Pick'N'Mix Mods for The Sims 2

25 - Not That Kind of Girl

Analise's eyelids fluttered rapidly and she awoke with a yawn and a smile. In her waking seconds she'd dreamt the 'Milk Tray' man was watching her. He'd leapt from her balcony into the sea just as she'd woken.

The odd thing was, as he'd leapt, his jet black, ankle length skirt had slit to the waist revealing a shapely, tanned thigh. 'Too much sun yesterday', Analise thought to herself.

"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!" ... SPLASH!

Analise sat on the veranda eating her cereal and yoghurt, wondering what she should do today. Yesterday afternoon had dampened her enthusiasm for another cultural/historical experience, and her flight out was mid-afternoon, so she only had the morning. She decided to relive some childhood experiences and then even out her tan.

She'd built two mediocre sand-castles, Dad had been the castle-builder-pro, and she lacked a bucket to make impressive defences.

She'd found some nice shells and sea polished glass, but they weren't the princess' treasure that they had been to a ten-year old. So, she was currently working hard on her tan.

But what she really wanted was another massage; she was trying to justify one to herself. "Damn it, girl", she blurted out, "you're on holiday. Just do it." With the beach-towel as an impromptu sarong, she wandered down the beach.

Standing in the reception area, she was trying to remember which one she'd picked - there were two with hot-stones. She picked one at random, was handed two small towels and told to go to room six.

Room 6 was the same as Room 4 except for a small, high window above the chair. Analise stood on the chair and looked out.

She could only see tree tops, no one could possibly see in. She arranged the two small towels, hung the beach towel and her bikini on the coat stand and lay face down on the table, relaxing by following the knots and whorls in the wooden floor.

She heard the door open, the flap of bare feet on the floor, the clang of the pail of stones, the hiss of rapidly boiling water, and saw the steam swirl under the table. The warm hands on her calves felt bigger, stronger, masculine - but they were just as magical and she started to dissolve into the table.

Analise bubbled to the surface. The masseur was getting a little too intimate - the sweep of his thumbs up her adductors, the pressure of his palms over her gluteus maximus, the reach of his fingertips over her serratus anterior - she tensed and squirmed.

"Hey", she called through the head hole, "I'm not that kind of girl!"

The hands lifted. Analise relaxed. A palm slapped her gluteus maximus, "But, Miss Jimenez, ..." A hot-stone landed on the small of her back, the pain searing directly to her brain, numbing her legs. The hand pressed on her back, pushing her into the table, "... I think that you ..." The second hot-stone landed between her shoulder blades, white-light splintered into her eye-balls, she lost all strength in her arms. The hands were on her shoulders pushing her down, "... are exactly ..." She could feel the hiss of his breath on the back of her neck. His hands slid along her clavicles, "... that kind ..." She could feel the press of his bare chest on her back, his large hands around the base of her neck, "... of girl", he whispered into her ear.

She screamed, and, with a super-human effort, forced herself up and off the table. There was a rather satisfying 'crack' as his head hit the table edge and he slumped to the floor. She grabbed the beach-towel and sprinted, naked from the room.

In the few steps it took to reach reception she'd wrapped the towel around her waist. She didn't stop. Not caring that she looked like a siren,

she ran through the hotel gardens to her chalet, slammed the door and slumped, breathless, to the floor, back against the door.

24 - Xavier 26 - Xavier