An Invitation With a Catch
Saturday evening was shaping up to be entirely ordinary until Scott called. The guys from our circle had rented a big private spa lodge outside the city for the whole night — sauna, pool, billiards room, the works.
“Listen, grab Natalie and come out,” he said, cheerful about it. “Everyone’s bringing their wives. The women can talk, we’ll knock some balls around, steam a bit. No ties, no agenda.”
Natalie heard the women and sauna and agreed happily. She packed a bag with a swimsuit and the usual spa things, put on a light summer dress, and we called a car.
But when the heavy oak door of the lodge shut behind us, the reality had very little to do with what Scott had described. We’d walked into an enormous, expensively finished room. A massive wooden table in the center was buried under good liquor and food; off to one side the green felt of a billiard table caught the light; against the far wall sat an enormous leather couch. Heat rolled out of the open door of a private steam room, and the small blue pool gave off a smell of fresh pine.
And there wasn’t a single woman in the place.
Five men sat at that table — Scott and four others from our circle. Every one of them already stripped down to a spa sheet around the hips, glass in hand.
Natalie stopped dead in the doorway, and heavy color came up her throat and into her cheeks. Five pairs of openly hungry eyes fixed on her at the same moment and went over her without any pretense of doing otherwise. The setup was obvious. Turning around and riding back into the city in the middle of the night felt equally absurd. She swallowed with difficulty and tightened her hand in mine.
Under a Thin Towel
“Well, look who made it! Come in, we’ve only just started.” Scott stood to meet us, and his eyes went straight down the front of her dress without apology. “Our women all bailed at the last minute — kids, headaches, you know how it goes. Good on you two for actually turning up.”
The men at the table nodded along, smiling, and poured us both a shot of iced vodka immediately. Natalie knocked hers back in one to take the edge off. The alcohol spread through her in a warm burn and handed her back some of her usual nerve.
She went to the changing room, and a few minutes later came back into the hall.
She hadn’t put the swimsuit on — it’s awkward in a steam room. Instead she’d taken everything off and wrapped herself in a large white towel. The fabric pulled tight across her heavy breasts, barely containing them, and covered the rest of her only partly, leaving her long legs bare from well above mid-thigh. With every step the towel opened a little and gave the room a look at what was under it.
The men at the table stopped breathing for a second. Natalie, feeling desired and exposed in exactly equal measure, sat down on the edge of the leather couch and adjusted the towel at her chest. I settled next to her, keeping the smile off my face with some effort. The evening was going to get very warm.
The Temperature Climbs
They surrounded her with attention fast, working to burn off the last of her awkwardness. Arthur — one of the biggest men there — sat down beside her on the couch with a plate of fruit.
“Nat, you’re the best thing in this building tonight. Your husband’s a lucky man,” he said in a low, velvet voice, holding out a slice of ripe pineapple.
She smiled slowly and took it directly from his fingers.
With every glass the room loosened further. The men leaned in toward her one after another, keeping up conversation that had stopped being innocent some while back, their eyes going to her neckline and then down to her bare knees. Under the thick towel Natalie could feel her own body starting to run hot.
Wade, standing at the billiard table, rolled a ball idly with his cue and didn’t take his eyes off her. “So what do you say — shall we go warm up in the steam room? Nat, want to show us how you handle the heat?”
She threw me one fast, sly look. There was no fear left in it — only the appetite of a woman who has just understood that five men in a room will do absolutely anything she wants tonight. She stood slowly from the couch, holding the towel at her breast with one hand, and walked toward the steam room, pulling the whole company along behind her.
Cool Air and Heat
Natalie stepped into the hot, pine-thick air of the steam room. Not all of them followed. The men at the table exchanged a look and hung back with a certain tact, and Arthur took the initiative. He came in after her and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him, cutting off every sound from the hall. Inside there was a pleasant half-dark and the smell of hot stone and oak leaves.
She settled on the middle bench, still wrapped tight in her white towel. The terry immediately began soaking up the heat, going damp and clinging harder to her. Arthur stood beside her, braced his palms on the upper bench and looked down at her — a heavy, unhurried, evaluating look.
