Ladies’ Spa Weekend, Four girlfriends enjoy a weekend away at an unusual spa

Ladies’ Spa Weekend, Four girlfriends enjoy a weekend away at an unusual spa

“So Jen and I walk into the room for our body exfoliation and there are these two massage tables, separated by this curtain that doesn’t even stretch the width of the room.”

I was recounting our afternoon experiences at the Spa des Rêves to our two friends, Tracy and Lamya. The four of us had planned to spend a girls’ weekend up North – away from the stress of work and family – being buffed, massaged, and generally pampered in a context of copious amounts of wine and good food. Tracy had suggested this spa on the recommendation of her friend, Shannon, who couldn’t stop raving about it. The wine was already flowing and Lamya topped up my glass with some bubbly pink Zinfandel – something festive for “Ladies’ Spa Weekend.”


And boy, did I need to relax! It had been a while since I had a weekend and didn’t have to bring any work home. My lifestyle was hectic enough, with job, kids, volunteering with school and activities – rarely a down moment. My last weekend away had been… well, that conference out West, I guess – and that was months ago. I was distracted for a moment recalling how I’d helped my friends Matt and Liane expand their sexual repertoire – and mine too. I had always considered myself somewhat bi-curious and that weekend had definitely solidified my attraction to women.

I realised that I had fallen silent, but fortunately, Jen had picked up the train of the story, with no one the wiser.

“Kate and I sort of looked at each other, wondering if they thought we were a couple or something,” she continued.

As if! I thought. Both of us were in our late 30s with young children at home and I was pretty sure Jen was as hetero as they come. Actually, Tracy was the only one of our group with no kids. And she was definitely one of the more adventurous too, with her platinum blonde dyed hair and tasteful tattoos – I think eight at last count. She was fit and muscular with small breasts and a confident attitude. She was also openly bisexual. Sometimes I envied her relaxed attitude about sex – Jen had regaled me with stories of her escapades – I always found it so ironic that two such divergent women were friends. I didn’t know Tracy as well as the others but I’d been pleased when Jen suggested her as an addition to our group this weekend. She had a delightfully cynical way of looking at things that managed to find the humour in any situation.

“Good thing we’re pretty comfortable with each other!” Jen said and sipped at her own wine.

She was sprawled elegantly on one of the overstuffed chairs in our room, her delicate feet resting on the edge of the enormous bathtub that seemed to take up half of the room. Jen did everything elegantly, I thought absently. Her short brown hair was a thick tousled mass that managed to look stylish even in the fluffy white bathrobe. My own auburn curls were still tied in the loose bun I had used to keep them out of the way for our afternoon treatment.

“The older of the two women points to this tiny bundle on the massage table and says something to us in French – I had NO idea what she was talking about – and then they walk out,” Jen added. “Turns out it’s this disposable thong and we’re supposed to wear that and nothing else! I couldn’t even tell which tiny triangle of fabric was supposed to be the back and which the front!”

I laughed along with the others, recalling how shocked Jen had looked after my translation. Although my French wasn’t great, hers was almost non-existent. She drained her glass of wine and held her glass out to Lamya for a refill. Lamya’s dark hair was also still in a bun from her massage this afternoon. The stark white bathrobe offset her dusky Middle Eastern complexion, making her look slightly tanned compared to the rest of us. I envied the neatness of her hair; while mine tended to be a frizzy mass, constantly trying to escape the confines of my hair tie, her sleek black hair always looked like she had just come from a salon.

Lamya hadn’t said much about her massage this afternoon, other than to say that she had enjoyed it and was looking forward to the treatments we had scheduled for tomorrow. I had noticed a slight flush to her cheeks when she said it and had made a mental note to ask her about it tonight when we were alone in our room. She and I were sharing the room next door, with the queen-sized bed, leaving Jen and Tracy the king-sized. The rationale for the room allocations had been that Lamya and I had been friends for more than 10 years but she had never met either of the other women before today. We were in a small cabin a few minutes’ walk from the main resort building. Our two suites were on the main floor, separated by a small vestibule, and there were several other rooms on the second floor.

“So what did you do?” Lamya asked, tucking a stray lock of hair into her bun. She perched on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, her bathrobe gaping open with the movement and exposing the smooth line up to her thighs. She was a petite, voluptuous woman who seemed very comfortable in her own skin.

“Well, I’m guessing I put it on the right way–” Jen began.

“I opted for the larger triangle in front – figured I’d rather the wedgie be at the back!” I added.

“Ditto!” Jen continued. “Then the two women come back in – they didn’t say anything, so it must have been fine – and the older one starts explaining everything in French with Kate having to translate. And want to hear the best? Turns out the young one doing my treatment speaks perfect English! I mean – would it not have made sense for HER to do the explanations?” Jen shook her head, her hair swishing with the movement.

“Was it good though?” Tracy asked, picking another strawberry from the plate in front of us. “Mmm,” she said, “These are amazing! I’ve never had a body exfoliation.”

