Pressure Point Reached Pt. 02

Introduction:

Read part 1 first to see how the story goes.

Sometimes, what starts as a simple cure for pain turns into the spark that sets your entire life ablaze.

Stefan only wanted relief from his aching back a massage, nothing more. But Minja, with her quiet touch and disarming intensity, offered so much more than healing hands. Boundaries slipped, fantasies ignited, and desire twisted their worlds together until neither could pretend it was just business.

A story of accidental temptation, late night confessions, and bodies hungry to finish what memory alone can't satisfy.

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*Minja*

The days after Stefan's session slide by in a blur of muscle memory and forced professionalism.

She sees clients. She mixes oils. She lights the lavender candle that's supposed to mean "clean slate, fresh start." But every time she drizzles the slick golden warmth into her palm, the memory of him flashes hot behind her eyes: the way his cock had pulsed in her hand, the shock of size, the heavy, trembling breath he took the moment she'd leaned in, the taste of salt and skin, the almost comical look of panic and need on his face as he exploded for her.

Minja's phone buzzes with bookings, polite DMs, even a Yelp review from a woman who thanks her for "saving my back and my sanity."

She replies, schedules, wipes down the table. She's efficient on autopilot. Only her hands shake when she's alone in the treatment room, collecting the bottle she'd dropped that day. It rolls beneath her fingers, slick with oil she can't seem to fully wipe away.

She tells herself it was a mistake. An impulse. Professional boundaries snapped and burned to the wick. That she's lucky he was so... gracious, embarrassed, sweet.

That she should never think about it again.

But she does.

At night, she opens Instagram. Scrolls. Finds herself on his page just a few photos, but enough: him on a mountain with a windblown grin, holding a coffee mug, grinning at someone off camera (Lila?). She watches his stories, never tapping so fast that he'd notice, but always watching.

She catches herself tracing the lines of her palm with her thumb, remembering the weight of him.

It's always worst right before bed.

Minja pulls her curtains closed, strips down to a faded tank and nothing else, and stretches across cool sheets. She brings her phone with her, thumb hovering over the last DM he sent (Thank you again. I feel so much better. You really are a miracle worker).

She doesn't reply. Instead, she scrolls back, re reading the words, replaying the images.

When she can't take it anymore, she slips one hand beneath her tank, the other reaching for the bottle of oil she keeps on her nightstand. She pours a little into her palm, inhales lavender, almond, and something darker, muskier, that always makes her think of him.

She starts slow, fingers circling her clit, imagining it's his thumb, the way he might touch her if he were as attentive with her body as she was with his.

But it isn't enough.

She spreads her legs, lets the oil drip down, slicking her entrance. She slides two fingers in, just as she remembers how she'd wrapped her hand around him, not quite able to make her fingers meet.

Her breath stutters. She bites her lip, suppresses a moan.

She can't stop picturing it: the look on his face, flushed and desperate, when she'd finally leaned in and taken him into her mouth. The way his cock had filled her, stretched her jaw, made her gag with the sheer size and the need to take more. The taste. The heat.

She presses deeper, thumb working circles over her clit, fingers moving in and out, hips lifting into the mattress. She imagines riding him, slick thighs spread wide, her pussy struggling to take the thickness of him.

The thought makes her whimper. She lifts her hips, arching, fucking herself with her own hand until her thighs tremble.

When she comes, it's muffled face buried in the pillow, biting the fabric, her oil slicked fingers grinding hard circles over her swollen clit. She sees flashes behind her eyes: his hands on her hips, his cock splitting her open, the shudder in his thighs as he loses control.

She comes so hard she's left breathless, the sheets sticking to her thighs, her heart racing.

When she finally comes down, she lies in the dark, oily and flushed, whispering his name to herself, quietly, as if she could press it into the pillowcase and forget it by morning.

She never does.

*Stefan*

For Stefan, the first few days are a mix of relief and shame, washed in afterglow and regret.

He moves differently looser, easier, the pain in his hip and back a distant memory. But it's not just Minja's touch that lingers. It's the way she touched him, the way her hand had trembled when she gripped him, how her mouth had hesitated, then opened so wide, so hungry, so careful.

He thinks about it at work, hunched over his laptop, trying to focus on code. Sometimes, the ghost of her touch flickers along his lower back, makes him shift in his seat, palms sweaty, cock stirring as he remembers her flushed cheeks and the way she'd said his name.

The shower becomes his confessional.

It starts the third night, when he's standing under scalding water, head bowed, trying to scrub the day from his skin. But the soap slips in his hand, and for a moment, he's right back on her table slick, helpless, trembling, her hands sliding over his hips, her lips sealing around the head of his cock, the desperate suction of her mouth as she tried to take more.

He closes his eyes, lets the memory build:

Minja's eyes wide, cheeks stretched, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth. The sound she made, half moan, half gasp. The way she hadn't stopped, even when he warned her, even when he'd started to come, messy and loud, filling her mouth until she pulled off gasping.

He wraps one hand around his cock, slow at first, then faster as he lets the fantasy take over. This time, in his mind, she doesn't just use her mouth. She climbs on top of him, oil slick and hungry, straddles his chest, pussy glistening, and lowers herself onto his face, grinding until she's shaking and cursing and begging for more.

He strokes himself harder, imagining her thighs trembling against his cheeks, her fingers gripping his hair, her voice thick and broken as she rides out her orgasm.

He's panting now, water pouring over his shoulders, hips snapping into his palm.

He imagines her turning around, slick with sweat and oil, lowering herself onto his cock bare, not a condom in sight, taking every inch until she's bouncing, riding him, screaming his name as he fills her, raw and deep.

