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The corridor is quieter than usual, the faint hum of the air vents the only sound breaking the silence. You had been wandering MBCC for while, curiosity guiding you down various paths. Your footsteps echo softly, drawing your attention to a plain, unassuming door at the end of the hall.
The words carved into the wall make you pause:
"Women's Private Room."
You tilted your head. "Huh. Didn't know MBCC had something… specific… like this."
Your eyes lingered on the faint red warning sign beneath it. 'Restricted access. Do not enter.'
That part made you hesitate. "I am a woman" you mutter, arms folding. "But what's with the ominous sign? Is it... dangerous?"
You stand there like a fool for a few seconds, debating with yourself. The silence of the hallway doesn't help.
"Ugh, it's just a room. Worst case, they tell me to get out" you finally decide, nodding firmly.
Your hand wraps around the cold metal handle, then pushes.
A breath of warmth escapes immediately, curling around your face. Fog drifts lazily into the corridor, carrying with it the scent of hot mineral water and faint traces of soap. It's moist, steamy even, the kind of air that clings to your skin.
"Oh..." The word slips out of your mouth unbidden, your voice barely above a whisper. The sudden change in atmosphere unsettles you, but curiosity forces your feet forward.
The corridor is narrow, every step echoing in the muffled steam. The deeper you go, the softer the world becomes. Your fingers trail along the damp wall, guiding you forward until you're nearly at the end.
Just one more turn.
But then— a sound.
A tiny whimper.
It cuts through the steam, sharp enough to make you freeze. Your ears strain, trying to decide whether you imagined it, but then, another sound follows. A low ripple, like water being disturbed. Voices, soft and indistinct, float down the corridor.
Your heart lurches into your throat. You press yourself against the wall, pulse quickening, every nerve demanding you shouldn't go further.
And yet... you've already come this far.
You inch forward, every step crunching faintly against the damp floor. The steam thickens until the world around you feels hazy. For a second, you wonder if you've stumbled into some kind of hidden onsen.
Then you turn the corner.
Your breath catches.
The corridor opens into a vast chamber, lit not by lamps but by the warm glow of water itself. A heated pool sprawls across the room, wide enough to fit a dozen people without crowding, its surface shimmering with faint ripples.
But it's not the pool that makes your eyes widen.
It's them.
Women. Many of them. Relaxing against the smooth stone edges, half-submerged, their skin glistening with droplets that roll languidly down curves and shoulders. Steam curls around their figures, concealing just enough, but never enough to disguise the fact that they are, without question, completely bare.
You stop dead in your tracks, every thought in your head going blank at once.
Some of them are laughing softly, voices low and rich, while others are simply leaning back with their eyes closed, lost in the heat. The water shifts with their movements, little waves lapping against bare thighs and arms.
The air is thick, heavy, carrying with it the scent of soap, skin, and something that makes your pulse quicken.
You swallow hard.
"...Oh."
It's the only thing that comes out of your mouth, barely audible over the gentle splashing.
A sudden, low sigh makes your head turn.
Your eyes land on a woman seated at the edge of the pool. She's beautiful, soft-featured, though time has etched maturity into her face. What truly catches you, though, are her eyes. Gentle yet heavy, carrying a grief that lingers deep in her gaze.
Wet strands of dark hair cling to her cheeks, sliding down to her collarbone as she bows her head. Despite the firm, upright posture of her shoulders, there's something fragile in the way she sits.
"My dear Jelena..."
The voice comes from behind her. You watch as another woman approaches, blonde hair gleaming faintly through the mist. Her hand extends, fingertips gliding down to caress Jelena's bare back. The touch is soft, almost reverent, tracing across damp skin.
You gulp.
The delicate arch of Jelena's spine draws your eyes, the way it curves beneath the woman's touch. Long, tender fingers press into her waist, then travel upward with care. Jelena shudders faintly, her back arching as those fingers brush against the ridges of her spine.
Finally, Jelena speaks, her voice soft yet tinged with something warmer. "Madeleine..."
