Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By: Sunnybunny

Rosalind Martinez stared down at the clipboard in her hands, trying to focus very hard on the words typed out before her but for the life of her could not read them. They were just a jumble of letters and blanks in her mind, coming together into familiar patterns but never in anything she could comprehend. She glanced around the waiting room, at her boss, the enigmatic Veronica Winters seated beside her, to the receptionist’s white cap barely visible behind the desk, to the pristine tiles laid out before her in a checkerboard pattern. Nothing seemed to help and she let out an exasperated sigh. Rosalind had been leaning forward with her elbows balanced over her knees and sat back heavily in the chair, making the legs squeak.

Veronica Winters arched a pencil-thin eyebrow over the top of her sunglasses at the display. Her expression was otherwise unreadable but Rosalind had been working as her assistant for long enough to know when the businesswoman was annoyed. Instinct had nearly taken over, something that would have forced Rosalind to her feet with a hasty offer to fetch Ms. Winters a latte or maybe some medicine to quell a growing headache.

Ms. Winters must have taken her look of flustered embarrassment for some sort of explanation for her assistant’s action and returned her attention to the magazine spread out on her crossed legs. She was a vision, her boss. A classic beauty, forty-but-didn’t-know-it, with dark hair and eyes. Her features were sharply defined, severe and striking. It was little surprise she had modeled in her youth before taking over her family’s media empire and began appearing on the magazine covers of a different sort. From Sports Illustrated and Maxim to Forbes and the New Yorker in less than a decade. Today she was dressed in an impeccable white pantsuit and open-toe shoes that matched. Her hair was wound up into a tight bun behind her head, affording a no-nonsense air typically reserved for board meetings and cold coffee.

Veronica had long since perused her menu options and checked a series of boxes with barely a glance. To her, it was selecting which wine to sample after dinner. The receptionist lingered while Rosalind gaped at the page, making attempts at friendly small talk before Veronica dismissed her.

“This is her first time here,” she intoned, like a patient talking to the vet about a nervous cocker spaniel. “You’ll have to give her a moment.”

Rosalind tried to study the menu again, unable to keep from blushing as some of the words came into sharp focus. She read them to herself without meaning to. By the time she was done with the options, her cheeks were the color of stop signs. Rosalind was leaning forward again, elbows on knees, pouring over the list as if they were advanced physics formulas. She looked to her boss again, silently pleading for some explanation to what this place was, what they were doing there.

Veronica ignored her, instead touching her index finger to her tongue and casually flipping the page of the magazine. The centerfold spilled out before her, lying on her side against the backdrop of bedding and overstuffed pillows. Of course, she was naked, the girl in the image, but that wasn’t what gave Rosalind a start.

The title of the magazine was lost to her, entirely foreign born and imported from some remote part of eastern Europe. Each page bore an image with terse bits of text flanking them. Perhaps they were interview questions or stories or exposés or hell, soup recipes for all she knew, but those clearly were not the main attraction. The models were all young girls, wearing only smiles and sunshine. At a glance, Rosalind assumed it was a national geographic type of rag, showing the lives of some bush tribe in the remote jungle, only realizing it was something . . . more when a few pages in, she noticed a pair of them lying beside one another in a wide bed with their hands between their legs, spreading their small sexes apart for the camera and all the world to see. Their naughty grins were all the tell Rosalind needed.

“Ms. Winters?” it was the receptionist again, coming from around her desk with a warm smile. She paused before them with both hands clutched in front of her smock, bowing her head slightly in apology. “Forgive the brief wait but we are ready for you now.”

Veronica did not reply. She closed the magazine and returned it to the stack on the table and slung her purse over her shoulder. She stood and glanced down at Rosalind. For a second, her assistant wondered if she had been forgotten entirely. “Enjoy yourself,” she instructed, not unkindly. She did not smile. Veronica Winters rarely smiled. “But be back here in three hours.” She turned her attention to the receptionist who made a beckoning motion with her hands toward a series of tall, double doors.

“This way, Ms. Winters. They are expecting you.”