The fantasy is too much. He comes with a guttural groan, thick spurts striping the tile, his whole body shuddering as the release rushes through him. For a second, he's afraid the neighbors will hear.

He leans against the wall, panting, cock twitching, pulse in his ears.

He tries to shake it off. To remind himself it was a one time thing, a mistake, just a happy accident.

But that night, lying in bed, he unlocks his phone and finds himself staring at her Instagram. Watches her hands move in slow loops over a bottle of oil in a story video, wonders if she's thinking about him as much as he's thinking about her.

He knows she isn't.

He hopes she is.

On opposite sides of the city, under different sheets, with different kinds of oil glistening on their skin, Minja and Stefan both try to sleep.

They both fail.

They both reach for their phones at almost the same moment, thumbs hovering over each other's name.

Neither sends a message.

But the heat between them refuses to fade.

****

*Minja*

Midnight, and Minja is wide awake, the hum of her diffuser whispering lavender into the air. She's curled on her side, sweat damp tank top twisted, sheets tangled at her knees. She's tried reading. She's tried music. She's tried every trick to silence the loop in her head.

But Stefan's voice keeps creeping in.

The first time, it's harmless a flash of memory, the way he'd smiled, sheepish and soft, as he'd stepped into her apartment. But the memory always skips, quick cut, to the way he'd looked when she pulled the towel away utterly exposed, thick and straining, his jaw clenched, his breath stuttering in his throat.

She can't help herself.

Her hand slips under her tank, fingers skimming the curve of her breast. She cups herself, thumb circling the nipple, pinching just enough to make herself shiver.

She remembers the way his eyes had dropped, how he'd watched her as if he couldn't believe what she was about to do.

God, what would he do if he saw her now?

She lets her hand drift lower, slides down her belly, slicks her fingertips with the oil she's kept by her bed. The scent is comforting and filthy reminding her of every client, every touch, but mostly him. She coats her fingers, shivering as the oil spreads over her skin, then dips lower, circling her clit with a slow, aching tease.

Her mind drifts:

What if he was here?

What if she let him watch her touch herself?

What if he asked her no, told her not to stop until she came for him, right there on the table?

She spreads her thighs, dipping two fingers inside, hips rocking up to meet her hand. Her thumb circles faster, breath catching, the slick sound filling her room, as if she's already being watched.

She imagines him kneeling between her legs, hands pressed to her knees, his cock impossibly hard and leaking for her, just waiting to be used.

"Let me see you, Minja. Show me how wet you get for me."

She presses deeper, fingers curling, clit throbbing.

She imagines him stroking himself as she touches herself maybe even begging her to ride him, begging her to take him raw.

Her hips arch, stomach tight, sweat slicking her skin. She's close so close the memory of his cock, the taste of him, the heavy, desperate please in his voice right before he'd come...

She bites her lip, stifling a cry as the orgasm tears through her, thighs clenching around her hand, shudders running up her spine. The sheets are soaked, the air thick with oil and want and the echo of his name whispered into the pillow.

She stays that way for a long time, fingers still between her legs, every nerve raw, every muscle boneless.

Still wanting.

Still not enough.

*Stefan*

Stefan tells himself he won't do it again tonight. That he'll just get in bed, read a bit, and sleep.

But the minute the lights go out, his mind betrays him.

He lies on his back, hard as stone, staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched so tight it aches. His hand drifts over his chest, absently, then lower.

He pictures Minja's hands.

He remembers the way she'd gripped him, oiled and trembling, cheeks red as she slid her mouth down, impossibly slow, as if she needed to savor every inch.

He tries not to, but he can't help it he spits into his palm, slicks his cock, and strokes, slow and steady, hips barely rocking against the sheets.

He wonders what she's doing now.

If she thinks of him.

If she's touching herself, moaning his name, wishing she had him under her hands again.

The image hits him hard. He squeezes, slides his thumb over the head, imagining her kneeling between his legs, messy and desperate, hair wild, her mouth smeared with spit and precum.

What if she wanted more?

What if she asked him to pin her down, to fuck her on her own table, make her take it until she begged for mercy?

His rhythm quickens, breath ragged, the fantasy growing sharper. In his mind, he watches her climb on top of him, thighs spread, dripping, riding him so hard he can barely breathe. He feels her nails rake his chest, her hips snapping, her voice cracking as she comes then keeps riding, demanding all of him.

He jerks harder, biting his own lip, picturing her collapsing against his chest, cum dripping out of her, the sweet ache of being emptied inside her.

He groans, low and helpless, cock twitching as he spills over his hand, pulse hammering through him, every thought filled with her: her laugh, her blush, her hunger.

He lies there, sticky, ruined, smiling to himself, wishing he could see her just one more time.

Hoping she wants it as badly as he does.

Neither sleeps easily.

Minja's hand finds her again before dawn, aching for another rush, chasing a satisfaction she can't reach alone.

Stefan wakes with his cock already hard, dreams of her mouth haunting him, fingers flexing as if she's still wrapped around him.

On opposite sides of the city, in the hush before morning, both whisper the other's name

soft, hopeful, hungry.

The heat refuses to fade.

****

*Minja*

It's late afternoon when Lila texts:

Lila: "I'm outside. Coffee and crisis hour?"

Minja's hands are still slick with oil her last client, a marathon runner, had needed extra deep work. She scrubs them clean, pulls on a soft sweater, and lets Lila in.

They settle on the couch, steaming mugs in hand. Sunlight is slanting through the window, soft and golden. Lila studies her for a long moment, then lifts an eyebrow.

