Walking into The Dorchester Hotel is like stepping into a fantasy world. Italian marble floors and hand-tufted Kashan Persian rugs reminiscent of a king’s palace. Priceless art and sculptures give the feel of being in the Louvre. And the gold-gilded columns seem to be straight out of the ballroom in Beauty and the Beast. Fitting, since every time we come here, I feel like a princess.
And all that is just the lobby!
The hotel boasts a French restaurant with Michelin stars, plus two other magnificent eateries. For a more relaxed feel, you’ll find a jazz bar and a sports bar, especially suited for all those rugby fans. For recreation, there are four pools, a full gym with trainers, and beautiful gardens you can get lost in for the whole afternoon. For relaxation, there is a top-rated spa with any service that you can imagine, from manicures and pedicures to mud baths and seaweed wraps. And for the shopaholic, you never have to leave the property because you’ll find boutiques with clothing, jewelry, handbags, makeup, and more.
Christopher and I came to The Dorchester Hotel on our honeymoon and have returned on a number of occasions because there is just no place on earth as glorious. But this trip is special, it is our twentieth wedding anniversary, and we have taken off two weeks to celebrate.
It takes a lot of work to get ready for a two-week vacation. We are both jet-lagged as we make a list of all the things we forgot to pack and forgot to do as the town car pulls up to the hotel and the valet ushers us through the etched glass doors to meet our personal concierge, Marco.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Simmons. We are so honored to have you here for this special anniversary.” Marco guides us to an alcove already prepared for us with chilled champagne and a charcuterie plate with assorted cheeses, meats, and crackers. “Please help yourself as we get you all set up for the next few days; you must be peckish. I have you checked into your usual suite. Tonight, you have a late reservation at the jazz bar for a low-key evening after your travel. Tomorrow, I have scheduled a lovely day to celebrate your big anniversary.”
Marco presents Christopher a leather-bound folder that opens to reveal our anniversary day schedule.
Marco explains, “We start with a delightful two-course breakfast in bed, followed by a relaxing couples massage. Next, we have an hour-long carriage ride into London, culminating with lunch in the park. You will return to the hotel for a little downtime, then drinks at the sports bar; there is a particularly good match you can catch the beginning of tomorrow. After drinks, we will have a magnificent dinner prepared for you, and you can wrap the evening up with dancing in the jazz bar. What do you think?”
“This looks perfect, Marco, thank you.” Christopher hands the schedule back with a smile.
“This is more than perfect! Thank you so much,” I squeeze Christopher’s arm with excitement.
“Excellent, I will confirm everything. Here are your keys and my number to call for whatever you need. Please do not hesitate.”
As Christopher heads towards the elevator, I step back to Marco, “We did forget a few things, Marco. We both forgot our toothbrush, and Christopher forgot the saline solution for his contacts. Could we get those brought to the room?”
“Absolutely, not a problem Mrs. Simmons.”
“And one more thing that I need this afternoon.”
“Of course, whatever you need, Mrs. Simmons.”
“I need to get into the spa for a wax. Mr. Simmons prefers everything smooth, and I didn’t have a chance before we left.”
“Ahh. Yes, of course,” Marco nods knowingly. With two clicks on the computer, Marco says, “I have you set up with Zara in one hour. She will take excellent care of you.”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate your help.” With a sigh of relief, I catch up with Christopher.
~~~~~~~~~~
Zara is a gorgeous young woman with fair skin and thick mahogany hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her makeup is flawless, and her accent is hypnotic. I can’t quite place it, but I think maybe Eastern European.
Per usual protocol, I undress and wrap the plush towel around my naked body, attaching the hook and loop closure. I recline on the heated table, melting into the warmth, as Zara re-enters the room again.
“We will start with your lip and brow and then move down to your Brazilian,” Zara explains.
“Mhm,” I mumble absent-mindedly as the heat works its magic on my sore muscles.
Zara chats casually, and I hardly notice as she rips the unwanted hairs from my upper lip and eyebrows. I comment, “Wow, you are very good at this. I hardly felt a thing.”
“I try to make this as pleasurable an experience as possible,” she says, smiling, and finishes up my face by wiping it gently with a cleansing gel and applying a cooling salve.
“Now for the fun part,” I remark sarcastically.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Zara’s hand grazes my thigh, and a shiver runs up my spine and between my legs.
Well, that was unexpected, I think to myself.
“Ok, scoot down to the end, spread your legs, and we will take care of this beautiful womanhood of yours.”
I giggle at her reference and how her touch made me feel.
Zara opens a small pot on the table next to her, and immediately the room fills with the scent of florals and sandalwood. Next, she takes a large, soft bristle brush and dips it in the pot.