Veronica gave a small nod, pausing long enough for the woman to open the door for her and usher her inside. “I know my way around, thank you, Vivian. Please make sure my assistant is well taken care of, won’t you? Maybe send down for Lillian if she is not too busy?”

A sly smile spread out across the receptionist’s face and perhaps Rosalind imagined it, but it looked as if a ghost of one crossed her employer’s too. Something passed between the two ladies, some secret communication that, like so much of this place, she could not possibly fathom. “Don’t worry, Ms. Winters, we’ll take very good care of her.”

Veronica Winters strode out of the room without another word. The door swinging shut behind her closed with an air of finality. There would be no turning back now.

The receptionist crossed the room back to her desk, smiling in that same knowing way at Rosalind. Were the woman’s hips carrying a bit of swagger now, or was she imagining things? That little expression conjured up so many questions, each wrestling at her tongue to get out first.

“Who is Lillian?” Rosalind heard herself ask. The reply she got was of the receptionists smile blossoming into a show of teeth and sweet chuckles. She waited for a long moment before it dawned that she would not be getting an answer.

The woman retreated to her seat and lifted the receiver to her ear, cradling a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone for added privacy.

Rosalind sighed again and set the paper aside. She flexed her trembling fingers over her bare knees, wishing she had gone with the slacks today or at least a longer skirt. Seated, the hem rode up high on her thighs, a constant reminder to keep her legs crossed or risk flashing the room. Feeling more self-conscious by the moment, Rosalind produced her cell from her bag and turned on the front-facing camera to check her makeup and hair. the humidity outdoors had taken its toll on her thick, dark curls but the rest had survived. A little touchup wouldn’t go amiss and she longed for a bathroom mirror but was too timid to ask the receptionist for directions to the nearest one.

She made do with her phone.

Two years as Veronica Winters personal assistant and Rosalind was still unaccustomed to such formal attire. A tee shirt and jeans kind of girl through and through, her parents had to practically plead and beg and threaten to get her into that gown for her Quinceañera before shameless bribery won out.

Blazers and trousers, heels and pantsuits ruled her days and illicit affairs with sweats and Homer Simpson theme tank-tops occupied her evenings at home.

“Excuse me?”

Rosalind looked up, slightly annoyed though admittedly more from recalling how hideous she had looked during her fifteenth birthday than being interrupted. She lowered her phone and put it away, offering a smile in apology.

“Yes, can I help you?”

The young girl now standing before her put the back of her hand to her lips, hiding her smile. “I think that’s my line. I’m Lillian. I’ll be attending to you today.”

Rosalind stared at the girl for a beat, at a loss for words before she took broke out into a smile. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t-you mean to tell me…” She was laughing now and rocking back in her chair. “This has to be some joke, right? Like, some practical joke TV show.”

Lillian half turned to the receptionist seated behind her. The woman behind the desk was leaning over the divide, brow knit with worry until Lillian waved her off.

“I guess they weren’t lying when they said this was your first time here,” Lillian sounded amused and took up the menu page beside Rosalind. She had a northern accent when she spoke, leaning heavily on the ‘A’ in her speech. She wore the same white smock as the receptionist, though in a much smaller size. Her coltish legs were covered by white nylon stockings that disappeared into matching clogs. Her hair was a vibrant chestnut red, the kind that reminded Rosalind of summer sunsets in autumn. It was combed straight and wound up into a loose chignon. Her bright green eyes surveyed the list and Rosalind was momentarily embarrassed for someone so young being exposed to such inappropriate language.

“No-no!” Rosalind made a grab for the page and gently pried it out of the child’s fingers. “That is most definitely not for you, sweetie.”

Lillian laughed, having no such qualms to hide it now. “Of course not, it’s for you! Here.” She took the newly vacated seat beside Rosalind and fished the pen up from the attached chain. “I’ll help you fill it out, it’s super easy.”

Rosalind searched for help, finding only the receptionist and she was busily scratching at paperwork, the phone cradled to her ear, oblivious to what was transpiring right in front of her.

“We’ll start at the top,” Lillian explained, tapping the pen to the first box. “This section is all about me anyway.”

