I was a successful lawyer. Confident. Sharp. Always in control.

But not today.

Today, I felt old. Tired. Worn down and stressed in a way that wasn’t just physical but bone-deep. My entire existence felt like one never-ending list of obligations, and my neck and back had become a permanent knot of tension.

That’s why I had Sara at Body & Soul. This place was my refuge, my one indulgence—the only place where I could exhale, even if just for an hour.

So when I walked in, expecting Sara’s expert hands to undo the damage of too many late nights and too much stress, and instead found the receptionist’s carefully composed "Don’t be mad" smile, I braced myself.

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m so sorry. Sara had car trouble—she’s stuck on the side of the road.”

I exhaled, already reaching for my purse. “I’ll reschedule.”

The receptionist hesitated. “We have Molly available today. She’s wonderful.”

I was about to politely decline when a new voice slipped into the conversation—smooth, easy, laced with quiet confidence.

“Sara called me and asked me to cover for her.”

I turned, and there she was, Molly.

Molly stood in the doorway, leaning, arms loose, her body relaxed. Dark hair twisted into a messy bun, a few strands falling free. She was cute, slender but toned. My gaze swept over her before I caught myself. Why was I checking her out?

I pushed the thought aside, but there was something about her—something that made it hard not to look.

She looked young. Too young, late twenties, if that.

“Sara mentioned you’d be tough to convince,” Molly said, stepping forward, her tone teasing but professional.

I arched a brow. “Oh? And what did you say?”

A slow smile curved her lips, playful, almost seductive. “I said I’d win you over.”

I let out a short laugh. “Confident.”

She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Just good at what I do.”

I gave her a skeptical look. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, young lady.”

Molly’s smile widened. “Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” she said, deliberately slow like she was tempting me.

Something about how she said it sent a flicker of intrigue through me.

I sighed. “Call me Diane.”

Her smile deepened before she turned and extended a hand toward the hallway. “Well then, Diane,” Molly said, her voice soft but sure. “Shall we?”

I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck. I needed this massage. I sighed. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Molly’s grin deepened as she reached for my arm, her fingers grazing my skin in a light but deliberate touch.

“Trust me,” Molly murmured as we walked, her voice dipping just enough to make my pulse flicker. “You won’t be disappointed.”

She led me down the dimly lit hallway, her stride effortless, her fingers lightly brushing my arm. Inside the treatment room, soft, low, rhythmic music played. The scent of eucalyptus and lavender filled the space, warm and calming.

Molly moved efficiently, adjusting the table and smoothing the sheets with long, practiced strokes.

“I’ll let you get settled,” she said, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Undress to whatever level you’re comfortable.”

She turned to leave, then hesitated, casting one last look in my direction.

“But,” she added, her voice teasing, just shy of suggestive, “naked is always best.”

I blinked. Then let out a surprised laugh. “Is it?”

She only smiled, slow and easy. “I promise—you’re in excellent hands.” And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stood there, still feeling the weight of her words hanging in the air. I always left my underwear on for my massages. But today? Today, I thought, let’s make it different.

I slipped them off, the cool air kissing my bare skin as I slid under the warm covers onto my stomach.

The door clicked open, and Molly was back, moving with that same quiet confidence. I kept my eyes closed but felt her presence.

“So, Diane…” Her voice was soft, almost hypnotic. “What hurts?”

I sighed. “Neck. Shoulders. Back. Everything.”

Molly hummed, circling the table. “Stress. Tension. Maybe a little neglect.” Her tone was playful but caring.

I huffed. “Yes, all of the above.”

She grinned. “Deep tissue or something… softer?”

“Whatever you think is best,” I murmured.

Molly smirked. “Ok, great, let’s get to work.”

She moved closer and settled in. Then—warm hands. Firm, slow, deliberate. She started at my scalp, fingers pressing in lazy, rhythmic circles.

Her hands moved lower, smoothing my neck, finding knots and undoing them with her strong fingers.

“You are so tight, Diane,” Molly said softly.

I exhaled. “Occupational hazard.”

Molly’s fingers pressed deeper, hitting the right tight spot on my neck, coaxing a quiet groan from my throat. There was something about Molly —her touch, her voice, the way she moved so effortlessly.

Her hands stilled, just for a moment. “Diane,” she whispered. “Close your eyes… and relax.”

And for the first time in a long time, I did.

Molly’s hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, her touch firm yet impossibly smooth as she worked the tension from my body. She started at the base of my skull, her thumbs pressing deep, kneading slow circles into my neck. A soft sigh slipped from my lips as I melted beneath her touch, my muscles yielding, the stress unravelling with every pass of her hands.

