Luna Noire part 2: Emily

Mike hadn’t expected Luna Noire to leave such a mark. It had been Maya—his wife Melissa’s best friend—who first brought him there, coaxing him into an unforgettable night of steam, sensation, and exposure. Melissa had approved the adventure, and Mike had followed Maya’s lead through the spa’s unique CFNM (Clothed Female, Naked Male) rituals, ending the night feeling both stripped bare and strangely empowered.

He hadn’t expected to run into Emily there either. A sharp junior developer from a neighboring team, Emily had appeared poolside that night like a twist of fate—smiling, teasing, unflinching in her curiosity. They hadn’t spoken much since. At work, they passed each other in hallways and project syncs with a shared look—half amusement, half acknowledgment—but never had the privacy to speak freely.

Mike often found himself imagining her naked now, reversing that spa dynamic in his mind. And more than once, he’d thought about inviting her back to Luna Noire.

Two weeks later, the opportunity finally came—a project check-in, just the two of them in a quiet conference room. He was building up the nerve when Emily spoke first.

“I admired how you handled that night,” she said casually, but with warmth. “Most men would’ve bolted.”

Mike blinked, then chuckled. “Honestly? I assumed you had a boyfriend.”

Emily laughed lightly. “I do. Steffen. I brought him once… total disaster. Not into the exhibitionism or the, uh, power shift. I only go on CFNM nights now.” She toyed with her pen. “But your wife’s okay with you at the spa?”

Mike leaned back, surprised. “You know I’m married?”

“The ring,” she said, pointing at his finger. “And Maya didn’t act like your wife. Just a guess.” A pause. “So?”

“Melissa’s the one who suggested I go with Maya. Just to learn the ropes,” he said simply.

Emily studied him for a moment, then smirked. “Lucky you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Mike met her eyes and said, “Come with me again. But this time, I set the rules.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “And Melissa’s fine with that too?”

“She’d tell you to enjoy yourself”.

Emily laughed, shaking her head. “Deal.”

2

The check-in desk at Luna Noire felt oddly familiar, though the tension in the air had shifted. This time, Mike wasn’t surprised when the receptionist smiled politely and said, “As it’s CFNM night, sir, we ask that male guests disrobe here.”

Mike glanced at Emily, who was already grinning. “Again?” she teased.

He smirked. “House rules.” Without hesitation, he pulled off his clothes, piece by piece, and folded them neatly under his arm. Emily watched with open amusement, arms crossed, eyes flickering downward more than once.

As they walked the now-familiar corridor to their room, Emily bumped his arm with hers. “Okay, you’ve followed the rules. Now tell me—what are yours?” Her voice was bright with anticipation.

Mike didn’t answer right away. In the room, he set his bundle of clothes on the bench and sat down on the edge of the bed, legs apart, his gaze steady.

“First,” he said, “you strip.”

Emily froze. “Excuse me?”

Mike’s tone remained calm. “You heard me. In this room, you’re the one who’s naked. You’ll obey me—both here and out there, even if you’re dressed and I’m not. You don’t touch or engage with any man unless I say so. Just because I’m the one exposed,” he added, voice quiet but firm, “doesn’t mean you’re in control.”

Emily’s expression shifted—first skeptical, then thoughtful. She crossed her arms tighter for a beat, then slowly let them fall to her sides. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, voice sharp but eyes glinting, “this is strictly a spa thing. HR would have a field day with you dictating the dress code.” She held his gaze, then cracked a grin. “Okay, I’m in. But if you try to retroactively call this ‘leadership training,’ I’m invoicing you for overtime.”

She began to undress—not with hesitation, but with a measured kind of curiosity. Top, then pants, then underwear, folding each item with more care than Mike expected. When she straightened, fully nude, he took her in every detail.

Her pubic hair was thick and natural, unapologetically wild. The unexpected sight surprised him, yet it suited her perfectly: confident, unfiltered, with a touch of rebellion.

Without a word, he rose and gently guided her to the bathroom. The light was soft, the tile cool underfoot. He turned on the shower and stepped in first, the water streaming over his shoulders. Emily joined him, still silent, watching him closely.

