I'd already popped the top on the tub, and turned on the jets and lights. Valeria shouted "What are we waiting for?" I indicated it was a clothing optional spa, and that I never wear bathing suits when soaking. Valeria looked at Amelia, and said "What the Fuck!? Let's get in!"I brought 2 bottles of wine to the hot tub, and stripped of my lounging pants and t-shirt. It took the ladies less than a minute to strip, and in we went. Jets were on high, and the water was 103 degrees F. They both looked lovely in the altogether. Valeria has measurements of about 34C - 30 - 36. Ameila, slighter built, is a 30A - 22 - 28, or thereabouts. God, they were a delight to behold. We resumed our chat as though we'd never left the pub. They ladies clearly had spent their afternoon drinking. They were not loaded, but feeling VERY good.Our feet connected under the agitated water. I pulled back, but they didn't even notice. I figured we were all adults, and bodies do touch in a spa. Soon, we were playing. And pain, I shrugged it off, it was just pain, an opinion held by a part of my mind, which I simply disagreed with, disengaged from, as I had learned to do, over the years, in my fighting lessons, of which my father had never known. But then, just before I felt complacency to set in at how easily I mastered this task, just before I began to wonder if by not showing a need to learn I might be upsetting my father’s educational program and if, for his benefit, I should let him hear a suppressed moan every now and then or let him see an involuntary ever so tiny twitch of my face or my hands or whatever part of my body his needles were about to go in, just then I learned that I had to learn, after all. “It’s no good if you block out the pain,” he said, “you have to admit it, allow it, feel it, and still not flinch.” And then, when he held the tip of an awl against my exposed clit, when he slowly but steadily increased the pressure, when his arm strained, when the awl’s slightly bent tip.
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