“This is warm oil, and it helps the hair release more easily,” she explains as she begins to wipe the soft brush across my mound. The warm oil drips down into my slit, and I can’t help but let out a gasp as the soft bristles glide across my lips, between my cheeks, tickling my rosebud, and then parting my lips as the brush swipes back up towards my clitoris.
It dawns on me as I struggle not to lift my hips to the touch of the brush that, in all the rush to get ready for our trip, Christopher and I have not had sex in almost a week. Now, with this beautiful young girl between my legs, I am acutely aware of how badly I need to have an orgasm.
Zara starts with the area above my mound. She applies the warm wax, waits a few seconds for it to dry, rips it off fast, and immediately presses her cool fingers back down on the area to squelch the pain.
Over and over, she repeats these steps, and as the fingers of her left hand press deep on my newly raw skin, her right hand comes to rest softly on my outer labia each time. My body spins into overdrive, feeling excitement and pain, heat and cool, and my juices trickle down my leg like a mountain stream. I know I am turning red with embarrassment.
“Zara, I am…” I start to apologize, but she stops me.
“Shh. I’ll take care of you, Mrs. Simmons. You just relax,” Zara replies softly.
With the next rip, Zara’s left fingers press hard against the waxed area, and her right fingers part my lips and begin rubbing my clit.
“Ooh!” I can’t control my body, and my hips buck up to her touch as she expertly manipulates my swollen pearl between her fingers, circling, pinching, and pulling. I moan, hoping the spa music is loud enough to muffle my sounds to everyone outside the room.
I know Zara can feel me drawing closer to the edge. My thighs squeeze her thin forearm, and my abs and pelvis begin to contract, but her fingers slow to a stop. I look up at her questioningly.
“Don’t worry; we will come back to this. I assure you it will be a pleasurable experience.” Then she starts swiping the hot wax again, moving from the crease at my thigh and working inward. Wax, cool, rip, pressure. Wax, cool, rip, pressure.
As the fingers on her left hand press hard on my screaming fragile skin, the fingers of her right hand slide seamlessly to the opening of my pussy. And with each repetition, she teases deeper and deeper inside me.
The experience of pain and pleasure is so dizzying I can hardly tell when Zara pushes my knees towards my chest and begins working the skin between my cheeks, which is still covered in oil. Wax, cool, rip and press with the left hand while the right index finger draws circles around my tight rim.
Every nerve in my body is on fire when Zara says, “Ok, let me just see if there are any stray hairs I need to pluck.”
Ok, not what I was expecting, I think to myself.
Zara positions the overhead lamp down close to my nether region, grabs her tweezers, and leans down to within centimeters of my most intimate areas. So close, I can feel her warm breath on my pussy, and my own breath grows rapid. As she plucks, I don’t even notice the pain or her talking to me; all I can feel is her presence so close to me. I can almost feel her lips on my lips and her tongue in my folds.
Then, as if I willed it to happen, her soft, supple lips kiss my newly waxed mound. Do I imagine this? I sit up just to see if this is real. The hook and loop closure on my towel releases, and it falls to the table. I look past my erect nipples to see the beautiful woman lick down my wet pussy and part my lips with her tongue. I have never thought of being with another woman, but here and now, naked on her table, this is the most exhilarating I have ever been.
I watch in silence as she devours my clit, sucking and pulling with those plump lips, electrifying every muscle in my torso from her tongue to my tits. I drop back to the table, closing my eyes and allowing myself to feel every bit of her well-trained tongue. I squeeze my nipples hard with one hand, and with the other, I grab her ponytail, urging her on for more.
“Oh God, Zara, I am going to cum in your mouth,” I whispered.
She plunges her petite finger into my pussy and immediately finds that most sensitive spot. I explode all over the young girl’s finger, and she moves down to lap up my cum, but she never stops finger fucking me; she never stops assaulting my g-spot. To my surprise, just as the first orgasm slows, another floods my body with pleasure, and I flood her mouth with more juices.
After the second orgasm, the eruptions come one after another so quickly that I can’t keep track. One on top of the other, as Zara kneads my clit with her tongue and rams my tunnel with her finger. It could have been five minutes or five hours; I am lost in this stupor of hedonism.
After the final quake subsides, I am a lump of quivering goo on her table. I feel Zara wipe my freshly waxed skin with the same cleansing gel she used on my face to remove any left-over wax. Then she gently wipes my pussy and ass with a cool cloth, cleaning away all my juices. Finally, I purr as she applies the cool salve liberally.
“Mrs. Simmons, I hope you enjoyed your services today. Please take your time getting up and getting dressed. And I have left a bottle of water for you here on the counter,” Zara says with a smile.
Still waiting for my muscles to stop shaking, I think to myself, I will need more than a bottle of water to wrap my head around what just happened!