"Okay. Spill. You've been weird for weeks."

Minja stares at her cup, tracing circles on the ceramic. "It's... nothing. Just work."

Lila snorts. "Bullshit. You're glowing one minute and in a coma the next. Did a client piss you off?"

Minja tries to laugh it off, but the words catch in her throat. The memory is too vivid. Stefan's body spread out under her hands. The slick heat. Her mouth full of him.

Lila watches her carefully. "Min. Come on. You can tell me anything."

Minja's hands are trembling, the coffee dangerously close to spilling. She sets it down.

"It's not that someone pissed me off." She takes a shaky breath, voice low. "It's that I did something... I shouldn't have."

Lila's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

Minja's cheeks burn. She can't look up. "With a client. It wasn't... professional."

Lila's jaw drops. "Minja! Oh my god. Did someone hurt you? Should I?"

"No!" Minja cuts her off, mortified. "God, no. It was... the opposite. I wanted it. I..." Her throat tightens. She covers her face with her hands. "I touched him. I went further. A lot further."

Lila is silent for a moment. Then she breathes out, voice laced with disbelief and sudden delight. "You fucked a client?"

Minja groans. "No! Not... not all the way. But I... used my mouth. And my hands. And he... finished. On the table."

Lila's mouth drops open. Then she laughs a shocked, delighted sound. "Holy shit, Min. Was it... was it that hot?"

Minja looks up at her, heat creeping over her cheeks, throat tight with want. "It was... more than hot. I can't stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I feel him. I want to do it again."

She's shaking now, words coming faster. "It's not just that I crossed a line. It's that I wanted to. I want him again. I've touched myself to the memory more times than I can count. And I can't talk to anyone about it. I can barely look at him online without " She breaks off, mortified.

Lila's eyes soften, and she sets her mug aside, grabbing Minja's hands. "Okay, deep breath. First, you're not a monster. Second... I mean, fuck, was it that good?"

Minja laughs through a sudden wave of tears. "It was fucking incredible, Li. He's... fucking huge literally the size of your forearm. And sweet. And he let me do whatever I wanted. I can't get him out of my head."

Lila grins wickedly. "Then why don't you do it again?"

Minja pulls her knees up, blushing furiously. "What if it was just a one off? What if I freaked him out?"

Lila squeezes her hand. "Trust me guys don't forget shit like that. He's probably dying to see you again. And even if it was a mistake... so what? Life's too short to be this horny and this sad."

Minja snorts, finally smiling. "You're right. I'm such a mess."

Lila leans over, hugs her tight. "You're a sexy mess. Book him again. Or just... text him. If you want it, go get it."

Minja hugs her back, warmth spreading in her chest. For the first time in weeks, hope flickers. Maybe she isn't insane. Maybe she isn't alone in this craving.

That night, she lies in bed and drafts a message just a few words before deleting it again.

But it's closer than she's ever come.

*Stefan*

The next weekend, Stefan ends up at a friend's place backyard beers, old jokes, and that loose, lazy banter that comes when the sun goes down and nobody wants to go home.

His best friend, Andrej, slumps next to him, hands sticky with barbecue sauce, grinning. "Alright, man. You've been somewhere else all night. Who is she?"

Stefan scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's no 'she.' Just work. And my back. Still a little tight."

Andrej narrows his eyes, then laughs. "Bullshit. You never look this distracted unless you're obsessed with something or someone. Come on. Spill."

Stefan hesitates. But the words are already on his tongue, burning.

"It's... my massage therapist."

Andrej's eyes go wide, then narrow in curiosity. "No fucking way. You mean that Spine Spirit girl? Lila's friend?"

Stefan nods, face hot. "Yeah. I mean. She's incredible. Magic hands. Sweet. Shy. But "

"But?" Andrej leans in, eyes sparkling.

Stefan looks away, cheeks burning. "But something... happened. She fuck, I shouldn't say this. It's private."

Andrej grins. "Dude. Did she give you a happy ending or something?"

Stefan groans, covering his face. "Not exactly. I mean, she yeah. She did. And it was..." He trails off, breath shuddering.

Andrej whistles, low and appreciative. "Damn, man. Was it that good?"

Stefan just nods. "It was... insane. She was so gentle, but so... fucking hungry. And I can't stop thinking about her. About her mouth, her hands. I've never wanted anyone so much."

Andrej claps him on the shoulder. "So, go get her. Book another appointment. Or text her. You only live once, dude."

Stefan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "What if I made her uncomfortable? What if she regrets it? I don't want to push."

Andrej rolls his eyes. "Trust me, bro. She's thinking about you, too. No one sucks someone off by accident. And if she did regret it, you'd know. Message her. See what happens."

Stefan laughs, tension bleeding out of him. "Maybe you're right."

Andrej grins. "Of course I'm right. Besides, worst case you get another massage. Best case? You get laid on a massage table. Win win."

That night, Minja stares at her phone, heart thudding.

Stefan does the same, thumbs hovering over her contact.

On different sides of the city, best friends' advice ringing in their ears, both wonder:

Is it really this simple?

Could they actually have what they want?

As if by fate, both open a blank message window...

Both type.

Both delete.

But the crack in the wall is there now

Wider than ever.

****

*Minja*

It's Friday evening, the kind of night that hums with rain and the promise of secrets. Minja sits on her couch, phone glowing in her lap, a mug of chamomile tea ignored and cold on the table beside her. She's drafted four different messages each one more polite, more "professional," more utterly transparent.