Mike washed himself slowly, deliberately. Close enough that steam curled between them, but never touching. Not sexually. Not yet. Just presence.

When they stepped out, he handed her a towel. “Now,” he said simply, “you can put on your bathing suit.”

3

As they stepped into the softly lit spa corridor, steam and sandalwood clung to the air like memory. Emily walked beside Mike in her sleek black suit, shoulders set, chin slightly raised—as if nothing about the situation fazed her.

Mike leaned in close, his voice low but firm. “Walk like you own it. Let them think you’re in charge.”

Emily smirked faintly, flicking her hair back. “Maybe I am.”

They passed a few guests—women in robes, some already lounging with drinks, others mid-conversation. The occasional glance skimmed Mike’s nude form, but he barely registered it. Emily nodded to one or two of them, feigning casual detachment.

In the lounge area, they joined a small group—two women stretched out on recliners, one man kneeling dutifully at a footstool. A few others chatted nearby, drinks in hand, basking in the warmth of the poolside air. Mike and Emily settled into open chairs, and for a moment the energy softened.

Then he noticed her. Emily had crossed her legs, one arm curled slightly over her stomach—subtle, but defensive. Mike leaned toward her, not looking at her directly.

“Uncross your leg,” he whispered, calm and quiet.

She hesitated. Then, slowly, she let her foot slide back down to the ground. She adjusted her posture—still poised, but now more open. Her breathing shifted, just slightly.

A few minutes passed, the group murmuring around them. Then Mike murmured again, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “Draw your fingers along the edge of your suit. From your hips… down.”

Emily turned slightly toward him, brow raised in silent protest. He didn’t repeat it. Just waited.

With a breath that was almost a sigh, she obeyed. Her fingers moved slowly—along her hipbones, over the high-cut fabric of the swimsuit, and then down between her thighs, tracing the inner edge of the suit’s line. Nothing overt. Nothing dramatic. But unmistakable.

Across from them, one of the women—a tall brunette in a lavender wrap—tilted her head, watching the motion with knowing eyes. She smiled faintly and glanced down at the man by her feet.

Without a word, she gestured toward Emily. “Would you like a massage?” she asked. “He gives excellent footwork. Soft or firm, your call.”

Emily looked to Mike.

He met her gaze, held it. Then gave a single nod.

Emily turned back and extended one leg, the barest smile tugging at her lips as the man slid closer and lifted her foot into his hands.

For all her earlier bravado, Mike could see it: the flicker of nervous energy under her skin, the hum of submission just starting to settle. She was still playing confident—but she was learning the rhythm.

And he was setting the tempo.

4

Mike leaned toward her, his voice a quiet thread in the hum of the lounge. “Let’s go to the deep end of the pool. You can touch me—lead the way.”

Emily blinked, startled for a beat, then stood. “See you later,” she said casually to the women around them, slipping her foot from the man’s hands.

Then, with a confidence that seemed a touch too quick to be real, she reached down and wrapped her fingers gently around Mike’s shaft. She gave no warning, just a subtle smirk as she turned and led him by it—slow, deliberate steps across the warm tile toward the pool.

Mike followed, his body taut with awareness, the sensation electric under her touch. A few glances followed them, but no one said a word. The air shifted around them, just slightly.

They stepped into the water, the heat wrapping around their bodies as they sank in. The grip slipped away as they met in the deeper end, and Emily leaned into him quickly—close, close enough to murmur:

“Sorry,” she stammered, eyes not quite meeting his. “I didn’t mean to do it like that. I just…”

Mike brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “You did what I told you to. Nothing to be sorry for.”

They held the embrace for a quiet moment, her arms around his shoulders, his hands resting gently at her waist.

“You okay?” he asked, after a beat.

Emily nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… still getting used to the rules.” Her voice softened. “Feels weird. But not bad. Exposed. But that’s the point, right?”

Mike didn’t answer. He just let them float for a while—bodies close, the low hum of water and distant voices washing over them.

Then he spoke again, calm and quiet. “When the guided touch session starts, I need you to lead me there.”

Emily looked up at him, her expression now steady. “Okay,” she said simply.