“You?” Rosalind echoed.

Lillian patiently nodded without looking up from the list. “Well, your attendant for your visit. I think Veronica-err, Ms. Winters had me come up because I’m really good with the newbies.” She looked over and smiled, hoping she had not offended the woman. Rosalind was still too confused to think of anger at all and stared back at the girl, her face a blank. “Is my age okay?” She tapped the pen against the PREFERRED AGE bracket with a little dash to write in her reply.

“Your age?” Rosalind was beginning to feel like a parrot. “How old are you, sweetie?”

Lillian replied, “I’m eleven. But if you prefer someone younger, I won’t take offense. We want your visit to be an enjoyable–no, a pleasurable experience.” Something about the way the girl said ‘pleasurable’ made Rosalind think she ought to be blushing. “We have girls as young as five on call if you wish.” She added, “Or as old as fifteen, if that is your preference.”

“Girls that young work here?” Rosalind frowned. “Doing what?”

Lillian smiled again, her lips parting around teeth that were crooked but being wrestled back into place by technicolor braces. It was an adorable smile, slightly pitying but quite sincere. Her lips were puffy pink pillows, a little too large for her mouth, but she would grow into them one day. They looked incredibly soft. “A bit of this, a bit of that.”

Rosalind shifted in her padded seat, wondering where this was all leading. All answers pointed to one thing, and it was making her stomach churn with anxiety.

“You can show me around.”

Lillian nodded her head and scratched out her name and age in the appropriate areas. “Next,” she started. “Is what I’m wearing okay?”

Rosalind stared at the smock, crisp and white and leaned over to study the list with the girl. “Well, what are my opt-!” She jumped back as if struck, both hands covering her reddening cheeks.

Lillian read the options matter-of-factly, as if running down a grocery check list or homework assignment. It reminded Rosalind of the way Veronica had casually gone through and marked the page without much afterthought. “We have a variety of costume choices. I can be dressed as a princess or a fairy,” she explained. “Or a cowgirl or swim champion. We have pajama options and stuffed animals if you’d like to do a sleepover. Or I could just attend to you naked.”

“Naked?!”

The receptionist looked up, her carefully sculpted brow bent down into a frown but clearly at Rosalind’s outburst and not the offer for an eleven-year-old girl to disrobe in the lobby.

“What do you mean ‘naked’?!” Rosalind stage-whispered, leaning across the arm of the chair. She spied the shiny teeth of a discrete zipper running along the side of Lillian’s smock. It kept the rather sexless garment a little tighter around her slender frame and could easily slip off her shoulders or over the girl’s head undone.

Lillian, with all the patience of a saint, nodded. “Remember when I said this experience is all about you? We do our best to tailor the visit to your every desire.” She smiled apologetically. “Well, within reason.”

Rosalind’s head was caught in a whirlwind of information, trying to process it all at once and failing. She had handled surly clients, drunk businessmen playing grab-ass, 2 AM emergency calls from Ms. Winters to ‘skip downtown and fetch me a s’more frappé. Nothing on earth could have prepared her for a spa day with her boss.

She massaged the sides of her head, bemoaning why this could not have been another weekend in Tuscany. Tuscany had been fun. Montreal was even better. Rosalind was so accustomed to lavish business excursions that when her boss announced her plans to visit something as mundane as a day spa in upstate New York, just a few hours outside Manhattan, she was disappointed. Now, she would give anything for mud baths and facials and yoga classes.

“Can you please explain to me what this place is?” She gently took the list from Lillian and set it aside. She didn’t think her heart could take another lewd category. “What you’re wearing is fine. Maybe we could…take a walk?”

Lillian looked sympathetic and patted her hand gently, a rare moment of the child comforting the adult, and rose from her seat. “Of course. Would you like a tour of the grounds? I think you’ll come around once you’ve seen more of the place.”

Rosalind seriously doubted this but allowed herself to be lifted out of the chair. They exited into the main artery and into the building proper. The walls were still the same hospital white as the waiting room but the checkered tile floor ended and carpeting began. It was so thick and soft that Rosalind felt her heels sink an inch into the ground.