She tries to focus on Netflix, on a dumb series about small town romances and even dumber misunderstandings, but every scene seems to blur into one: two people wanting each other, afraid to say a single word, staring across a room full of unspoken longing.

Her hand keeps drifting to her phone. She checks his Instagram he's posted a story, something with rain and an empty coffee mug. The mug makes her stomach flip, remembering the taste of him, the ache that still lives in her jaw from that first, perfect, unrepeatable night.

She tries to tell herself it's crazy to reach out. That she should just let the memory fade, let desire dry up and blow away. But it's no use.

She opens her booking calendar, heart in her throat. She scrolls to his name, thumb hovering. Finally, with a breathless surge of recklessness, she opens a blank text window and types.

"Hi Stefan,

I was reviewing some notes and realized I never followed up on your treatment plan. If you're still dealing with any hip or back tension, I have a free opening this Friday evening. Happy to offer a session, no charge.

Let me know if you're interested.

Minja"

She reads it three times. It's almost too professional. Her hands shake as she hits send.

Immediately, she feels ridiculous. She wants to throw her phone across the room. She sets it face down, stands, paces.

What am I doing?

He's probably moved on. He probably thought it was a fluke...

Her mind spins with anxious energy, heat curling between her thighs.

She sits. Waits. Stares at the phone.

The reply takes exactly forty two seconds.

*Stefan*

He's lying on his bed, scrolling through his feed, replaying the rain outside in his head. He sees Minja's IG post a close up of two massage oils, captioned: "Be gentle with yourself. Healing takes time."

He wants to laugh. He wants to message her something clever, but he can't risk sounding needy.

He almost misses the message when it arrives.

He sits up so fast his heart hammers in his throat. Reads it. Reads it again.

Her tone is perfect. Polite. Clinical.

But the invitation is there, curled between the lines like a secret.

He's halfway through typing "Sure, that would be great, I've actually been a little sore again lately..." when his thumb hovers over the keyboard. He stops. Looks at his screen. Reads her message a third time.

He remembers her mouth, her trembling hands, the way her thighs pressed together when she touched him.

He deletes his reply.

Starts over.

"Only if I don't have to keep the towel on this time."

He stares at it. Re reads it, cringes, flushes with embarrassment and electric hope.

But he hits send anyway.

His heart is pounding, blood roaring in his ears. The seconds crawl.

*Minja*

She sees the typing bubble. She expects a thank you, maybe a gentle letdown, maybe a distant "I'm busy, but thanks."

Instead, his message pops up:

"Only if I don't have to keep the towel on this time."

A bolt of pure, liquid want rockets through her. Her knees go weak. She bites her lip, a grin spreading helplessly across her face.

She types stops. Types again.

Deletes a line that says, "You're making it very hard to stay professional."

Types again, quickly:

"No promises."

She almost adds a winking emoji, but resists. Lets the words hang there bare, electric, an open door she desperately hopes he'll walk through.

She sets her phone down, breathless, heart pounding. She doesn't know if she should laugh, or cry, or touch herself right here on the couch.

She does all three.

*Stefan*

He reads her reply. He can't help but smile sharp, hungry, suddenly starved for her.

No promises.

He knows exactly what that means.

He lies back, lets his hand drift down, and imagines the way she'll look at him the next time she pulls the towel away. He imagines the way she'll sound how she'll taste.

He wonders if he'll be able to last even half as long as last time.

On opposite sides of the city, both of them lie awake, sweating, burning, every nerve ending alive.

Two screens glow in the darkness, two bodies aching, two hearts hammering with hope and fear and filthy, desperate anticipation.

The silence between them is finally, gloriously broken.

Next Friday can't come soon enough.

****

*Stefan*

It's raining again as he pulls up outside Minja's place, every drop a drumbeat in his chest. He sits in the car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, breath coming in shallow, hopeful gasps. There's no reason to be nervous he's done this before. And yet everything feels different. Sharper. More dangerous.

He checks his reflection. Runs a hand through his hair. Wonders if he should have brought flowers or chocolate, something to break the tension, make it clear this isn't just another "professional" visit.

He walks to the door, umbrella tucked beneath his arm, and rings the bell.

It opens almost instantly. Minja stands in the soft golden glow of the hallway, hair loose tonight, face bare and fresh, a thin black sweater clinging to her frame. He notices, in one shocked, guilty glance, that she isn't wearing a bra the outline of her nipples faint beneath the fabric.

She smiles, shy and dazzling. "Hey. Come in."

He steps inside, heart thrumming. The space smells like sandalwood and rain, her familiar signature, but tonight it feels heavier, more intimate, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.

She leads him down the hall, neither of them speaking. The only sound is the soft pad of her bare feet on the carpet.

She gestures at the massage room, the door open, warm light spilling onto the navy sheet. The oils are lined up on the shelf, a flickering candle burning on the dresser. He notices tiny things a folded towel, a bottle of water, a dish of mints. The window is cracked just enough to let in the hush of rain.

She moves to the table, checks the height, then turns to him, suddenly all business, her cheeks a shade pinker than usual.

"Go ahead and undress to your comfort. You can leave your things on the chair. I'll step out for a sec just knock when you're settled."

Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor in her hands as she picks up a fresh towel. He catches her eyes for a heartbeat. There's a storm of want and fear there like she's daring him to say something, but doesn't know how to start.

He almost does.

But she's gone, closing the door softly behind her.

*Minja*

She leans against the wall, heart hammering, palms slick. This is just another appointment. You've done this a hundred times. It doesn't matter if he saw you staring. It doesn't matter that you're not wearing a bra.

