In our continuing examination of the life of a talk show host/sex enthusiast Raist Newell, we remain at Club Riptide, where Raist gets touched in a pleasant way.

If you want your character to make an appearance in these events, feel free to note/PM me, and we'll see where I can fit you in!

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WINGS 45.2 – Chapter 6: The Beginnings of Something Pleasing

Raist stood still for a moment, trying to process how he suddenly managed to wind up in what appeared to be the T.G.I. Friday’s of Arabia. The décor felt more like what the Westerners idea of what a harem was, considering such setups like this one never really existed within the Middle Eastern regions. The hawk shook his head to snap himself out of it, anytime he started musing historically was a cause for concern.

“Something wrong?” the veiled equine said, her hand on her hip in a look of professional impatience.

“Am I supposed to feel like a cartoon sultan right about now?” Raist asked, hesitant to commit to whatever this was.

“Just relax,” the horse said calmly, patting a cushioned seat in the center of the room, “Riptide puts these rooms through a theme cycle, its Arabian Nights week.”

“Ah,” Raist responded, still a bit disconcerted, “Does this kind of stuff…actually work for people?”

“You’d be surprised,” the masseuse replied casually, still waiting for him to move, “You need to get the chair if this is going to happen.”

Raist nodded and padded towards the arched seat, removing his shirt and draping it over a nearby footstool. Smiling at the equine, he turned and sat on his stomach, stretching out his back as he rested his head on his wings.

“I’d expect one of Nancy’s regulars to be familiar with the theme motif,” the equine quipped offhand, beginning to place supplies on a wheeled table she then brought to the side of the seat.

“Most of the favors I cash in are for drinks or…” Raist wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, but the equine didn’t push for elaboration.

“Any special reason for the massage then?” the masseuse asked, “any point I need to focus on?”

“Yeah, actually,” Raist replied, gesturing to the small of his back with a shrug of his shoulders, “I think I pulled something.”

“Well, you’re still able to walk normally,” the masseuse commented, “so it shouldn’t be anything serious. Can you take it hard?”

Silence exploded in the room, Raist taking a moment to answer.

“…what?” he finally asked.

A pair of thick equine fingers gripped his shoulders, “Soft,” the masseuse said.

She then applied some noticeable pressure, “Hard.”

“Ah, right,” Raist joked, chuckling, “Hell yeah baby, give it to me hard.”

If the masseuse got the joke, her voice didn’t show it. “Alright,” she said, opening some containers and dipping her hands into a thick, strong smelling liquid.

Raist sniffed, “Are you going to slather me with…honey?”

“It’s a better smell than this thing’s natural scent,” the masseuse responded, “it helps me bypass a lot of the fur or feathers and whatnot to get to the muscle.”

As the masseuse began at Raist’s shoulders, the hawk immediately knew what she meant. Her hands were strong, her fingers thick, but they melted through his feathers and dug directly into the muscle, kneading at it in a way that made his entire body shiver. Raist tried to verbalize his reaction, but all that came out was a throaty moan. The masseuse seemed to take it as a compliment, though, as he could hear her give a slight giggle at the sound.

Finally warming up to the hawk, she began to make casual conversation. “You are definitely the biggest bird I’ve worked.”

She said it clinically, as if stating a fact, which made Raist feel even better about himself for it.

“Bet I’m a refreshing change of pace from the big-ass gator guy that was in here last,” Raist mused.

“Eh, about the same, really.” She responded, clarifying as she felt his body go tense, as if insulted, “…in terms of my job. I prefer my scalies at least chubby, the blubber makes working around the scales ten times easier.”

Raist chuckled, looking back at the masseuse, “Not sure if I wanted that much detail.”

One of the equine’s thick hands retrieved itself from Raist’s feathers in order to push his face into the pillowed portion of the seat, “You don’t just move your neck when you turn back.”

“Sah-ree” the muddied response came, the hawk’s beak finding difficulty opening fully against the pillow.

The equine smiled, this was definitely an improvement. “Ok, now let’s really get started.”