Chary Gets Cheeky

Chary spread out by the pool in nothing but a little bikini, soaking up July rays, thinking only about the next cold drink and not lifting a finger. Enter the pool club’s afternoon special: firm hands, sweet-smelling oil, and sun-warmed skin. The masseuse got straight to the feet, pressing thumbs into tired arches until Chary let out a low satisfied hum. Naughty spark lit behind those shades. Instead of letting it end at the ankle, she parted her thighs a shade wider, flexing just so. The masseuse noticed, but kept working, now kneading higher up the calf. Oil slicked along that taut muscle, gleaming in the light. Chary flexed again, deliberate this time. Cool bottle upended over the calf, liquid chill streaking heat, and the hands followed, edging past the kneecap. She didn’t stop at polite boundaries, guiding those palms right onto her thighs. Silence felt thick, broken only by soft lapping water and the lazy purr of Chary’s sigh when fingers slipped under the tie of her suit. Inside the cabana, that smirk kept growing, daring him to keep going. Every stroke now traced the soft seam where leg met ass, oil running in bright trails while music thumped in the distance like a grin behind sunglasses. No hurry, no crowd, just slick fingers tracing cheek to crease, her body arching slowly into the open invitation she made. Each deliberate glide teased closer, still teasing a massage even as the border slipped, until it felt more tease than therapy and Chary knew she had him.