She'd stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes before he arrived, debating. Scrubs or leggings? A real bra, or nothing at all? She chose comfort and something that would let him see how hard her nipples are, how much her body is betraying her.

She can't help it.

She waits, counting her heartbeats, until she hears the knock.

*Stefan*

He undresses slowly, folding his shirt, then his jeans. For a moment he considers keeping his boxers on, but the memory of her hands, her mouth, makes him bold. He slides them off, standing bare for a second before draping the thin towel over his hips. He lies back, heart thumping, cock already twitching, half hard with anticipation.

He knocks, once, then twice.

*Minja*

She slips back into the room, voice gentle, eyes determinedly on his face. "All set?"

He nods. She steps to the side, pumps oil into her hands, rubs it between her palms. The candlelight glistens off her skin.

She starts at his shoulders, slow and careful, working down his back with practiced hands. But her fingers linger longer than usual each press a silent question.

He breathes deeper, lets her take control. He wonders if she notices how hard he's already getting, how the towel is tented beneath him.

She glides lower, working her thumbs along his spine, her breath hitching each time she brushes his hips. She pauses, fingers hovering just above the line of the towel.

"Still a lot of tension here," she murmurs. Her voice sounds different tonight thicker, huskier.

"Yeah," he says, trying not to move. "You're the only one who can really work it out."

She smiles, mouth trembling. "Good. I want to help."

She works lower, palms pressing, hips brushing the edge of the table as she leans in. Her hair falls forward, brushes his shoulder. He turns his head just enough to inhale her scent clean, sharp, almost unbearably familiar.

They both know what's coming.

But neither makes the first move.

Not yet.

The air is thick with unsaid things. The only sounds are rain, oil, the quiet exhale of two bodies burning from the inside out.

She covers him with a towel when she shifts to his legs, but it's just an excuse to let her hands drift higher on his thighs. She dares a single brush barely grazing the base of his cock under the thin fabric.

He flinches, hips rising. She doesn't apologize.

The tension is an electric current, snapping between them with every touch.

They are both waiting for the other to crack first.

But for now, they stay within the script

Professional, but trembling.

****

*Stefan*

He tries to slow his breathing as Minja works her way down his body. The air in the room feels thick humid from the rain outside, electric from everything they haven't said. Every place her hands linger feels like a live wire. The familiar rhythm of massage shoulders, arms, back has become something else: a slow seduction, every stroke both comfort and threat.

She moves to his lower back. He can feel her hands trembling, just barely. Each pass of her fingers drags the towel lower over his hips, until it's barely covering him at all.

He bites the inside of his cheek.

Say something. Tell her you want this. Ask her to touch you really touch you.

But the words don't come. Instead, he lets out a low, helpless sigh as her thumbs press deep into his hips, dangerously close to the base of his cock.

*Minja*

Minja's pulse thrums everywhere her skin touches his. She's trying desperately to stay in her lane, keep her movements clinical. But she can't help it. Her hands linger over the sharp cut of his waist, the strong lines of his thighs, the way the towel won't quite stay in place.

She drags her palm across his lower back, then further, letting her little finger brush the exposed edge of him slick with oil, already thickening under the thin cotton.

He flinches, just barely, but doesn't pull away.

She wants to ask:

Do you want this? Should I stop? Or should I go further?

But the only sound in the room is rain and the slick, obscene slide of oil on skin.

She moves to his thighs, working long, slow strokes along the inside, letting her knuckles brush higher each time. She catches the rise of his cock under the towel, swollen and unmistakable now, pointing toward his navel.

She should be embarrassed. Instead, she feels a flood of heat between her legs.

*Stefan*

He can't take much more. Every touch is a dare, every pause a question. He lifts his hips as she works his hamstrings, letting the towel slip just enough that the base of his cock is fully exposed, the head barely hidden by the last fold of fabric.

He feels her breath hitch. Hears her hands stutter. For a moment, she just... stares.

His heart slams in his chest.

*Minja*

She can't help herself. She lets her hand drift higher, up his thigh, across his hip. Her pinkie grazes the soft skin just beneath his cock, and he twitches hard.

The air is syrup thick now. She swallows, throat dry.

She should move away. She should stop.

Instead, she whispers soft, a confession:

"I've imagined sucking you again. Every night."

The words hang between them, heavy as thunder.

Stefan

He turns his head, meets her gaze. There's hunger in his eyes, and relief, and something so raw it makes her breath catch.

He answers, voice rough, low:

"I've imagined fucking you. Right here. On this table. Raw."

Silence. Heat. No more lies.

He shifts, towel falling away, cock fully revealed long, thick, pulsing, glazed with pre come and oil.

*Minja*

She drops all pretense. Slides her hand up, fingers curling around him bare, slick, trembling.

"You're so fucking big," she breathes. "I can barely wrap my hand around you."

Her thumb traces the thick vein on the underside. She lets her eyes roam, hungry, devouring.

He groans, hips jerking into her palm.

The room has shrunk to nothing but heat and skin and all the filthy things they've been desperate to say.

She strokes him, slow, deliberate, daring him to stop her.

He never does.

Rain thrums against the window, candlelight flickers, and the walls echo with the slick, quiet sounds of her hand moving over his cock.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The only conversation is the language of touch needy, reverent, hungry.

Every boundary is gone now.

****

*Minja*

She lets her hand rest on his cock, stroking him as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His eyes meet hers open, burning, begging for more.

She doesn't ask. She doesn't have to.

Minja sets the oil bottle aside, climbing onto the massage table, careful, deliberate, never taking her eyes off his. Her hands find his shoulders, her thighs bracketing his head.