When she turns, the grief in her eyes softens, replaced by something gentler. A smile flickers across her lips as she gazes at the blonde woman. Madeleine leans closer, her own expression melting into one of quiet joy, her hand lingering against Jelena's back.
Neither of them speak. They don't need to.
You hold your breath as they draw nearer, their eyes locked, their bodies closing the space inch by inch.
Are they going to... kiss?
Instead, they stop just short. Foreheads pressing together, noses brushing in the softest nuzzle. Jelena's hand rises, cupping Madeleine's cheek with delicate care.
Madeleine exhales shakily at the touch, her lips parting with a sigh. She doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans closer, her shoulders trembling faintly with the weight of the moment.
And then… Finally, their lips meet.
Your breath catches as the kiss deepens slowly, tenderly, the steam around them curling tighter.
You watch, enchanted, as their hands wander with growing boldness. The touches are light, almost teasing, yet undeniably hungry. Fingertips trace familiar paths, brushing against damp skin with reverence, and you find yourself holding your breath with each movement.
You should look away. You know you should. But the sight has you frozen in place.
Your gaze drifts lower, down from their lips to where their bodies press together. Tender breasts brush and slide, slick from water, the friction softened by steam but no less intimate. Their chests rise and fall, the rhythm of their breathing matching as though they've long since surrendered to each other.
Your pulse quickens the longer you watch. A warmth pools inside you, not just from the thick, heated air but from something deeper, something you don't dare name aloud. What would it be like, you wonder, to be touched like that? To be held with such care... such love?
The thought lingers, dangerous and sweet, until—
A sudden, high-pitched laugh cuts through the haze.
You jolt, eyes tearing away from the entwined women.
Slowly, you turn toward the source of the noise—
And your eyes widen immediately.
"Hm... my sweet flower..."
The voice drips with lazy affection, and your eyes are drawn to its source. A red-haired woman reclines languidly at the pool's edge, her arm draped around the smaller figure nestled against her. Their mouths hover so close as they speak that every word causes their lips to brush, accidental yet deliberate, sparking something in the air.
"Mm? Does that make you my wine, then?" the pale-haired woman replies. Her tone is calm, cool, but there's an edge of mockery beneath the softness, a blade hidden in silk.
You recognize the redhead now, Cabernet, the famous food critic. She doesn't flinch at the jab. If anything, her smile only deepens.
"Aw... want to drink me up?" Cabernet teases, voice laced with feigned innocence, lips forming a pout that is both mocking and inviting.
Instead of answering, the pale woman leans closer still, her presence quiet but commanding. Her hand moves, not to push Cabernet away, but to steal the delicate cup from her fingers.
You know the woman. Coquelic. Of course she's here. You've heard her speak often of her "flowers" sending them to fetch her bath oils, to prepare the steam and petals for her indulgences. This sight shouldn't surprise you.
And yet, it does.
Because through all their back-and-forth, through the laughter hidden in their words, their hands never stop.
From the moment your eyes first landed on them, their fingers have been busy. Fondling, caressing, kneading at each other's breasts with shameless devotion. Pale fingers sink into flushed flesh, red-tipped nails drag lightly across porcelain skin. They touch as though their banter is nothing more than an excuse for this constant, unbroken indulgence.
Your throat goes dry. The cup of wine in Coquelic's hand tipping to her lips is nothing compared to the feast of touch already happening between them.
But instead of drinking, Coquelic tilts the cup further, letting the crimson liquid spill over the rim. It drips first onto her lips, then trails downward, a thin stream painting her pale skin in rich scarlet. The wine trickles between the soft swell of her breasts, glistening as it follows the valley of her body.
Cabernet's eyes darken, her gaze locked onto every drop.
You watch as Coquelic shivers, her supple body quaking at the cool sensation. She lingers in the moment, her eyes half-lidded with lust, until at last she speaks.
"Drink."