And they floated together, the heat of the pool between them, the unspoken current pulling them deeper into the night.

6

A soft chime rang out—subtle but unmistakable. Around the lounge area, women began to rise, drifting toward a loose circle forming by the padded floor mats near the steam pool.

Emily glanced over, then leaned in to Mike with a slight smile. “That’s our cue.”

She led the way, her steps confident, though he could feel the tension still coiled just beneath her surface. They joined the circle, settling on the edge. Two spa staff emerged—one woman in a burgundy wrap, one man already barefoot and wearing a neutral, almost serene expression.

The woman stepped forward. “Welcome,” she said, her voice warm but professional. “This is the guided touch session. Some of you have been here before. For those new to it—touches are encouraged, but not required. They can be sensual, or simply curious. The goal is trust. Silent consent.”

She gestured toward the male staff member, who began undressing. Each movement was unhurried, unembarrassed. When he was fully naked, she approached and knelt in front of him. Her hands slid along his arms, then lightly across his chest, and down, pausing briefly before cupping his hip with calm precision.

“Every motion,” she continued, “should be slow and honest. Not for reaction. For connection.”

Mike leaned close to Emily, voice a whisper. “Have you ever taken part in this?”

Emily shook her head slightly. “Tried to get Steffen to join once,” she murmured. “That’s when he broke. Left his sandals behind.” Her smile was faint. “Since then, it felt too intimate. Too much.”

“But you want to,” Mike said, watching her face.

Emily didn’t answer.

He kept his voice low. “If someone volunteers, you’ll go in. Kneel down before him. You can touch—but nothing sensual. More like you’re… inspecting. Casual. Curious.”

Emily breathed in slowly, then nodded. “Okay. I think I understand.” A pause. “Save me if something happens.”

“I will.”

Just then, the facilitator spoke again. “Would any of the male guests like to volunteer?”

Silence, then a murmur. A woman with dark curls nudged the man beside her forward with a grin. He hesitated, then stepped into the center with a resigned shrug. The facilitator smiled and motioned him to stand still.

“If anyone would like to join me,” she said, “you’re welcome to.”

Before Mike could say another word, Emily moved. She slipped into the circle and knelt in front of the volunteer. Her hands lifted, trembling just slightly, and she began to trace along his thighs, then lightly across his abdomen. Then, slowly, deliberately, she inspected his groin—fingertips brushing, adjusting, observing. Clinical, almost. But focused.

Mike watched, feeling a strange swirl of tension in his gut. Pride. Arousal. Protection.

Then the man’s hand drifted down. He didn’t grab her, just gently threaded fingers through her hair, palm resting lightly atop her head.

Emily froze. The shift in her body was immediate—shoulders stiff, her hands pausing mid-motion. She blinked once, lips slightly parted.

Mike stepped forward instantly. He touched her shoulder—light but firm. “That’s enough.”

She looked up, and he helped her to her feet, guiding her gently out of the circle without a word.

Back on the edge of the gathering, she exhaled hard and wrapped her arms around herself. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It was fine, and then—suddenly it wasn’t.”

Mike just nodded, his hand brushing briefly down her back. “Yeah. You were good.”

They turned and walked away from the circle, the hum of voices behind them fading like steam. Neither said much more.

7

They drifted away from the lounge circle in silence, eventually finding a quieter corner with cushioned benches and low candlelight. The tension from earlier was slowly fading, replaced by a shared sense of calm.

After a few minutes, Emily leaned toward Mike and whispered, “Okay, if we’re staying… I want to find a fun group.”

Mike followed her gaze as they scanned the nearby clusters. Some were quiet, others flirtatious, but one group stood out—a group of four, about Emily’s age: two women in bright swimsuits and two nude men, all laughing easily, drinks in hand. There was a looseness in their energy, light and playful.

Emily pointed subtly. “Them?”

Mike nodded. “Let’s try.”

They approached with relaxed smiles. Emily asked first, “Mind if we join you?”

“Of course not,” one of the women said warmly, scooting over to make space. “Always room for more.”

The group was already in the middle of a low-stakes dare game—more mischievous than salacious. Even with the men completely bare and the women clothed, everything felt balanced. No one pushed too far. Everyone laughed.

