I’m considering my options. Thinking about backing out. But Jordan turns the handle and opens the door.
The room inside is… soft and maybe even romantic. The first thing I see are the long, sheer, pale yellow curtains partially hiding the downtown view. The next thing I notice is the soft, room-sized sheepskin rug. And that’s mostly because I trip over it as Jordan leads me forward. Then there’s the long table in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet. And Elias, standing at the head of it.
“Get undressed,” he commands, his words and tone evoking a sense of power. There is soft music playing. Something meditative and calming. It does the job because even though I swallow hard again, the butterflies are receding.
“Don’t make me tell you twice,” Elias says, his eyes trained on mine.
Jordan is already undressing. Puling his tie through the collar of his shirt.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out as I slip my shoes off. The rug is thick and luxurious under my constantly aching feet. I grip the long, soft fibers with my toes, ready to moan, that’s how good it feels.
When I reach for the zipper at the nape of my neck, Jordan is there to help me. He drags it down my body, and even though it’s not cold in here—in fact, it’s slightly too warm—a chill runs up my spine when my back is exposed to the air.
I slip the straps of the dress over my shoulders and let it fall to the ground at my feet. Jordan picks it up, takes it somewhere.
“I like the lingerie, Nadia,” Elias says, staring at my body like a wolf about to have dinner. “But it’s not appropriate for tonight.”
“OK,” I say, slightly out of breath for reasons I don’t want to think about. “But you did say slutty.”
He offers me a small smile, just as Jordan returns. He’s bare from the waist up now. His well-muscled chest holds my attention for a few seconds before Elias’s words bring me back to him. “Take it all off.”
I gulp air. I should not let him make me feel this way. I’m the one in control here, not him.
But even as I say it in my head, I know it’s not true. Yes, I got Bricman good last night with the phone sex. But right now, there is only one person in charge. Only one person with total command in this room.
“You need to move faster,” Bric says. He’s Bric now. Not Elias.
I unhook the garters from my stockings and roll them down my legs. Jordan is there, kneeling in front of me, hands gently holding my foot as he slips them off. We do that again for the second leg.
I like his touch. It’s soft and comforting. Jordan is grounding me now. Keeping me even and straight. Calming me.
Bric sips his drink as he watches Jordan help me with my bra. He unhooks it, slipping it down my arms. And then his fingertips are on the waistband of my panties. Pulling them down my legs.
I shiver as the soft silky fabric slides across my skin. I step out of them and Jordan takes everything away. I’m left standing in the middle of the room, completely bare.
“Wash your face,” Bric commands while pointing to a countertop with a large ceramic bowl on top of it.
This is a… spa room, I realize. The table is for massages. The walls are a pale gray-blue. Serene and calming.
“Nadia,” Bric snaps. “I won’t tolerate having to tell you everything twice. Go wash that shit off your fucking face.”
“You said slutty,” I say, feeling defensive.
“Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says, not unkindly. “Just do as you’re told.”
My frustration at being stripped bare of my clothes and my control comes out of my mouth as a huff. But I obey. It’s a game, I tell myself. Just a stupid fucking game. In a few minutes, I’ll have a better grasp of the situation and I’ll be the one in control again. I’ll figure out what they’re doing and formulate a response. Make a plan.
The water in the bowl is hot. I know this because there’s steam rising off it in little curly tendrils. There’s a few rolled-up washcloths off to the side, so I take one, open it up, and dip it in the water.
My hands enjoy the soothing heat and then I bring the cloth to my face and start wiping. Once my face is wet, I pick up a small seashell-shaped bar of soap and get it wet, lather up the washcloth, and scrub the dark, smoky makeup off my eyes.
I splash water on my face to rinse it off, and then Jordan says, “Here, Nadia,” as he thrusts a soft towel for me to dry off with.
When I’m done, I lower the towel and open my eyes.
Bric is smiling when I turn to look at him. “Much better,” he says.
I glance at Jordan, who’s standing right next to me, taking my hand. Leading me over to the table. “Lie down, Nadia,” he says. “Face first.”
I climb up onto the table and do as I’m told. Bric is still standing at the head, so he’s right in front of me, the outline of his hard cock through his pants staring me in the face. I raise my eyes up to try to gauge what he’s thinking. He stares down at me as he sips his drink.
No smile. No words of encouragement. Just nothing but Bric from Bric.
Jordan places a towel across my bare ass and that’s when things start to make sense.
His hands on my legs are my next clue.
A massage? They’ve brought me up here for a massage?
“Does it feel good, Nadia?” Jordan asks as he kneads the tight, overworked muscles of my calves.
“So good,” I mutter, closing my eyes. It’s a mistake, I know this. It’s a mistake to think that they’ve brought me here for this. But I can’t help myself. My body is in a constant state of dull ache from dance and exercise and I don’t even remember the last time I had a massage. I’ve never had a full-body massage like this, that’s for damn sure.
“Good,” Bric says, gathering my long, dark hair and twisting it up. He ties it together with a slip of yellow ribbon that flutters in front of my face, pulling the knot tight. He arranges my new ponytail off to the side of my shoulder and then his large, strong hands press down on my upper back. Kneading the muscles into submission. Pulling the tension out of my body with his fingertips.
I moan. It feels too good to keep up the pretense that I won’t fully enjoy this. I don’t know what they’re doing, or why. But right now, I do not care.
Jordan is busy with my legs. He grips my calves tightly, then releases. Hot oil is dripped on my shoulders, then down the curve of my spine. More hot oil down each leg, starting from where my thigh meets my ass, and ending at the tip of my toes.
And when they touch me again, those four strong hands make me give in.
Completely. Utterly. Submit.
“You don’t take good care of yourself,” Bric says, the heel of his palm pushing into a pressure point near my shoulder blade. There’s a sharp pain at first when he hits a knot in some hidden, but well-used muscle. It makes me gasp. But after a few seconds the knot begins to disappear. The pain goes away. The pleasure sets in.
I relax.