Pressure Points

Riley Rose had never done anything like this before.

The spa was quiet--too quiet--as she stepped through the frosted glass doors, her heels clicking softly against polished marble. She told herself it was just a massage. Just an innocent, overdue indulgence after weeks of stress. But part of her was nervous at the idea of strange hands on her. Only two pair had danced over her peach tanned skin so far. Paid or not. It felt incorrect. She texted one of the hands, saved in her phone as Cowboy. A contact picture of a shirtless man eating candy in a hotel bed grinning at the camera. The full photo showed a reflection in the mirror. Her, taking the picture of him, pure nude covered in a thin layer of sweat.

The receptionist smiled knowingly and handed her a robe, yanking her from the text to Logan. "He'll be with you shortly," she said, as if that meant something more than it did.

Riley slipped into the changing room, her fingers trembling slightly as she shed her clothes. The robe slid over her bare skin like a secret, soft and weightless, leaving too much of her exposed. She caught her reflection in the mirror--a nervous flush on her cheeks, lips slightly parted--and looked away.

When she stepped into the dimly lit massage room, the scent of sandalwood and something darker, muskier, wrapped around her like a lover's breath. And then she saw him.

The masseur.

Tall. Quiet. Intense. With eyes that lingered a little too long, and hands that looked like they could undo a woman with a single touch. He was older. Which just meant 'experience'. His smirk took the wind out of her.

"Riley?" he asked, his voice low, warm, dangerous.

She nodded.

"Lie down. Face first."

Damn. Whatever you say boss.

And when his hands touched her back--firm, slow, confident--she felt her breath catch in her throat.

This was no ordinary massage.

And Riley Rose? She was about to discover just how deeply pleasure could press into pain... and how desire could come from the heat of a stranger's hands.

Riley eased herself onto the massage table, the silky robe slipping off her shoulders. The sheet was warm beneath her, the room dim but intimate. She tried to steady her breathing, but anticipation curled in her belly like smoke. She'd told herself this was just about relaxing. Nothing more. But the moment his hands touched her, that lie unraveled.

He started at her shoulders--firm, methodical strokes melting the tension she didn't realize she carried. His thumbs pressed in deep, just beneath her neck, making her sigh involuntarily.

"You're wound tight," he murmured.

"Long week," she replied, voice muffled in the cradle of the table.

He chuckled low, the sound like velvet over gravel. "Let's see what we can do about that."

He moved lower, working his way along her spine. His hands were strong but slow, sliding with purpose. Every touch was deliberate, edging the line between professional and something else entirely. Something hotter. Riskier. His fingertips brushed the sides of her ribs, lingering just a moment too long. Goosebumps prickled across her skin.

Then, his voice again--closer now. "Would you like me to go deeper?"

She hesitated. "Yes," she breathed, surprised at the way her voice came out.

The sheet slipped further as his hands explored the curve of her lower back, dipping toward the small hollow just above her hips. He kneaded gently, rhythmically, every motion promising more without delivering--yet. Her thighs tensed beneath the sheet.

"Relax," he said softly, fingertips teasing the edge of the sheet. "Let go."

And somehow, she did. Her body melted into his hands, surrendering to his pressure, his presence. But as his palms began to roam further, venturing along the edge of the sheet that barely covered her curves, Riley wasn't sure if she was relaxing--or unraveling.

She didn't know his name.

She didn't need to.

She only knew this: something had shifted. This wasn't a massage. This was a slow ignition--and Riley Rose was ready to burn.

He slid the sheet down and fingers dipped down betseen her petals.

"You are really tense here too..."

She couldnt speak. Just a needy little whimper. Closing her doe eyes, she thought about Logan. About Karson. It made him sliding his fingers into both her holes that much easier. She was soaking the table beneath her. In and out. In and out. So deep. So methodical. Then she jumped in surprise, feeling something else. His face dissapeared behind her. Was he eating her out? His tongue lapped at her horny pussy like a hungry dog. Unable to control her hand, it reached back to grip his hair. Frantically grinding against his mouth. His fingers. She was far from dissatisfied at home. But this felt so... taboo. So dirty. So exposed. Quiet begs came out in hushed whispers. A second finger. A third. Then to her shock he was fisting her. A rare occurance. Even more surprise that she could take it.

"Oooh..... fuck....." the only words she knew. Vocabulary melted down to noises and grunts.

Riley grabbed her phone and hit record, struggling to lift it just enough to show what was going on. The massage therapist didnt see, his face was buried in her ass. Tongue dipping in and out of her tight backdoor as he expertly massaged her insides.

"Oh god. Make me..... make me cum..... I wanna cum...." she begged. Now uncaring who heard. She looked up into the camera, biting her bottom lip almost so hard it bled. Then, she squirted. Hard. Making a mess of his hand. His face. His table. She flipped over and began to rub herself feverishly. Tickling her pussy for the camera and for his enjoyment. Bringing herself quickly to a second even harder climax. Struggling to catch her breath, every muscle tensed, her abs glistening with sweat, her breasts covered in massage oil. She hit stop on the video and immediately sent it to Logan. The friendly professional quickly cleaned her up, mostly with his tongue. Helped her put her robe back on. He leaned down and whispered "Good Girl."