Mike and Emily joined in, the dares modest at first: mimic a spa staff member, make up a ridiculous yoga pose, whisper a made-up confession. They both played along, Mike with his quiet charm, Emily with the kind of smirking hesitation that made her even more engaging.

Then came a new dare—one of the men was blindfolded with a soft tie and dared to guess who was hugging him. “No peeking,” his girlfriend warned, laughing as she tied the blindfold. “You’ll lose your drink privileges for life.”

As the group teased and nudged each other, Mike leaned in toward Emily, voice low. “Go.”

She turned her head, startled. “Really?”

He nodded. The others were already encouraging it, playful hands waving her toward the center.

Reluctantly, she stood, walked over, and slipped her arms around the blindfolded man. She hugged him gently, then—glancing once at Mike—she leaned in and kissed him softly, cupping his genitals with slow, deliberate pressure.

The group burst into laughter and gasps.

The man, clearly flustered, tilted his head. “Um… that was definitely you,” he said, pointing toward his girlfriend.

His girlfriend cackled. “Wrong!”

Emily stepped back, grinning as the group howled. “Told you he’d guess wrong,” she said, reclaiming her seat with a victorious wiggle.

More dares followed—less daring now, more banter than challenge. Eventually, one of the couples stretched and stood.

“Alright,” the woman said with a yawn. “We’re calling it. Early hike tomorrow.”

They gathered their things and waved goodbye. Emily stood as well, glancing at Mike. “Shower?”

He nodded.

They slipped away together, still barefoot and glowing slightly from the warmth of shared laughter, making their way toward the steam and the hush of the spa’s showers.

8

The water poured gently around them in the warm-lit showers, mist curling around the tiles. Mike stood beneath the stream, hands slicking through his hair, while Emily rinsed beside him, her black suit clinging to her skin.

He glanced over, grinning. “You know we’re not done yet.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Nope,” he said, stepping closer. “When we leave here, you’re going to go into one of the private stalls, take off your swimsuit, and put your robe on. Nothing underneath.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Why?”

Mike shrugged, casual and amused. “Because I like knowing you’re naked under it. And you’ll need to undress in the room anyway. Might as well be ready.”

Emily rolled her eyes but smirked. “Fine. But only because I already feel like I’ve been naked all night.”

Moments later, they walked back toward the room. Emily wore her robe, slightly flushed from the heat—or maybe the instructions. Once inside, she pulled the robe off and handed it to Mike.

He took it without a word and hung it neatly on a hook by the door. Then he turned to his duffel bag, rifling through it with a small frown.

“I seem to have forgotten my toiletries bag,” he said, looking up at her. “It’s in the car. Would you mind grabbing it?” He gestured down at himself, still fully nude. “Not really dressed for the lobby.”

Emily moved toward her pile of clothes. “Sure. Just let me grab—”

“Just the robe,” Mike said, stopping her gently with a glance.

She paused. Then, with a small, amused huff, she nodded. “Alright. Just the robe.”

Mike followed her to the door, but stopped at the edge of the hallway and leaned against the wall. From a discreet angle near the reception, he watched as Emily exited into the night air, robe drawn close but legs bare beneath. She moved quickly, confidently—but not too fast. She knew he was watching.

When she returned, her cheeks were slightly flushed. She handed him the bag wordlessly and stepped inside.

Back in the room, the air was quiet and heavy with residual heat. Without speaking, they both climbed onto the bed, stretching out naked on top of the cool, crisp sheets. Their arms touched. Their legs brushed.

Neither moved to cover up. Neither needed to.

9

They lay in stillness for a while, the room dim and quiet, nothing but the hum of the heater and the soft breath between them. The sheets were cool beneath their skin, their bodies just touching, not tangled—just there.

After a few minutes, Mike sat up slightly, resting on one elbow. He traced his fingertips slowly along Emily’s arm, watching her skin respond.

“How do you feel?” he asked, voice low.

Emily turned her head slightly toward him. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Part of it was intense… but also good. Lying here feels good.”