“Nat, you’re locked up. Your shoulders are solid,” he said quietly, with a slight rasp, stepping closer. “Let me work on you a little. The heat in here is perfect for it — everything lets go at once.”
Natalie smiled, slow and unhurried. Her heart was going hard at the prospect of this happening behind a closed door, out of sight of the others, with my silent agreement behind it. “All right,” she said quietly. “Try.”
She turned over carefully and lay face down on the smooth, heated wood. The towel now covered her back and her backside and reached the middle of her thighs, leaving only her long legs bare. Arthur poured a little scented oil into his big hands, worked it between them, and took the first step toward the bench, and she caught her breath and held it.
Warming Up
His large, hot palms landed on her shoulders through the damp terry, then slid confidently under the fabric onto her bare skin. Natalie inhaled sharply and put her face into her folded arms as his strong fingers began working her neck and the plates of her shoulders.
He worked without hurry. His hands moved slowly down along her spine, crumpling the towel millimeter by millimeter and pushing it toward the small of her back. She groaned into the bench — the massage in that heavy, superheated air was dissolving what remained of her embarrassment entirely.
Soon he went lower. His palms settled on the full curve of her thighs, still uncovered, and began working her smooth skin in slow circles, rising toward her backside. The towel rode up under the pressure of his hands until it barely covered anything at all. Natalie was lifting her hips into each movement with real skill, her breathing gone ragged and fast, low sounds escaping her that carried in the small room.
An Admission in the Heat
Arthur felt her arching up to meet his hands and his breathing went heavier and rougher. Carefully but without hesitation he pulled at the edge of the damp towel. The fabric slid obediently away and left her entirely bare on the wooden bench, her backside and her tanned back open in the half-dark, shining with sweat and oil.
She made a soft sound at the cool air his hands had moved, so sharp against the burn of the steam. Then she turned slowly onto her back and let him see all of her. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her breathing and her nipples had gone completely hard.
He went still for a second, taking her in, then went down on his knees in front of the bench. His hands settled on the inside of her thighs and pushed them wider. Natalie’s lips came apart and her fingers tangled in his hair as Arthur leaned in and put his mouth on her.
“Ooohh — Arthur—” The sound came out of her full and loud, her nails going into his shoulders, and she started to writhe under his mouth in the very middle of that furnace.
In the Steam
He worked her with certainty and force. In that thick, scalding air his tongue moved between her folds and she was melting on the hot wood. She lost control of her body completely — her hips came up off the bench to chase every contact, her toes curling in the air.
At the peak of it she arched hard, her breasts lifting with her broken breathing.
“Arthur — god, I’m going to — yes—” she cried out, high and full, throwing her head back.
Her body went off in a long, powerful orgasm, and she clenched her thighs around him in spasms until the waves finally let her go. Arthur got up carefully, kissed her sweat-wet cheek and helped her sit. She pulled the damp towel back around a body that was now flushed and thoroughly kissed, and they came out together into the cool of the main hall.
Green Felt
The room greeted them with lively looks and the click of billiard balls. I was on the leather couch with a cold drink, watching her with a smile. Her flushed face, her wet hair and the satisfied heaviness in the way she moved said everything about what had happened behind that oak door. The towel sat looser on her now and opened over her thighs with every step.
Wade came over to her at once — tall, lean, turning a cue idly in his hands.
“So, Nat, warmed up? Let’s play a frame,” he offered with a slight, predatory smile, holding out a spare cue. “Let’s see how good your aim is.”
“Oh, Wade, I have absolutely no idea how to play,” Natalie laughed, taking the cue, and the towel across her chest shifted dangerously with it.
“Not a problem. I’ll teach you fast,” Wade said, velvet about it.
She went to the table and bent over the green felt without any technique at all, trying to line up on the ball. Her short towel pulled tight over her backside immediately and left the whole length of her legs bare from behind. Wade took the moment, stepped forward without a word, and set himself directly behind her, closing every centimeter of distance.
A Lesson in Geometry
Natalie felt his bare chest press against her back and the heat of him settle into the curve of her hips through the thin terry. She inhaled sharply — and didn’t move.
He laid his big hands carefully over hers, controlling her grip on the cue. His breath moved over her neck and brought her skin up in gooseflesh.
