cunt, one she’d been looking for for months, sold out in half a dozen shops. She sank it all the way in, to the base, and then drew it back out very slowly, letting Irene feel every millimeter. With each thrust you could see the pussy lips opening and closing around the toy, slick with flow. It turned out Marcos had it, and Irene sounded it in every moan how good it was for her. Noa found the clit with her thumb almost at once and started circling it while she kept pumping the vibrator with her other hand, and no words were coming out of Irene’s mouth anymore, just a broken, chained “yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Marcos knew his breast massage was already overkill, that Noa was doing the real work. But he kept going. He kept kneading her breasts with clockmaker calm, alternating nipple pinches with slow licks, while Irene twisted her hips to fuck the vibrator herself, clutched the edge of the table with white knuckles and, with a cry that sounded more like a toothache than pleasure, exploded into an orgasm that shook her whole body. Her tits trembled in Marcos’s hands, her cunt clenched so hard around the toy that Noa had to ease off to keep moving it, and a thick stream of her came ran down her perineum onto the towel. He didn’t stop for a second. He kept his rhythm, unshaken, as if nothing had happened, drawing out her climax through her nipples until Irene begged him to let go of her tits.

Irene nearly passed out. Noa had a face split between surprise at her friend’s orgasm and the satisfaction of knowing she now had somewhere to borrow her favorite toy from; she pulled the vibrator out carefully, brought it to her mouth without thinking, and licked it from top to bottom, tasting Irene’s flow in front of us all. And we three, sitting in the hammocks with our cunts open and one hand each between our thighs, watched them fuck one of our own while the man kept doing his thing.

Let me remind you that we were all naked. Marcos was naked. And his cock was still asleep, shriveled, not reacting even after pulling such an orgasm out of Irene. That man’s self-control is something I still can’t explain.

***

When the trembling passed, Irene wanted more. She turned onto her side on the table, still panting, her tits red from the massage and her thighs shining with her own come, and asked Marcos to come close to her mouth so she could take him in. She reached out and grabbed his soft cock, tugging it toward herself. He, of course, said no and gently moved her hand away.

—I’m giving you a breast massage, not a blowjob. If you want something in your mouth, have one of your friends pass you something else from the bag.

—Look, Marcos —she insisted, still breathless—. I love your massage, I appreciate it, but I want your cock. I want it in my mouth and I want it inside me. So either you do it the easy way or the hard way, your choice.

Lying on her back she couldn’t do much, truth be told. But he didn’t give in, and he explained why with a patience that even Irene, stubborn as she is, ended up understanding.

—Listen, girls, because this is going to happen to all of you and all of you are going to want the same thing. I can give you what you’re asking for, I can fuck you one by one, come in the mouth of whoever wants it and start over. But I’m not a kid who gets hard in five minutes. If I have to do it with all five of you this afternoon, I’ll end up with the last one at dawn and wrecked. And that’s not happening, for two reasons. One, because I need my recovery time, I’m not one of the toys in the bag. And two, because in half an hour we’re going to dinner, and I’ve got a reservation to celebrate the birthdays. I said breast massage, not a happy ending. You being five very sexual, pretty filthy women, with all affection, is another matter. Enjoy the end of the massage, because we need to get ready.

We all let out, at the same time and laughing:

—Marcos, you don’t even drink alcohol.

***

That’s where the first part ends. It’s short not because it’s short —it isn’t— but because even I, who wrote it, think it’s better to dose it out. For the record, the idea of cutting it was as much mine as Irene’s, Noa’s, Bea’s, Vera’s and Marcos’s, because when they read it they nearly lost sleep over how long it was.

The rest —dinner, the drinks, what happened that night in the house with the pool and the two following days— I’ll tell you in another story. And soon, I promise. If you like reading, keep going; exercising the brain is also a pretty good summer sport.