“Does…Ms. Winters come here often?” Rosalind asked. “Everyone seemed to know her.”

“Oh yes, Ms. Winters is one of our very best customers. Always so generous and sweet.”

Rosalind had to stop dead at that description and nearly toppled backwards with her shoes sunk in so deeply into the carpet. Her boss? Sweet? Generous? “You sure we’re talking about the same Veronica Winters?” The question came out so suddenly, Rosalind had no chance of stopping it and gaped at Lillian in horror. “You didn’t hear that. I didn’t say that. Please don’t tell Ms. Winters I said anything!”

Lillian was howling though and waved her away, good-naturedly. “Your secret is safe with me, but it’s true. Ms. Winters is one of our regulars here. I have personally attended to her, and I know firsthand what sort of person she is.”

Lillian made a sweeping motion with her arm, laying out the empty path before them. The windows along the corridor were thrown open and a gentle breeze was rustling the curtains. They danced seductively as the duo passed.

“I guess I’ve only seen one side of her,” Rosalind shrugged. “The cutthroat businesswoman, the media mogul. It never really crossed my mind what she would be like away from the office.” A regular, she wondered to herself. Her employer frequented this establishment so often that she was friendly with the staff, knew some by name. When did she have time to sneak up here? Rosalind dizzily recalled a few last-minute cancellations and terse phone calls, informing her that Ms. Winters was taken ill but would return to work on Monday morning. Had she come here? Is that what that could have really meant?

“Let’s not talk about your boss,” Lillian suggested, giving her arm a pat. “Or work. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

“If it’s supposed to be fun, then why am I so nauseous?” She was only half-kidding but the girl laughed all the same.

“You’re just nervous,” she teased. “Here, we’re about to enter the spa here and you can decide what we see next.” The room opened and the sterile, hospital environment gave away to rustic chic. The floors were all hardwood but smooth, just a raised step away from the rather chilly exterior. A ceiling fan cut lazy circles in the air overhead. A wooden coffee table was nestled between a group of overstuffed chairs and sofas, looking like something right out of a Wyoming travel brochure. Just as in the corridor, every window was standing open for the curtains to dance their ballet for a vacant audience.

“This place is lovely,” Rosalind admitted.

“Thank you,” Lillian replied with genuine pride. Her narrow chest even swelled. “This is the real Tranquil Garden Spa.” She pirouetted into the middle of the room, long limbs outstretched like a ballerina. The hem of her smock rose up around her thighs, revealing the tops of her white stockings and just a hint of milk-white flesh. “Ta-da!”

Rosalind chuckled at the display, charmed by the girl despite it all. “So, this is what everyone drives five hours for? Into the land WIFI forgot?”

Lillian let her arms drop. “Well,” she said, drawing the word out into a long sigh. “Not really.”

Rosalind thought they may have a seat there. After all, it was so cozy, but the girl led her through the room and down another short corridor that gave way to a room the size of an opera house. Inside was an Olympic-size pool with a three-tier diving board at one end. They were greeted by the merry laughter of children and splashing of small bodies cannon-balling into the azure waves.

“This is our pool area,” Lillian explained redundantly. “One of the more popular areas for first timers. Do you swim?”

Rosalind was too busy gaping up at the vaulted ceiling to reply right off. It was like being in a cathedral, and gazing up, she half expected to find Michelangelo’s masterwork adorning the dome. Natural light poured in from all sides through mammoth windows. “No, I’m afraid I never learned how.”

Lillian waved it off. “We offer swimming lessons every Wednesday morning and Friday afternoon. It covers CPR and other lifesaving techniques. You’re more than welcome to attend! I’m sure Ms. Winters could do without you for a day or two if you’re bettering yourself.”

Rosalind opened her mouth to flatly deny that. Her boss was not widely known for being sympathetic when it came to unscheduled time off or emergencies. She closed it again before risking another faux pas. “Maybe you can ask her for me?” It was meant as another joke, but she had the suspicion Lillian would do just that unless stopped. She was about to explain her jest when Rosalind was interrupted.