Mike leaned in closer, his hand drifting to her chest. He cupped one breast gently, letting his palm settle there without urgency. Emily’s mouth curled into a small smile, her eyes half-lidded, and she gave him a faint, encouraging nod.

His hand slid lower, moving over the curve of her belly, and came to rest between her legs—fingers cupping her natural, soft hair, his touch quiet and still.

Emily’s breath caught slightly. “This feels good,” she murmured. “I know I’m safe.”

Then, after a pause, her voice quieter: “But not any further, right?”

Mike nodded once, pressing a light kiss to her shoulder. “Not any further.”

They shifted, Emily turning slowly onto her side. Mike moved with her, settling in behind, their bodies aligning. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other still resting gently between her legs, holding—not asking.

They stayed like that, spooned under the faint light, his touch protective, hers trusting.

Sleep found them like that—skin to skin, quiet, and held.

10

Morning light spilled through the curtains, warm and soft. Emily stirred beside him, stretching under the sheet.

“Shall we get dressed and get some breakfast?” she asked, voice still sleepy.

Mike turned to her with a smirk. “Let us do that. Or rather, you do that—I’m already appropriately dressed.”

Emily chuckled, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, I forgot. Perpetual spa dress code.” She slipped out of bed and pulled on a loose skirt and a casual top, glancing once at Mike as she adjusted the waistband.

The breakfast lounge was bright and relaxed, filled with the clink of dishes and quiet morning chatter. As they stood at the buffet, Mike leaned in close and whispered, “Pull down your panties.”

Emily blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“So you’re naked under the skirt,” he said, calm as ever. He gave a small nod, no pressure—just the offer.

She gave him a half-disbelieving look, then sighed softly. Discreetly, she reached under her skirt and slid the panties down her thighs, letting them fall to her ankles. Mike knelt, collected them smoothly, and tucked them beneath his plate as if it were nothing.

At the table, once they sat down, Mike placed the panties right in the center like a napkin. Emily shook her head, grinning. “You’re crazy,” she said. “But in a good way.”

They ate casually, chatting about nothing and everything—some spa memories, a few laughs, and even a bit of work. No tension, no awkwardness. Just comfort, warmth, and an easy rhythm.

Back in the room, they packed in quiet coordination. Mike folded the last towel and sat on the edge of the bed, then looked up at Emily. He reached out, drew her closer, lifted the hem of her skirt gently.

“Just… one last look.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled and let him, holding still for a beat—then gave him a playful shove. “Okay, perv. Time’s up.”

At reception, after handing in the key, Mike finally began to dress. He pulled on his boxers, but before he could reach for his pants, Emily coughed behind him.

“Pull them down again. Just one last look… you know.”

Mike laughed, hooked his thumbs under the waistband, and gave them both—Emily and the amused receptionist—a slow, cheeky turn. Then he pulled them back up and finished dressing.

They stepped out into the daylight and drove in companionable silence to Emily’s place.

In her driveway, Emily lingered a moment. “So,” she said, smirking “if this gets out, promise me we’ll both claim we were scouting for options for team-building options, but severely misread the brochure.”

Mike grinned. “Or we could skip the excuses. Pitch an ‘Clothing Optional Monday’ for real.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Please, no one would participate. Except us, obviously.”

Mike gave it a thought. “You are right, but that could be fun too. Just have to get HR to greenlight it.”

“You know, I had a good time,” Emily said softly. “Even if HR would literally explode if they knew..”

As she opened the car door to leave, Mike held up her panties, swinging them like a pendulum. “Forgot something?”

Emily groaned, laughing, and grabbed them before heading inside.

11

Monday morning. Same office, same open-floor buzz. In the joint project meeting, Mike and Emily sat on opposite sides of the table, catching each other’s glance with quiet smiles.

When it came time for updates, Emily leaned forward, bright and composed.

“Mike and I had quite an adventure—”

Mike choked on his coffee.

“—but we fixed the integration,” she finished smoothly. “I learned a lot from Mike. So I’m ready for another expedition, if needed.”

A few coworkers chuckled, none the wiser.

Mike shook his head, trying not to grin.

Emily just smiled back. Confident. Unfiltered. With a touch of rebellion.