The Debrief: The Art of Indulgence II
We go back with our beloved L. for a second round...
The Exception
It was a Friday. We were drained, carrying the heavy, grey weight of a brutal work week, but the adrenaline of the weekend was already starting to kick in. We needed a release. We needed a catalyst.
We called Indulgence.
“L isn’t working today,” the receptionist said, her voice apologetic. My heart sank slightly. The chemistry we had built with L during our last visit—that sun-kissed Brazilian vision who had left my legs trembling—was the specific drug we were chasing.
But then, a pause on the line. A hushed conversation. “Actually... for you? She says she will come in.”
That is the power of rapport. That is the return on investment for treating providers with genuine respect and connection. She made an exception.
This time, the parameters were different. No parallel tables. No second masseuse. We wanted L. Just L. We wanted to dissolve the line between ‘couple’ and ‘provider’ and exist for an hour as a triad.
The Arrival
When we arrived, the shift in dynamic was immediately visible. L wasn’t wearing the standard spa uniform. She met us in tight yoga pants that clung to her legs like a second skin and a simple top that highlighted a figure that belongs on a Milanese runway.
She locked the door. The air in the room was different this time—less clinical, more conspiratorial. We all knew, without saying a word, that there would be very little ‘massage’ today. The preamble was over.
We stripped. The lights were low, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. We reached for the oil, but not to work out knots. We slicked our bodies to reduce the friction of what was about to happen.
The Geometry of Desire
I sat on the edge of the massage table, a king with his queens. My wife on one side, L on the other.
I kissed L. Her lips were exactly as I remembered them—sweet, soft, and tasting of mischief. But this wasn’t a spectator sport anymore. As I kissed L, her hands were on my wife. My wife’s hands were on me. A circuit of touch was established, closed, and electrified.
The escalation was rapid. There was no slow build, no teasing preamble. We were all starving.
My wife moved to the table, lying on her back, her soft skin glowing in the candlelight. L didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the table, straddling my wife’s hips, her oiled hands moving over my partner’s breasts and stomach.
And then, I moved.
I climbed up behind L. The visual alone was enough to make me lightheaded: the woman I love, pinned beneath the Brazilian goddess I sparked with, and me, anchoring the entire formation.
I grabbed L by her waist, my hands sinking into the firm curve of her hips. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent—a mix of coconut oil and natural, female musk. My mouth was watering. I had a sudden, violent thirst to taste her pussy, to bury my tongue between her legs.
My cock was rigid, pressed hard against L’s naked ass. The friction was maddening. Every inch of me wanted to slide inside her. I wanted to fuck her. Right there.
But we respected the flow. For now.
The Circuit
My hands slid down from L’s waist, diving between her thighs to cup her vulva, feeling the heat radiating through the silk. At the same time, I watched L’s hand disappear between my wife’s legs.
“Yes,” my wife gasped, her hips bucking upward to meet L’s fingers.
The symmetry was perfect. My fingers teasing L, L’s fingers pleasuring my wife, my mouth devouring L’s neck.
I couldn’t stay on the sidelines. I needed to be in it.
I shifted, guiding L forward so she was leaning over my wife, their mouths meeting in a deep, wet kiss. I positioned myself between my wife’s legs, beneath L’s arched back.
I entered my wife.
The sensation was overwhelming—the familiar, tight warmth of my partner gripping me, while my left hand reached up to continue playing with L’s clitoris, and my mouth found L’s lips again.
I was fucking my wife while I was tasting L.
Every thrust was a shared experience. I could feel L’s body tense against my hand every time I slammed into my wife. We were a single, breathing, sweating organism.
“Don’t stop,” L whispered against my mouth, her tongue tangling with mine.
I didn’t. I drove into my wife with everything I had, the image of L’s face, eyes closed in pleasure as I touched her, searing itself into my mind. The release, when it came, was absolute. I poured myself into my wife, my body shuddering, while still kissing the woman above her.
The Aftermath
We lay there for a moment in the tangle of limbs, the air heavy with the scent of sex and oil. I kissed L softly, a promise rather than a goodbye. We are going to meet L… wait for part III :P