A pair of youths rushed past them, giggling like loons, nearly knocking Rosalind and her tour guide into the water. They were followed quickly by an older woman, who was laughing just as hard but had the tact to pause and apologize to them for the horseplay before rushing after the girls.

All three of them were stark naked.

Lillian waved the woman on, “Better hurry, they’re getting away!”

Rosalind stared after them, dumbfounded. Her mind raced for a rational explanation. Their mother, she tried. That must be their mother and they were in the locker room, waiting on showers. The kids took it all as a game and decided to run off–hide and seek.

The woman, presumed to be their mother, scooped them both up into her arms and tumbled all three sideways into the water. A geyser of water erupted in their wake. Lillian laughed at that, completely oblivious to the casual nudity on display.

Rosalind turned to her, stammering.

“That was Patricia Wilson,” Lillian answered automatically. “Still pretty new to the spa.”

“And those girls were…?”

The trio surfaced, sputtering water through fits of merry laughter.

“Ernestine and Mae. They work here too.”

Rosalind would have fallen in with the girls if Lillian hadn’t reached out to steady her. “Whoa! Easy there!”

“This place is more than just a day spa, isn’t it?” Rosalind’s tone was ominous.

“Of course, it is.” Lillian smiled. “Caught on, have you?”

Rosalind’s mind flashed back to evening news and dingy Taiwanese brothels being broken up in shaky-cam raids. Dateline with Chris Hanson and his suspiciously benign plate of cookies. She recalled wondering why those ‘To Catch a Predator’ programs never featured women.

Now she knew.

Instead of fishing in online chatrooms, they simply came here.

“I shouldn’t be here!” Rosalind spun on the spot, searching for the exit and nearly tumbled into the drink again. Lillian led her to the row of deck chairs and eased her down.

“Everyone reacts differently,” Lillian educated. Genuine concern etched her face as she examined Rosalind from inches away. “You look pale.”

Rosalind was trembling all over, anxiety and horror wrestling for control of her body. The room, so comfortable moments ago, was suddenly stifling. “I-I-I think I should leave!”

Lillian smiled sympathetically and gave her hand a gentle pat. “It’s okay, Rosalind. Just breathe. Ms. Winters wouldn’t have brought you here if she wasn’t sure you’d enjoy the experience.”

Rosalind was stunned by the revelation. Ms. Winters thought she would enjoy such a place? She stole another look at the trio of girls, climbing out of the pool by way of the ladder fixed into the pool’s edge.

Looking now, there was no way they could be related. The woman could only have been twenty-one at the oldest. The two girls escorting her were both blonde haired, cut short in a pixie style. Their noses were narrow at the bridge, with freckles marking their shoulders and chests and cheeks. Patricia was dark haired with a slightly darker complexion. Her smooth skin devoid of any such blemishes.

“How does this place even exist?” Rosalind wondered.

Lillian readily explained, “This place is pretty far removed from the world and our clientele are powerful women from all over the world. If the place were to be found out, they couldn’t come here anymore.” She chuckled at the logic. “Win-win, huh?”

Rosalind shook her head, still processing. “So, Patricia is someone of power? Importance?”

“Her fiancé is,” she clarified. “I think he’s in energy, or at least his family is.”

Rosalind squinted down the line, at the gaggle of women and girls occupying the other end of the pool. Thankfully, they were all wearing bathing suits. “And them? Wait, is that Ivanka Trump?!”

Lillian followed her line of sight, spied the group of bathers and shook her head. “No, Ivanka isn’t one of our guests but we do cater to plenty of celebrities. Politicians, too. Thrill seeking business-types.” Lillian removed one of Rosalind’s curls that had become plastered to her face from perspiration. “I take it swimming is out for now?”

That was certainly an understatement. “Yea, safe to say.”

Lillian offered her a hand up and she took it. The girl led her to another set of doors. She could not help but glance back at Patricia Wilson, married to a wealthy oilman but sneaking off to play in the Garden of Eden. Their wet bodies shimmered in the sunshine. Patricia was dyed pink from the cold water. Her full breasts swayed gently while she laughed and Rosalind could not help but notice how hard the woman’s nipples were, even from such a distance. One of the girls, Mae or Ernestine, was huddled against her thigh, hands trailing dangerously high up the inside. The doors closed behind them just in the nick of time, and Rosalind saw no more.

