Samantha doesn't realize it's her brother. Neither does Mom.
**
My mother and father have a good marriage, as near as I can tell, but every so often Mom turns into a sourpuss. It's not from her time of month, or something banal like that. My own theory is that it is the exhaustion from being a mother of teenage twins (my brother Samuel and myself, Samantha), a devoted wife, and a hard-working professional woman. When the grump sets in, as Dad calls it, it becomes a real strain to be around her.
Mom has a cure, however, for her moods, and since Mom and Dad both have well-paying jobs (related to high tech), they can afford to send Mom for a curative Spa, usually of a week's duration, and sometimes two weeks. It works, and Mom always returns de-grumped.
When I returned from college for a month-long winter vacation, my sophomore year, it was my turn to be a grump. I was a grump in spades, and I put Mom's worst moods and tantrums to shame! I tried to talk Mom into letting me go for a degrumpification, knowing her trips were expensive, but after all, what is money for? Mom said no, such things were not for me, I was too young.
"Too young?" I exploded. "I'm freaking nineteen years old! I'm a sophomore in college. I could join the army and go kill people somewhere, since our frigging country is always at war someplace," I screamed, and that was only the beginning of my screed.
Dad stepped in, bless his soul, and told me I was old enough, and he would send me to a spa. I wanted to go to the one Mom went to, that worked wonders on her, that gave her massages she raved about and got all dreamy eyed whenever she recalled them. Mom said no, absolutely not, which puzzled the three of us (my brother Sam was listening to all of this, too). This was not like Mom; she had never denied me anything, except a pony when I was eight, and a sports car when I was sixteen, but she wanted to keep her special spa all to herself?
Well, if you know anything about teenage daughters, that just meant I was totally determined to go to that special spa, called Spa X, and no other spa could substitute. After an animated debate, that put Lincoln and Douglas to shame, Dad sided with me, and I would be allowed to go, but Mom was coming with me. Then, in a surprise move, since everyone knows spas are primarily for women, my brother Sam was allowed to join.
We all had valid passports, so that wasn't an issue, and we flew to Paris, connecting to Casablanca, and from there to Marrakesh. My brother Sam and I downloaded the old song Marrakesh Express, of Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and listened to it
ad nauseum
for most of the overnight and full day trip from San Francisco to Marrakesh, Morocco, where Spa X was located.
Spa X was really wonderful. It was fairly remote, outside Marrakesh and on the beach, and even though Morocco is a third world country, you'd never know it from the comforts of Spa X. First of all, I had heard Moroccan food was great, but I was not prepared to have the best of food of my entire life! The blend of spices in the food was magical. I looked forward to every meal.
What Spa X was known for, however, were its massages, and while I was no expert on what makes a good massage, it was hard to imagine a better massage, anywhere, ever! I'd emerge from the massage room feeling like a million bucks, time after time after time. Sam felt the same way. No wonder Mom returned degrumped. This was amazing!
Nevertheless, I found a brochure for their X Massage, which seemed to me to be the signature massage of the spa. It follows as the night follows the day, that I wanted an X massage, whatever it was. A little espionage taught me that Mom was always getting the X massage, while Sam and I got only the regular, albeit heavenly, massages.
I discreetly enquired. What I learned sent me into a state of shock! Of course, I was already being nude for the normal massage, with a towel over my privates. In America there's a second towel over one's breasts, but not in Morocco. In fact, the towels over one's privates are reserved for Americans and the occasional uptight European. Most women at Spa X take their massages totally nude. I knew that, and was not alarmed that the X massage was given with the woman naked. No, that was not the alarming part.
I knew what I was getting into, when I quietly signed up for an X massage. I was led to a different group of rooms, reserved for the X massages. The walls were mirrors and glass, and the door to the room was glass. There were video cameras, and the video was optional for an extra fee. I skipped the video. Privacy was not an option, it seemed.
I lay down naked on the massage table, and a masseur (and not a masseuse!) entered the room and gave me the wonderful standard massage, with one major fillip. Normally my vaginal area and my tits are scrupulously not touched, but with the X massage they are both touched and massaged. I could easily imagine climaxing from the touches of the masseur, but I didn't. I don't cum easily. Nevertheless, my privates became inflamed and I was turned on in the extreme, since the masseur was relentless.