She's still dressed in her black sweater, but the hem rides up, exposing her bare thighs, the soft curve of her ass. Stefan's hands instinctively rise, but she takes them in hers, pinning them above his head. The moment is fragile and hot a test, a dare.

"Don't move," she whispers. Her voice is low, thick with want.

He nods, lips parted, breathless.

She lifts one knee, then the other, and settles herself above his mouth. Her pussy is already slick soaked through, needy and the scent of her fills the air, wild and intoxicating.

She lowers herself, slow, trembling, until she's just barely hovering above his lips. He moans, the sound vibrating against her skin, and the first brush of his tongue is so electric she almost collapses.

She can't help it. She rocks her hips, letting his mouth catch her clit, his tongue lapping, teasing, exploring. The feeling is everything she's been dreaming of wet, hot, overwhelming.

She grinds down, gasping, rolling her hips over his face, her hands still locked around his wrists.

"That's it," she breathes, voice shuddering. "Just like that don't you dare stop..."

*Stefan*

He's never been so turned on. The taste of her, sharp and sweet and impossibly slick, floods his senses. Her thighs quiver around his head; her fingers tighten on his wrists every time he swirls his tongue or sucks gently on her clit.

He can barely breathe, but he never wants to stop. He laps at her, tongue flat and eager, teasing her folds, dipping lower to taste everything she'll give him.

She rides his face like she owns him grinding, gasping, trembling. He feels her hips stutter, her body shuddering as the first orgasm rips through her.

She moans, loud and unguarded, grinding harder, chasing every last wave.

*Minja*

She's lost to it heat and friction and the raw power of his mouth. She comes once, shuddering, hips twitching; but she doesn't let herself stop. She rides him harder, slick and wild, her thighs trembling as she grinds on his tongue.

Stefan moans into her, devouring her, and the vibration sends a second climax spiraling through her, toes curling, voice cracking as she cries out.

She lets go of his wrists at last, fingers finding his hair, guiding his mouth exactly where she wants it. She rocks and rubs, writhing, needy and shameless.

Every time she gasps, every time she curses his name, she feels the raw edge of desperation inside her. She's waited weeks for this, imagined it in endless feverish detail and it's so much better, so much wetter, so much more than she ever dared hope.

*Stefan*

He drinks her in, greedy, lost, hands finally freed to grab her thighs, squeeze her ass, pull her down harder onto his mouth. He flicks his tongue faster, teases her clit, then sucks hard enough to make her jerk and curse.

She tastes like sin and surrender. He could stay here forever.

But she finally shudders, gasping, "Stop wait, I can't " and pulls away, collapsing forward, bracing herself on the table, chest heaving, pussy dripping slick down his chin.

The table is a mess of oil, sweat, and sex. The only sounds are their breath, the rain, the wild, desperate echo of her moans still hanging in the air.

Minja leans over him, eyes wild, face flushed, mouth parted with aftershocks.

She whispers, half laughing, half crying, "God... I needed that. I needed you."

Stefan just grins, eyes dark with hunger and devotion, tongue still flicking at the taste of her.

The balance of power is shattered. They're both trembling. Both starving for more.

And neither one is about to stop.

****

*Minja*

She's still trembling, the taste of her own orgasm on her lips, heart racing as she slides down the table and kneels between Stefan's spread thighs.

His cock is a monument thick, flushed, leaking, slicked already with the oil she'd spilled and the precum that beads at the tip. He's beautiful, jaw tight, chest heaving, every muscle trembling with restraint.

For a long, wicked moment, she just watches him admiring her handiwork, the raw need in his eyes, the way he bites his lip as she drags her nails lightly down his thighs.

"You've been so fucking patient," she murmurs, voice thick with awe and hunger. She takes the oil bottle, drizzles it over her hands, lets the excess spill over the swollen head of his cock. It trickles down the length, pooling at the base, running over his balls and onto the towel.

She rubs her hands together, spreading the oil until her palms shine. Then she wraps both hands around him one stacked above the other, squeezing gently, sliding up and down in a slow, worshipful stroke.

"God, look at you," she breathes. "So hard for me. So fucking big..." She bends, mouth open, breath hot as she circles the tip with her tongue, licking up every drop of oil and precum.

She sucks the head into her mouth, moaning at the weight, the impossible stretch of her jaw. She can't take all of him she can barely get past the crown but she makes up for it with her hands, twisting, stroking, squeezing in rhythm with her mouth.

*Stefan*

He's never been this hard, this desperate, this close to losing control. Every inch of his cock is slicked with oil and spit, Minja's hands gliding and squeezing, her mouth hot and greedy.

He looks down, sees her hair fanned across his thighs, her lips stretched wide around him, cheeks hollowed with effort and lust.

The sight alone nearly makes him come.

He tries to warn her, voice ragged. "Minja fuck, if you keep doing that I'm not gonna last..."

She looks up, eyes dark, a sinful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She pops off his cock, stroking him slow, letting her thumb tease the slit.

"You don't get to come yet," she purrs. "Not until I've had my fill."

She leans in again, lavishing attention on his shaft tongue swirling, lips kissing, hands never still. She nuzzles the base, noses his balls, flicks her tongue under the head, tasting everything.

She shifts her grip, one hand stroking his cock, the other cupping his balls, squeezing gently, massaging the oil into his skin.

He moans loud, helpless. "You're so fucking good at that... Jesus, Minja."

*Minja*

Praise goes straight to her core. She doubles down, sucking him deeper, twisting her wrists as she strokes, reveling in the slick, obscene sounds. Oil is everywhere now on her hands, her chin, his thighs, soaking the towel.