I opted for a slice of pineapple and answered, “Awesome! It felt like a back scratch but over my entire body.” I decided not to mention how the woman – Marie, I recalled – an attractive slim woman probably in her late 40s, had gently circled my breasts with the scrub, just missing the nipples. I hadn’t thought much about it at first, but when she rubbed in the lotion after I’d rinsed off the scrub, she hadn’t bothered avoiding them. I felt a familiar pulse in my groin as I recalled her soft touch and the slight smile on her face when she noticed how hard my nipples became with the attention. She had rolled them with her fingers before continuing to rub the lotion lower into my abdomen and hips. Her fingers had skirted along the strings of the underwear, even moving under the larger triangle to where my pubic hair would have been if I hadn’t been completely waxed.

I had glanced over to Jen where she lay on the other massage table, wondering if she was getting similar attentions. I could see that she was biting her lower lip slightly but hadn’t been able to focus much on it because Marie had asked me to flip so she could do my back. I had been a bit embarrassed to realise I was disappointed she hadn’t continued to massage lower under the thong.

I shifted slightly where I sat on the step leading to the bathtub, remembering her hands on my buttocks and thighs. I recalled thinking she had spent a lot of time rubbing the lotion into my inner thighs, brushing against the thin fabric of the thong. She had used long firm strokes along my butt cheeks and had casually moved aside the string of the underwear to caress along the line of my ass, even brushing my outer labia. I had held perfectly still, conscious that we were not alone in the room and having no idea of her intentions. I remembered thinking that she had to be aware how wet I was getting and wondering how far this was going to go, when she had pressed her lotion-covered thumb against my anus. She had rubbed gently, her other hand continuing to stroke teasingly up my inner thigh, and I couldn’t believe how erotic it was. I found myself hoping she would move her fingers to my clit, which was aching for some attention. My hips had risen involuntarily in a tacit request.

Just when I thought my wishes might be fulfilled, I had heard Jen’s aesthetician ask how she was feeling. Marie removed her hands from where they had been teasing me for one last caress along my back and she echoed the question, though in French.

“Très bien, merci,” I had responded shakily, my heart thumping with my arousal. She gave me instructions to take my time before sitting up, to drink a large glass of water, and that she would see me tomorrow for the scheduled facial. I found myself wondering if that too would hold some surprises.

I dragged myself back to the present where Tracy was recounting a hilarious description of her waxing this afternoon. She had opted for a full bikini wax and in apparently typical Tracy fashion, she was comfortable sharing all the gory details.

“She had a trainee with her and asks me if I’m okay with her observing. What am I supposed to say? No – I don’t want a hot busty 22 year old redhead staring intently at my cunt from six inches away while this gorgeous other woman rips my pubic hair from the roots?” She emptied the last of the wine into her own glass and stood to get a fresh bottle – red this time.

“I told her of course I don’t mind – I’m easy,” she continued with a wry grin.

“But not cheap,” Jen interjected quickly, smiling at her friend as she passed her the corkscrew.

“Never that,” Tracy agreed with a wink. “Has anyone else noticed that all the workers here are incredibly attractive? Or maybe it’s just me,” she mused.

She had a point, I considered. Though maybe it’s just the relaxing environs – the quiet refuge up in the mountains, the bubbling of the accompanying river lending atmosphere to the setting. One can’t help but feel contented, setting everything in a more positive light.

“So when do you ladies want to head for dinner?” Tracy asked us in a complete change of subject. “My friend Shannon said we have got to try the cheese fondue. She’s been here four times and she said she’ll be completely shocked if we don’t come away from this weekend desperate to return.”

We agreed we would freshen up and head up to the main building in about half an hour. Apparently, it was expected that we’d just wear our bathrobes and flip flops to the restaurant in the spa and we were just as happy not to have to dress up.

The fondue was as delicious as advertised. We relaxed over white chocolate mousse with a delicate raspberry coulis, sipping a sweet late harvest white wine, and watching some of the other guests amble over to the hot tub. We hadn’t had time to explore that part of the small resort this afternoon, but we had talked about a soak before bed tonight. Tracy had informed us over dinner that the spa was all female and that bathing suits were not required for the hot tubs and saunas. Probably just as well since two of our group – including myself – had neglected to bring any.

We stepped into the chill night air, Tracy and Lamya heading to the sauna while Jen and I left our bathrobes hanging next to a pile of fluffy white towels and stepped into the hot tub. It was February and, while paths had been cleared through the snow, it was cold enough to see your breath. We didn’t dawdle. The hot tub was a great sprawling landscape of natural rock with submerged seats around the inside perimeter and several smaller pools branching off from the main section. With the steam rising off the hot water, it was almost impossible to see into those more secluded areas and I wasn’t even sure if they were occupied.

Jen and I found a spot near the entrance to the pool where the other women would be able to find us and immersed ourselves to the neck. It was delightfully hot and I found all of my muscles relaxing. I could see vague movement through the fog and could hear quiet conversation and laughter, so I figured there must be some other guests in the smaller pools. The sky was completely clear and the moon was full, adding a soft illumination to the artificial lighting tastefully scattered around the landscape.

We hadn’t been sitting long before Tracy and Lamya came giggling up the path from the sauna, clutching at each other’s arm. They hung their bathrobes next to ours and quickly moved to the steps.

“Holy crap! It’s cold!” Tracy exclaimed, rubbing at her arms. She had a gorgeous body, I mused, even though it was quickly being covered in goose bumps. She was about 5’8″ with firm high breasts, long toned legs, and a flat stomach. I sighed softly. My 38D breasts had been firm two children ago.

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