She traced down my neck, gliding over my shoulders, pressing just the right amount, her fingers rolling over my muscles precisely. Each movement sent warmth flooding through me, my body softening under her hands. She worked her way down my arms, her fingers tracing my triceps, then smoothing over my forearms before massaging my palms in slow, hypnotic circles.

At first, it was just relaxation—the pleasure of dissolving tension. But as Molly's hands kept moving, as she pressed deeper, smoothing over my shoulders and back, something else stirred inside me. My breath caught, my skin tingling, hypersensitive beneath her touch.

The more she touched me, the more my body reacted, warmth pooling between my thighs, a slow, pulsing ache building inside me. My pussy tingled, and before I could stop it, I felt it—I was getting wet.

A wave of shock rolled through me. My body stiffened slightly, my mind scrambling to make sense of it. This was just a massage. So why was my body betraying me like this?

Molly’s hands never faltered, gliding over me with the same smooth control as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. I was getting aroused as this young woman massaged me. And worst of all? I didn’t want her to stop.

It was the perfect timing—Molly had finished with my upper body. She pulled the blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders. It gave me a fleeting chance to catch my breath, to compose myself.

Molly then carefully moved the blankets exposing my legs. She lightly ran her hands down my thighs and calves to my feet.

The first press of her thumbs into my arches sent a slow, pulsing heat through me. I had no control over it—no way to stop the way my body responded. She worked deliberately, kneading, coaxing the stress out of my body.

By the time she reached my calves, my breathing had turned shallow. She smoothed her palms up my legs, firm and teasing, her thumbs skimming the sensitive skin behind my knees. A sharp pulse of pleasure shot through me, unexpected and hot.

Then she reached my thighs. Her hands splayed wide, her thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, sliding up slowly, deliberately. My body tightened, and a deep ache grew inside me, warmth pooling low, my thighs instinctively shifting apart before I forced them still.

I fought the sensation and tried to block it from my mind, but it was impossible. Every touch, every lingering press of Molly’s fingers, only made it worse, making me more aware of how badly I wanted her to go further.

And then—Molly reached the curve of my butt. A slow, deep press of her thumbs sent a jolt of pleasure rocketing through me. My hips pressed into the table, a reflex I couldn’t stop, a silent plea I didn’t dare voice.

Molly did it again—another slow, knowing stroke, her fingers pressing deep, her touch deliberate. My nipples hardened against the table, my thighs trembling.

I’d had massages before—countless ones. But never like this. Never where my pussy throbbed, wet and aching, desperate for more.

Molly had never touched me intimately—yet her touch was driving me insane. She had to know. She had to feel the way my breath grew unsteady, the way I tensed beneath her hands; I squirmed with every rub.

Her hands skimmed higher, her fingers grazing the tender skin of my inner thighs, her thumbs pressing dangerously close to where I ached for more.

She must have sensed how my body tensed and I struggled to hold myself back.

“Breathe, Diane,” she murmured, her voice low, soothing—but there was something else beneath it, something intimate.

I exhaled, but it was shaky, unsteady. This was just a massage, l I kept reminding myself.

So why did it feel like so much more?

“Diane, you’re very tight here. Do you mind if I massage your glutes?” she softly whispered.

For a second, I hesitated. I knew what Molly was asking, but hearing the words out loud sent a slow pulse of heat rising deep in my belly.

She wanted to massage my ass. And somehow, the thought of it—of her hands on me like that—turned me on more than I wanted to admit.

I swallowed, my breath unsteady. “Okay,” I whispered.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Molly didn’t just slip her hands beneath the sheet—she lifted it completely, folding it away and tucking it under me. Cool air brushed over my bare skin, and I knew she could see my wet pussy, fully exposed beneath her hands. But instead of embarrassment, I felt something else, something thrilling.

The realization sent another wave of arousal rolling through me; my skin flushed, and my breath came faster.

What was happening to me?

Her hands returned warm and firm, moulding to the curves of my ass, kneading slow, purposeful strokes that sent ripples of sensation through me. Every press, every glide, every deliberate motion carried heat deeper and lower until my swollen clit brushed against the fabric of the sheet bunched beneath me.

The friction was light at first, barely there—a teasing whisper of sensation. But as Molly’s hands pressed harder, as her thumbs pressed deeper into the firm muscle, my hips shifted instinctively, chasing more, needing more.

And then Molly spoke again, her voice soft, coaxing.

“Relax and let yourself go,” she said as if to urge me on.

The words sent a shiver through me. Without thinking, I parted my legs just slightly, just enough.

Enough for her hands to go deeper. Enough for the pressure to intensify. Her hands rubbed between the cheeks of my ass. My pussy vibrated with every stroke.