She glances up again, voice sultry, lips swollen. "Tell me what you want."

He groans, voice hoarse. "I want to watch you stroke me. Want to see you use both hands fuck, just like that "

She obeys, wrapping both hands around his cock, sliding up and down in twisting, oiled strokes, mouth pressed to the crown, tongue flicking the tip. She's mesmerized by the sight her hands moving over his length, the way he throbs and pulses with every touch.

She whispers, voice trembling, "I've dreamed about this. Your cock in my hands. In my mouth. I want to feel you come for me. But not yet not until you beg."

Stefan

She's in control now, and he loves it loves being at her mercy, her hands slick and expert, her mouth soft and relentless. He grits his teeth, hips twitching, desperate to thrust up into her throat, to fuck her face until he explodes.

But she slows down, teases, pulls back every time he gets close.

He's gasping, panting, nearly out of his mind with need.

"Please," he groans, "let me please, Minja, I need to "

She grins, wicked, and finally relents stroking him faster, sucking the head hard, swirling her tongue, using both hands in a twisting, milking rhythm.

*Minja*

She feels him swell, knows he's right on the edge, but she pulls off, leaving his cock slick and twitching, glistening in the candlelight.

She sits up, mouth shiny, eyes wild with desire. She crawls up his body, straddles his hips, lets her slick, wet pussy drag up the length of his cock but doesn't take him in yet.

She leans forward, kissing him letting him taste himself on her tongue, oil and lust and the heady tang of sex.

Her hand reaches down, guides his cock between her folds, grinding, teasing, soaking him with her own need.

"You're not coming yet," she whispers in his ear. "I want to feel you inside me. I want to ride you until you can't take it anymore. Until you fill me up every drop."

He nods, almost delirious.

She grins. "Good boy."

She reaches for the condom, hands still slick with oil, tearing it open with shaking fingers.

Oil and spit. The scent of sex so thick you could bottle it. Two bodies slick, trembling, desperate to finally cross that last line.

Every touch is a promise

Every moan a threat.

Minja grinds against him, soaking his cock, preparing herself for what she's wanted for weeks.

The next move will change everything.

And neither of them wants to wait any longer.

****

*Stefan*

She tears open the condom, hands shaking from need and from the oil still slicking her skin. He watches, mesmerized, as she rolls it down over his cock struggling to get it all the way, laughing breathlessly as it stretches tight, almost comically undersized for him.

"Jesus," she whispers, unable to hide her grin. "How does anyone fit you?"

He laughs hoarse, wild. "Barely. You sure you're ready?"

She leans down, hair brushing his chest, nipples hard beneath her sweater, voice low and trembling. "I've wanted this since the second I saw you on my table. I want you to stretch me. I want to feel all of you, every inch, inside me."

*Minja*

She kneels, straddling his hips, guiding the fat, gleaming head to her entrance. She drags it through her folds, moaning as the heat of him presses against her, not in yet, not quite teasing them both.

With a slow, determined breath, she sinks down. Inch by inch. The stretch is unbelievable, a sweet, relentless burn that makes her thighs tremble and her toes curl.

She pauses, halfway, panting, head thrown back. "Fuck... Stefan... you're so big..."

He grips her hips, not too hard, not pushing just holding, letting her take him at her pace.

She rocks her hips, working him deeper, chasing that impossible, delicious fullness. Oil makes it easier slick, obscene, every movement met with a filthy squelch, their bodies shining in the flickering candlelight.

She bites her lip, voice breaking. "More. Give me more..."

He groans, hips rising to meet her, burying himself to the hilt. She cries out, loud and shameless, head falling forward as she settles fully, cock stretching her in a way she's never known.

She starts to move slow at first, rolling her hips, grinding down, hands braced on his chest. The table creaks. Stefan's head falls back, eyes rolling, lost in the feeling of her gripping him, squeezing, riding with wild, desperate need.

He can barely breathe. "Minja... you feel... fuck, you feel perfect."

She laughs a ragged, joyous sound. "You're ruining me. I can't believe how deep you are. I want you to fill me up... want you to fuck me stupid..."

She rides him harder, faster bouncing on his cock, ass clapping against his hips, hands splayed on his chest for leverage. Every thrust is slick, wet, and needy, the room echoing with the sounds of skin on skin, their moans, the desperate, filthy praise they pour over each other.

"God, look at you taking all of me," Stefan grits, hands gripping her ass, guiding her up and down.

"Never had anything like this," she gasps. "I dreamed about you fucking me just like this couldn't stop... couldn't stop touching myself..."

She leans forward, breasts pressed to his chest, mouth at his ear. "You want to come inside me? Want to fill me up? You want me to milk your cock until you can't breathe?"

He groans, hips snapping up into her, cock straining against the too tight condom.

Condom Kink & Ruin

Suddenly there's a snap. A wet, stuttering pop, and the sensation changes, hotter, wetter, bare. Minja freezes, shuddering. Stefan's hands fly to her hips.

"Wait fuck the condom "

She feels it, half on, half off, ruined between them. She's already grinding down, desperate, too far gone to care.

"It broke," he groans, panic and need warring in his voice. "I'm sorry, Minja it was too tight "

She cuts him off, hips grinding down, eyes wild. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop. I need it I need you I need you to come inside me don't you fucking dare stop..."

She rides him, raw now, flesh on flesh, pussy fluttering around his bare cock, slick with oil and her own arousal. The pleasure spikes, sharp and dizzying her fantasy, his, now real and unstoppable.