Part 1 of the massage ended with me hopelessly aroused, and then came Part 2. It's a bit shocking, but I had read the brochure, so I thought I was psychologically prepared. I wasn't, however. A second man entered and joined the masseur, and the two of them strapped my hands and legs down so that I was bound spread eagle on the massage table (which was wider than a typical massage table).
I was not used to being naked in front of a strange man, let alone two of them! I was not just naked, however, but very naked, with my legs spread and my inflamed pussy on full display! I was quite embarrassed, but my embarrassment was trumped by my extreme arousal. I was meant for this, somehow!
I had made my choice. You could have "a local" do the honors, or you could have one of the male guests. I had opted for "a local." The two men continued to massage me, paying special attention to my tits and my vag, and then when I was actually close to a climax, they suddenly stopped, and blindfolded me. I could see nothing. It was a real turn on not to be able to see, and now both men were massaging me, one focusing on my tits, and the other on my vag. I was close to cumming.
They both stopped, and I knew from the brochure what was coming next. I braced myself. I could say no, and tell them to stop, at any time, and I kept telling myself that, and it calmed me down. I heard the masseur and his helper leave the room, and I just lay there, naked, tied up spread eagle, waiting. I was gradually getting terrified.
I sensed a new man entering the room. I couldn't see him; I couldn't even smell him, at least not then. I knew nothing about him, not even his name. He was anonymous. I decided to call him Abdul, just in my own thoughts, since he was the 'local talent' and therefore probably Arab or Berber.
The first thing I learned was that his cock was long; I learned that from feeling it enter me, and enter me, and enter me some more. I'm not good at judging the length of a cock without using my eyes, but even I could tell his cock was long. The masseur returned, me lying there with a man's long hard, cock buried in me, and the masseur engaged Abdul in conversation. Talk about weird! I heard the masseur speaking with 'Abdul' in Arabic, and of course I had no idea what they were saying. Probably the masseur was telling Abdul how I liked to be fucked; I had filled out the form, and I had checked the box that said, "Rough."
I had looked up some words in Arabic before the massage. I heard the word 'alkham,' which means rough, and then I heard the other man say 'hasananaan,' which means okay. Suddenly, the man was pounding me with the force of a Mack truck! If I hadn't been tied down, I might have fallen off the table he was fucking me so hard. It was fabulous, and I was fucking him right back, meeting his every thrust, and raising my tummy to the extent the restraints would allow.
He fucked me and he fucked me and he fucked me, until finally he shot his load into the rubber. I hadn't climaxed, but I loved every second of the fuck. I had only had one partner before the visit to this spa, and that was my college boyfriend Bruce, who fucked me every chance he got, but I had never cum from his fucks, although I always enjoyed them. Now I hadn't cum with Abdul's fuck either. I remember the brochure had guaranteed a climax. They had their work cut out for them with me! Maybe I'd get my money back? Really, it was my Dad's money, but you get the idea.
I was waiting for my release from the bondage, when to my surprise another man entered the room. I still had the blindfold on, so I had no idea what was going on. Suddenly, this new man was fucking me, too! What was this? Back to back fucks by two men? The brochure had said nothing about this! I once again heard isolated words as the masseur discussed things with my new lover, and I detected the key words alkham and nem. (Nem means yes.)
This new guy was more brutal even than Abdul, and it was all I could do to keep up with him, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to survive this second fuck! Eventually, he too filled his rubber inside me, and everyone was surprised that I still had not cum. I felt that I should have faked an orgasm, but it hadn't occurred to me, since the fuck was so wonderful and I couldn't get enough of it!
To my dismay, a third man entered and I realized I was to get a third fuck, and I knew I couldn't continue. This was just too much, and it was beginning to resemble a gangbang, for Pete's sake! I didn't fly all the way to Morocco just to get gangbanged! I could have arranged that right at USC, no problem at all. This third man, though, was a little different. He was not so interested in fucking me brutally, as were his two predecessors, as he was in fucking me erotically.
For the first time in my young life, I climaxed during a fuck. Since I had always thought it would never happen to me, that somehow, I was different, it was a revelation to the point where I began to hear Handel's Hallelujah Chorus of the Messiah, in my head!
King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and He shall reign forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
. I almost sang it out, myself. (I'm a soprano, with quite a nice voice, I'm told.)