Molly never crossed the line. She never touched me inappropriately. Every stroke, every motion was part of the massage. And yet, my body betrayed me completely. I was so turned on.

I could feel the wetness pooling between my thighs, the deep ache inside me growing unbearable. Every pass of her hands made it worse, made me more aware of how desperate I felt and how much I wanted something I shouldn’t.

I bit my lip, trying to steady my breath, trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs.

Molly’s hands moved in steady, controlled strokes, gliding over my ass, kneading deep into the muscle. The pressure was perfect—firm, slow, relentless—each motion sending vibrations rolling through me, rippling lower, sinking into my core.

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself.

I tried to fight it. I fought to ignore the way my body reacted, the way heat curled deep inside me, the way every pass of her hands made my thighs tremble. My clit throbbed, swollen and needy, a dull ache that only seemed to grow stronger the more I resisted.

Without thinking, I spread my legs slightly, pressing my hips into the sheet beneath me. The friction of the blanket as I pressed down was light at first, just a teasing whisper against my clit. But then Molly’s hands pressed deeper, rolling over the soft curves of my ass, and my hips shifted instinctively, grinding down.

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot through me.

“Oh god. No. I can’t,” I thought to myself. Unfortunately, I was already too far gone.

The slow, unrelenting pressure of Molly’s hands, combined with the friction beneath me on my clit was driving me insane. The pleasure built steadily, an unbearable ache spreading between my thighs, growing tighter and tighter, winding me up until I was trembling beneath her touch.

“Oh God, I’m going to cum,” my mind screamed silently.

My legs spread wider. I knew Molly could see—see how slick I was, how swollen and wet my pussy had become, how I was unravelling under her touch. But I was past the point of caring.

I clenched my jaw, barely suppressing the moan rising in my throat. My body tensed, my stomach tightening, my thighs quivering as the first wave of my orgasm slammed into me.

Molly didn’t stop. Her hands moved with purpose, and my ass rocked in time with her rhythm, every stroke dragging a breathy moan from my throat. I couldn’t control it—my body was on fire, hips grinding helplessly against the table, chasing every wave of pleasure.

The orgasm hit like a freight train—violent, consuming, electric. I cried out, biting my lip too late to muffle the scream tearing from my throat. My pussy clenched hard around nothing, pulsing and spasming as the pleasure ripped through me, relentless. My hips kept moving, chasing every last jolt and flicker of that blinding high. I was soaked—dripping onto the sheet beneath me—and I didn’t care.

My body betrayed me completely, writhing under her touch, surrendering to the overwhelming need I didn’t even know I’d been holding.

I felt raw. Exposed. And so fucking good I wanted to cry.

Eventually, Molly’s touch softened. Her strokes slowed, easing me back from the edge, grounding me again. My breathing was ragged and uneven. I was trembling. My thighs were wet, my skin still flushed with heat. I could feel my pussy twitching with aftershocks, still sensitive, still greedy for more.

And then the weight of what had just happened came crashing in.

Oh my God. Had I really just… cum? That hard? From her hands?

My face burned with embarrassment. Shame tangled with satisfaction in my chest, a strange, dangerous mix. My mind was reeling, but my body was still buzzing and still wanting.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice small, wrecked.

Molly paused, just for a second. Then, like nothing had happened, she continued—gentle, calm, in control. Her hands never left me.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Diane.”

She let the words settle, then added with a smile in her voice—teasing and reassuring.

“I’m glad you… relaxed.”

A tremor ran through me. Relaxed? She knew exactly what she’d done to me.

Molly moved with quiet confidence, lifting the sheet and covering me slowly, her hands brushing over my body like silk. I could still feel her, everywhere. Her touch lingered—across my back, down my arms, and over my shoulders. Gentle. Steady. Like she was comforting me.

Then she slipped her fingers into my hair, rubbing slow, hypnotic circles into my scalp. I melted. A sigh escaped my lips, and I didn’t even try to hold it back. I felt wrecked, relaxed, completely undone.

Her voice came soft, composed. “That’s our time for today, Diane.”

I wanted to say something. Ask her what the hell that was. Thank her. Beg her to touch me again. But my lips parted and nothing came out.

She gave the sheet one final, soothing tug, then stepped back. “Take your time. I’ll meet you out front.” And with a soft click, she was gone.

I lay there, still trembling, my pussy soaked, skin tingling in all the places her hands had claimed.

And I laughed to myself. A soft, disbelieving giggle. I had just orgasmed. On a massage table. By a woman’s hands.

I’d never even considered being with a woman before. But now? Now all I could think was—I needed to feel that again.