“Look, Nat — left hand goes like this, make a bridge,” Wade murmured directly into her ear, the rasp in his voice thickening, while his hips pressed her forward against the table with quiet insistence. “Drop your shoulders. Bend a little lower. Send it straight through the center.”
She arched obediently under his hands, pushing herself further back. The other four men at the table stopped pretending to do anything else. And I sat there with myself going hard as iron under the sheet, watching Wade take control of my wife slowly and with real technique, right at the green felt.
A Shot That Doesn’t Miss
Wade was extraordinarily good at this, keeping a completely level exterior, as if the frame were the only thing on his mind. His hands stayed on hers, guiding the cue, but his hips held her pinned to the wooden rail. She was bent deep over the table, her fingers tight on the edge, her breathing shallow and uneven.
Slowly, careful not to draw the attention of the men by the fireplace, he brought one hand down. His fingers caught the damp terry at her hips and drew it aside in one smooth movement, leaving her completely bare from behind. Natalie flinched and her fingers clenched on the felt — but she made no move away. The opposite: obeying the rules of a game nobody had said out loud, she arched deeper and pushed her hips back toward him.
Wade freed himself, thick and already pulsing, and set the head of it against her soft, wet folds. Working slowly and with care, he began to sink into her centimeter by centimeter — into a body still aching from the steam room.
The Quiet Frame
Natalie went absolutely still, her eyes wide on the white ball in front of her. She set her teeth hard to keep any sound at all from getting out. From the outside it looked exactly as though Wade were helping her adjust her stance for a difficult shot. Inside her, something entirely different was happening.
He went in to the base, filling her completely. She was slick enough that they moved against each other easily, and Wade began a series of short strokes — nearly invisible from across the room and extremely deep. Every one of them put a faint tremor into the cue in her hands.
“Now… push it forward gently, Nat,” Wade whispered into her neck, driving up into her again on a slow, heavy stroke.
She swallowed hard, her face burning, nothing coming out of her open mouth but broken, hot breathing. She made the shot obediently and the ball rolled off across the green felt with a click. Not one of the men at the table appeared to notice anything, though their knowing, predatory smiles said otherwise. I sat on the couch gripping myself through the sheet, holding my breath, watching that astonishing silent scene at the billiard table.
A Hidden Finish
Wade kept his hands on her hips, working her with short, deep, unbearably slow strokes. Every one of them put a small shudder through her against the table. Natalie was holding the appearance of a game together with the last of what she had, braced on her palms against the felt, but her knees had started to go under the strain and what was building in her.
Feeling her clench around him in tight spasms and start pulling him with her, Wade drove in one last time, long and hard. He pressed his hips flush against her and, with a low, swallowed sound, finished inside her, emptying himself into the very depth of her. Natalie bit down on her lip until it went white, her eyes unfocused, her whole body shaking with a silent and deafening orgasm.
They stood like that for several more seconds, coming back into themselves under the hum of the lodge’s ventilation. Then Wade withdrew carefully, straightened the sheet at his hips, and with one smooth movement returned her damp towel to its place, covering over everything that had just happened.
Back to the Table
Natalie straightened up slowly, her breathing still ragged, a feverish color high in her cheeks. She adjusted the edge of the towel over her heaving chest and walked back toward the big wooden table on legs that weren’t entirely steady.
The men greeted her return with lively, knowing smiles. They could see perfectly well how unfocused her eyes were and how her bare legs shone as she came toward them, but nobody asked a single unnecessary question — the rules of this particular game were being observed by everyone in the room. Scott pulled a chair over for her at once and filled her glass with cold wine.
“So, Nat — how was the frame? Is Wade a good teacher?” Arthur asked with a sly grin, pushing a plate toward her.
“Very… good,” Natalie answered in a voice gone low and rough, taking the chair and a long swallow of the wine. She flicked one look at me from under her lashes, and what danced in her eyes was pure, absolute triumph. The air at that table was at its limit: Natalie sitting in a circle of men wrapped in nothing but a short towel, Wade’s heat still inside her, an ordinary evening at a spa lodge turned into the opening round of something considerably larger.