The command is simple, but her voice is low and heavy, and her fingers punctuate it, pinching delicately at a rosy nipple, rolling it between her fingertips.
Cabernet exhales sharply, her lips already curling into a hungry smile. "Mhh... yes... let me savor it."
She wastes no time. Her mouth descends, following the crimson trail with greedy reverence. Her tongue laps at the droplets, her lips sealing over each drop of wine before it can vanish, teeth grazing lightly against soft skin as she makes her way lower.
Coquelic arches faintly beneath her touch, her breath hitching, her fingers tangling briefly in Cabernet's hair as though urging her deeper.
A thrill shoots through you. You shouldn't be watching. And yet, you can't look away.
You want to see it. To see Cabernet's lips wrap around Coquelic's nipple, to watch those soft, pale breasts quiver under her touch. You imagine the smear of Cabernet's lipstick across Coquelic's fair skin, each mark a bold signature of possession and pleasure.
But Cabernet doesn't linger.
Her lips slide lower, tracing the curve of Coquelic's stomach. Her tongue flicks against the hollow of the navel, coaxing a shiver up the pale woman's spine. Coquelic arches instinctively, a soft, breathy moan escaping her lips, her fingers tangling in Cabernet's hair, once again urging her further.
Cabernet follows without hesitation, her movements deliberate and slow, each glide of her tongue along the quivering skin sending a ripple through Coquelic's body.
Your pulse races. The scene is indulgent, almost unbearable, yet you remain frozen, unable to pull your eyes away from the intimate display.
Cabernet finally reaches Coquelic's pelvis, her movements slowing as if she can finally savor the moment. She pauses, pulling back just slightly, taking a deep, shuddering breath as though trying to consume Coquelic through scent alone.
"Delicious" she whispers.
The look on Cabernet's face tells you everything: a hunger, a desire to devour the soft, pliable body before her.
Your pulse races. Heat pools in your chest. You know you shouldn't be watching. And yet...
No. You can't. Not for another second.
You try to steady your breath, dragging your gaze away from Coquelic and Cabernet's indulgence. The steam curls thicker near the far edge of the pool, where another voice cuts through.
"Come on, darling, don't leave me to swim alone."
The words are dramatic, sing-song, a touch of performance in every syllable. You peer through the mist to find her—the orange-haired woman, arms stretched out toward the poolside as though beckoning an audience rather than a single person. Water clings to her shoulders, droplets sliding down the curves she makes no effort to hide.
On the smooth stone at the pool's edge sits another woman, strands of violet hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her posture is elegant, almost detached, though there's the faintest hint of weariness in the way she hugs her towel close to her chest.
"Maybe a little later, Pearl" she replies, her voice low, a little raspy.
The woman in the pool swims closer, her movements fluid, purposeful. When she reaches the edge, her hands slip easily onto the violet-haired woman's thighs, coaxing them apart with gentle insistence. She rests her damp cheek against one of the soft thighs.
"Indulge me for a while, my darling Garofano" Pearl breathes, her hands keep moving, brushing, squeezing, pinching with playful precision, as if testing the fabric of a fine dress.
Garofano exhales slowly, her purple hair shifting forward to curtain her face. "My body feels weak today" she murmurs, her tone hushed and careful. "The water is too heavy."
Pearl hums softly at that, lips grazing skin with every amused sound. "Hmm... then how about I give you a little massage?" she whispers against Garofano's thigh.
Garofano's hand rises almost unconsciously, her fingers brushing lightly over Pearl's head. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as if she's weighing some unspoken thought. For a few seconds, she lingers, gazing down at Pearl.
Then her hand begins to move, sliding slowly downward. Her fingers trace across Pearl's face, thumb gliding just above her eyes. Pearl remains still, surrendering to the tender touch, leaning slightly into the warmth of Garofano's hand. The back of her fingers strokes her cheek in long, languid motions, and Pearl hums again, soft and satisfied, savoring the quiet intimacy.