She loses herself, slamming down, ass bouncing, riding him hard enough to make the table creak and groan. His hands grab her ass, squeezing, guiding, slapping, driving her down with every thrust.

Her voice is shameless, broken with want. "Yes yes harder fill me up, Stefan please, I need it so bad..."

He's lost, grunting, panting, eyes locked to where they're joined, cock glistening as it disappears inside her, reappears, disappears again. Oil and cum mixing, dripping down his balls, pooling under them.

He slaps her ass, hard, and she gasps, hips jerking. "Fuck do it again harder "

He obeys, hands rough now, worshipful, hungry, desperate. She leans back, riding him like a queen, sweat running down her chest, hair wild, mouth open in a constant moan.

He feels her tighten, pulse fluttering, body locking down on him. She's coming, hard, head thrown back, scream muffled by the back of her hand. He thrusts up, deeper, faster, chasing his own release.

"I'm gonna Minja, I'm gonna fuck "

She grinds down, locking him deep, pussy milking him, eyes wild and shining. "Come inside me. Fill me up please, Stefan, give it to me "

He lets go, hips jerking, cock pulsing as he spills inside her, thick jets flooding her, filling her so deep it's almost too much. She feels every twitch, every pulse, milks him for all he's worth, shaking and trembling as he unloads inside her.

Aftershock

She collapses onto his chest, both of them breathless, boneless, bodies still joined, cum leaking out around his cock, soaking his hips and thighs and the ruined towel beneath them.

She laughs, giddy, triumphant, fucked out and glowing. "Oh my god... it's so much better than I realized. My fantasy's finally fulfilled riding this big fat cock of yours..."

He laughs, kisses her shoulder, holds her tight. "I don't think I'll ever recover."

She stays on top of him, hips twitching every time his cock softens inside her, the aftershocks rolling through them both.

Oil and cum. Sweat and rain. Skin and skin. Everything messy, wild, perfect.

Neither of them wants to move.

Neither of them ever wants this to end.

****

The rain outside has softened to a whisper, barely audible over the sound of two bodies still tangled together on the massage table. Minja lies sprawled on top of Stefan, their skin slick with oil, sweat, and the aftermath of their wild, forbidden fuck. The room smells of sex and sandalwood, candlelight flickering across the walls like a private sunrise.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. They just breathe slow, shaky, sated.

Minja's cheek is pressed to his chest, ear catching the frantic stutter of his heart as it slowly calms. His arms wrap around her back, fingers tracing lazy, meaningless shapes into her spine.

She shifts her hips and feels him still inside her softening, but not yet gone. She moans softly, feeling his cum seeping out, warm and messy and real.

Stefan groans, voice a rough scrape of wonder. "I can feel it. Jesus, Minja... you took everything."

She laughs, nuzzling her nose against his chest. "I wanted all of it. Every last drop."

A pause, then her voice drops, vulnerable and shy. "I didn't want to stop. Even when the condom broke. I know I should've, but "

He cups her cheek, turning her face so she's looking right at him.

"Don't apologize. I've never wanted anything so much in my life. You this "

He trails off, a little lost.

She smiles soft, content, a little wild. "This was everything I imagined. Better."

They stay quiet, trading gentle touches, legs tangled, hearts wide open.

Eventually, the air in the room cools, and Minja rolls off him, groaning as she feels his cum trickle down her thighs. She glances down at the mess on the towel, then at the oil slicked disaster of the table. She laughs, shaking her head. "You've completely ruined my sheets."

He grins. "I'll buy you a new set. Maybe two. I owe you for the floor, too."

She wiggles her hips, teasing, "You owe me a lot more than sheets."

He pulls her close again, buries his face in her neck, kisses her just below her jaw. "You can have whatever you want."

She bites her lip, eyes searching his face. "I want you again. Not just here. Not just once."

Her voice is so honest, so raw, it makes his chest ache.

He brushes her hair back. "You've got me. Anytime you want."

There's a silence warm, brave, intimate. It hangs between them like a question neither quite dares to answer.

Minja speaks first. "What happens now? Is this... more than a mistake?"

Stefan shakes his head, smiling, thumb stroking her cheek. "If this is a mistake, it's my favorite one."

She laughs, then snuggles closer, her voice a soft, sleepy hum. "Next time, we use two condoms. Or none at all."

He laughs, too, rolling her over so she's on her back, his body heavy and warm beside her. "Next time, I'm not letting you out of bed. Or off the table. Or out of my mouth."

She flushes, eyes bright. "Is that a promise?"

"It's a threat," he teases, but his hand is gentle as it slides down her belly, fingers dipping between her legs to collect the mess still leaking from her.

She sighs, content, stretching under his touch. "You know, there's a shower down the hall. Big enough for two."

He raises a brow. "That sounds dangerously close to an invitation."

She grins. "It's an order. But if you think you can handle another round..."

He groans, cock twitching to life again, as she slips from the table and stands, naked, legs shaky, hair wild, cheeks still glowing. She offers her hand. "Let's see if your back can survive some more deep tissue."

He laughs, follows, and together they disappear into the steamy light of the bathroom, their laughter and hunger echoing down the hall.

Later, wrapped in a towel, Minja glances at the clock late, but not late enough.

"So..." Stefan says, a sly smile tugging at his lips, "does this mean I need to book a third session?"

She tosses her hair, smiling wickedly, every trace of her shyness gone. "No booking needed. Next time, just bring yourself and maybe a bigger box of condoms."

He kisses her, slow and deep, and the rain starts again outside, soft and endless.

Neither of them is in any rush to leave this room, or each other, anytime soon.

[END]