“The steam bath is up ahead,” Lillian directed with a hand, pointing at various doors. “The changing rooms and showers, there. Our mud pit is behind this door. We have massage tables just there with expertly trained technicians. Would you care to see?”

Rosalind had a hand over her heart, hoping to quell the hammering behind her rib cage. “I-I’m-sorry, what?” she was looking back the way they had come, could almost see what was happening through the closed door like she had x-ray vision, stunned to find herself longing to know. When she looked around again, Lillian was watching her with a knowing smile and beckoned her forward with a curl of her index finger.

“It’s not what you think,” Rosalind challenged, lacking confidence in her own words. “I’m having a rough time believing a place like this even exists!”

“Well, you’re looking at living proof, baby!” Lillian tossed her hands out wide, spirit fingers wiggling. “This is our Eastern location but there are others all over the country. All over the world.”

Rosalind went wide-eyed. “You can’t be serious!”

They were paused in the middle of the entranceway, doors all around them, branching paths in this Wonderland she had tumbled down into. “Our location caters to women exclusively,” Lillian went on. “Notice any men poking about? There are some that are co-ed, though. A location in Georgia is for men only, staffed by young boys. How about a nice rub down?”

The question came so suddenly after the explanation, Rosalind’s mind came to screeching halt. “A what?”

Lillian rolled her eyes good-naturedly and pressed her palm to one of the doors. It swung open easily. “A massage, Rosalind, a massage.”

A waking sleepwalker now, Rosalind followed her inside. This room was done in a faux-Asian motif. Soft music drifted through the air, slowing down the pace of the room but did little to ease her anxiety. They trod over tatami mats to a duo of tables. Towels were laid out for them, freshly laundered and warm to the touch. They smelled of lavender, Rosalind’s favorite. One end had a hollow for her face to rest in while she was massaged.

“Shall I find someone for you?” Lillian offered. “We have some of the best masseuses in the country right here.”

Rosalind did not answer right away. She bought time by pacing around the room and taking in the décor. It should have looked kitschy in a place like this but the added touches of authentic art and plants and warm color of the walls sold it to her. She had to admit, a massage would go a long way in calming her jitters. That and a glassful of wine and she just may be able to survive to see another day.

She turned but Lillian had already gone out to get the masseuse, the little mind-reader.

How long had it been since she had received a good massage? Tuscany, she remembered, dreamily. Ages ago now, and it had been so relaxing, she drifted off to sleep. She pressed her face into the towels, inhaling their delicious aroma. Her heart slowed down ever so slightly. It was something familiar, tangible that could be grasped onto, an anchor that would allow her to get her bearings. Who knew? With this, maybe she could regain some of her lost composure and make it through the rest of the visit unscathed.

Decidedly, she slipped her shoes off and began to undress. Wrapped in a wreath of terrycloth, she neatly folded up her skirt and blouse and laid them on a nearby table. Careful to keep the towel around her middle in case someone walked in without knocking, she settled onto her tummy, hands folded beneath her chin.

The wait wasn’t a long one but it gave her time to reflect on her boss, the enigmatic Veronica Winters, harboring such a lewd weakness. Some people went golfing after a long week at the office. Others went out for drinks with friends. Veronica Winters, the most powerful businesswoman on the eastern seaboard, visited brothels staffed by children.

Rosalind pressed her forehead down into her knuckles, red-faced and sweating again. Did this make her an accomplice? Could she be implicated in any way from visiting here? Suddenly lying around naked save for a towel did not feel like such a smart idea. Lillian’s words echoed in her head, the rich and powerful visiting such a place. What went unsaid, however, was what would happen to them all if the spa was ever discovered? Entire industries would collapse overnight. Careers and marriages would be ruined. No, there would be no discovering this place and the realization gave her a sickening calm.

Continue on to Part Two