He began to ride me slowly, his powerful thighs lifting him up before letting him sink back down. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through my body. I focused on the sprite in mymouth, matching the rhythm the half-orc had established. The sprite’s fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me, encouraging me to take him deeper.
The bathhouse had become a symphony of moans and wet sounds, the slapping of skin against skin providing a steady percussion. Steam rose from the pools, creating a dreamlike atmosphere that blurred the boundaries between bodies. In this place, we weren’t individuals anymore. We were a collective experience of pleasure, giving and taking in equal measure.
The half-orc increased his pace, bouncing on my cock with growing urgency. His own impressive dick slapped against my stomach with each movement, leaving traces of pre-cum on my skin. Without breaking my rhythm on the sprite, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the half-orc’s cock, stroking him in time with his movements.
“Fuck yes,” he hissed, his head falling back, exposing the column of his thick green-tinged neck. “Just like that.”
The sprite’s breathing had become ragged, his hips now thrusting gently into my mouth. “I’m close,” he whispered, his voice somehow carrying under all the other sounds in the room.
I doubled my efforts, hollowing my cheeks and working my tongue along the underside of his cock. The half-orc, too, was approaching his peak, his internal muscles clenching around me in irregular spasms. I was caught between them, giving and receiving pleasure from both ends, my own orgasm building steadily in my core.
The sprite came first, a flood of cool, slightly sweet liquid filling my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, surprised by the pleasant taste, like honeyed water. His body shimmered more intensely as he climaxed, tiny droplets of water forming on his skin like morning dew.
The half-orc followed soon after, his cock pulsing in my hand as he painted my chest with thick ropes of cum. The sight andsensation of him clenching around my cock pushed me over the edge. I thrust upward, burying myself as deep as possible inside him as my own orgasm crashed through me. Wave after wave of intense pleasure radiated outward, making my toes curl and my vision blur momentarily.
For several heartbeats, we remained frozen in our tableau of satisfaction, connected and panting. Then slowly, the half-orc lifted himself off me, my softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. The sprite collapsed beside me on the bench, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“That’s a good cock,” the half-orc said, giving me a wink. “I’ll want to ride that again some day.”
“You’re welcome to it,” I nodded, relishing the thought.
A small round of applause broke out among our audience, followed by laughter and calls for an encore. I grinned, giving a mock bow from my reclined position. The sprite and half-orc exchanged a look, then both leaned in to plant kisses on my cheeks simultaneously before disappearing back into the crowd.
I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, cum cooling on my chest. Someone handed me a warm, damp towel. It was a small courtesy that was part of what made this place special. I cleaned myself off, then stood on slightly shaky legs.
I hadn’t even made it to the glory holes yet. But right now, I was feeling like I needed a little break. The orgasm was so good that it felt like it had sapped my strength for the moment. Grabbing my towel, I headed toward the stairs, ready to find out what was in that private room Brad had set up for me.
The stairwell leading down to the private rooms was dimly lit, the red glow casting everything in an ethereal light. My skin was still tingling from the encounter upstairs, my body relaxed but my mind buzzing with curiosity. What kind of surprise would be waiting for me? And why had Brad arranged it? Gettingtips from clients was typically rare, but a surprise? I felt like a kid heading downstairs for Christmas.
The lower level corridor stretched before me, numbered doors lining both sides. Unlike the main bathhouse area, it was quiet down here, the thick walls designed to give privacy to whatever happened behind those doors. I glanced around, realizing that Brad hadn’t told me which room number was mine. But he said it would only open for me… so maybe I should just try them all?
As I walked down the hall, I noticed something strange. At the very end, past where Brad and I had worked earlier, was another door I hadn’t seen before. It was unmarked, with no number, just a simple wooden door that seemed out of place among the modern design of the rest of the bathhouse.
Something pulled me toward it, an inexplicable magnetism or curiosity, I wasn’t sure which. As I approached, I could feel a warmth emanating from it, like standing near a fire. My skin prickled with goosebumps despite the heat.
“This has to be it,” I muttered to myself, reaching for the handle.
The moment my fingers touched the warm metal handle, there was a soft click and the door swung inward on silent hinges. Brad had said the door would only open for me, and apparently he wasn’t kidding.
Steam billowed out, carrying with it a scent I couldn’t quite place—something ancient and exotic, like incense and spices I’d never encountered before. The room beyond was filled with a soft, blue-green light that seemed to pulse gently, as if alive.
I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a muffled thud. The room was larger than I expected, with a sunken pool in the center that seemed to be the source of the light. The water bubbled gently, steam rising in lazy curls that danced in the air.
Unlike the other pools I’d seen in the bathhouse, this one wasn’t lined with tile. Instead, it appeared to be carved from a single piece of dark stone, smooth and polished like obsidian. The walls of the room were painted with strange golden symbols I didn’t recognize. They looked like some sort of language, but not one I’d ever laid eyes on.
In the center of the pool, rising from the water like some ancient monument, was a stone pedestal. And on that pedestal sat a single object. It was an ornate oil lamp that looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of Arabian Nights. It was golden, with intricate engravings covering every inch, and a small flame flickered at its spout, casting a dancing warm glow in the steam.
“What the hell?” I whispered, letting my towel drop to the floor as I approached the edge of the pool.
The water was perfectly clear despite its luminescence, and I could see that it wasn’t very deep. Maybe three feet at most, making it a soaking pool. The temperature seemed perfect as I dipped my toe in, warm enough to be inviting but not hot enough to scald.
I stepped into the pool, the water embracing my legs like silk. It felt different from regular water somehow. It was thicker, more substantial, as if it had weight and presence beyond what water should have. As I waded toward the pedestal, ripples spread outward, catching the light and creating patterns of gold and blue across the surface.
The lamp seemed to grow more captivating with each step I took toward it. The flame burned steadily despite the water and steam surrounding it, defying all logic. Something about it called to me, an irresistible urge to touch it, to hold it in my hands.
When I reached the pedestal, I paused, suddenly uncertain. This was strange, even for a supernatural bathhouse. Part of me wondered if this was some elaborate prank, or maybe a test ofsome kind. Brad didn’t seem the type to trick me and in the end, curiosity won out.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the lamp. It was warm to the touch, vibrating slightly as if something inside was stirring. The engravings seemed to shift under my fingertips, rearranging themselves into patterns I couldn’t follow.