After a few seconds, Garofano's hand finally settles on Pearl's cheek, her thumb tugging gently. "I can feel how tense you are... let me help you relax" Pearl murmurs, her voice husky and low, just barely audible over the soft splashes of the pool.
Garofano exhales softly, a small, almost imperceptible smile forming at the corner of her lips. She nods, yielding, and slowly pulls Pearl's face away so she can stand.
Pearl rises gracefully, her curves catching the glint of the pool's warm light, droplets of water sliding down her skin. Her gaze flicks to a nearby bottle of oil. With a sly smile, she lifts it, warming the contents between her hands until they gleam in the light.
"On your stomach, darling" Pearl instructs, guiding Garofano to the sun bed. The violet-haired woman obeys, lowering herself carefully onto her front, the towel slipping slightly to reveal the gentle curve of her back.
Pearl's hands move with deliberate care, the oil leaving a shiny sheen across Garofano's skin. Her fingers press into the taut muscles of Garofano's shoulders, tracing down the spine as Garofano arches her back subtly, surrendering to the touch. The slight lift emphasizes the smooth, glistening sweep of her back.
You watch carefully as Pearl's hands glide over Garofano's back, kneading the glistening skin with slow, deliberate pressure. Each squeeze, each glide along the curves makes your pulse spike, and you feel heat pooling in your chest.
You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan, heart hammering at just how intimate it all looks. The way Pearl's fingers press, rub, and tease over that plump, shiny skin... it's almost impossible to look away.
A warmth spreads through you from watching the scene. Making you painfully aware of every movement, every subtle sigh and shiver that passes between the two women.
"Raise your hips for me" Pearl instructs again, her voice soft but commanding.
No…
You watch as Garofano slowly obeys, her face still pressed into the sun bed. The arch of her back is flawless, each curve accentuated by the warm light and the glistening sheen of oil. The sight alone makes your chest tighten and your pulse spike.
"Ngh..." Garofano moans softly, a quiet surrender to Pearl's touch. Pearl's hands press into her waist, sliding downward, spreading warm oil across her stomach with deliberate motions. The way her palms glide, fingers teasing along the curve of her hips, leaves little to the imagination.
You keep your eyes trained on them, heart hammering. Pearl's hands move lower now, tracing the smooth curve of Garofano's back, sliding over the glistening swell of her hips. When her fingers brush against Garofano's ass, your chest tightens, and you can't stop the sharp intake of breath that escapes you.
Garofano shifts slightly, arching her back, pressing herself more fully into Pearl's hands. Her vagina and ass are in full display, slick with oil, and you feel a jolt of disbelief: how can Pearl possibly resist?
Yet Pearl lingers, teasing. Her hands knead Garofano's ass, fingers pressing and rolling over the soft flesh, brushing along the edges of her pussy, but never plunging forward. Each movement is deliberate, a slow torment that leaves you breathless.
A heat pools deeper in your chest, the tension thick and electric. You watch, unable to look away, as Pearl's hands continue their slow, tantalizing exploration, and Garofano shivers beneath her touch. Every glide, every squeeze, every brush along her ass and pussy feels like a quiet, intimate performance meant for the both of them alone.
Garofano shifts slightly on her stomach, her large breasts pressing into the sunbed, the soft weight leaving subtle impressions on the smooth surface. Pearl's hands glide over her back and hips again, sliding down to trace the curve of her ass, the oil making her skin gleam in the warm light.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Garofano rolls onto her back. Your breath catches. The sight of her chest, full and supple, is striking, skin glistening, each curve highlighted by the sheen of oil. But it's not just her body that draws your attention: her eyes, wide and shimmering, wear a subtle, needy expression, as though pleading for more even as she surrenders to Pearl's touch.
Your pulse quickens, but you can't stay. Heart racing, you finally tear your gaze away, forcing yourself to look at the curling steam above the pool instead. The faint hum of Pearl's soft murmurs and Garofano's small, breathy sighs lingers in your ears, leaving your chest warm and your imagination running wild.