Addictive Japanese Massage - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
You are reading Addictive Japanese Massage, Chapter 2: Chapter 2. Read more chapters of Addictive Japanese Massage.
This was wrong. It was just a massage—even if it was a little different than usual.
And he was only working over the towel, right? Nothing inappropriate.
I repeated it in my head like a mantra, trying to convince myself.
"Madam, we'll begin the aromatherapy now," the masseur said, his voice smooth.
"Oh... right."
Before I could brace myself, the towel covering my back was gone. The sudden cool air made me shiver.
Then—warm oil spilled over my skin, followed by the firm press of his hands.
"Is this pressure okay?"
His palms glided down, slick and deliberate.
"Couldn't you... leave the towel on?" I mumbled, my face burning.
His chuckle made me instantly regret asking.
"Madam, the oils need direct contact to work properly."
My ears flamed. The oil made everything slippery—my skin, his hands.
Every stroke sent sparks through me. Being touched like this by a stranger for the first time was overwhelming. I bit the towel beneath me, stifling any sound.
Then he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.
"Relax," he murmured, voice low. "You're too tense."
"I—I'm not used to this," I admitted, my voice shaky. Who wouldn't be nervous?
And the way he spoke—so intimate, like we were sharing a secret—made it feel wrong. Like I was betraying my husband just by lying here.
The shame coiled tighter in the dim, quiet room.
The oil heated under his touch, spreading warmth through my body.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give in.
But his hands were good. Too good.
Heat pooled low in my stomach, my pulse quickening.
I was married. I shouldn't be reacting like this.
This was a betrayal.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my face on fire.
Then—a sound.
A soft, unmistakable moan.
My heart lurched.
It was coming from behind the divider.
My husband. We'd come here together.
"Madam," the masseur murmured near my ear, amused, "your husband seems to be enjoying himself next door." His fingers pressed deeper. "No need to hold back. Just let go."
Irritation flickered—of course he wasn't holding back—but my resolve wavered.
Maybe... this was normal?
My thoughts shattered as his hands slid lower, until I couldn't stop the quiet gasp that escaped me—just like my husband's.
Because his palms had reached the dip of my lower back...
And he was only working over the towel, right? Nothing inappropriate.
I repeated it in my head like a mantra, trying to convince myself.
"Madam, we'll begin the aromatherapy now," the masseur said, his voice smooth.
"Oh... right."
Before I could brace myself, the towel covering my back was gone. The sudden cool air made me shiver.
Then—warm oil spilled over my skin, followed by the firm press of his hands.
"Is this pressure okay?"
His palms glided down, slick and deliberate.
"Couldn't you... leave the towel on?" I mumbled, my face burning.
His chuckle made me instantly regret asking.
"Madam, the oils need direct contact to work properly."
My ears flamed. The oil made everything slippery—my skin, his hands.
Every stroke sent sparks through me. Being touched like this by a stranger for the first time was overwhelming. I bit the towel beneath me, stifling any sound.
Then he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.
"Relax," he murmured, voice low. "You're too tense."
"I—I'm not used to this," I admitted, my voice shaky. Who wouldn't be nervous?
And the way he spoke—so intimate, like we were sharing a secret—made it feel wrong. Like I was betraying my husband just by lying here.
The shame coiled tighter in the dim, quiet room.
The oil heated under his touch, spreading warmth through my body.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give in.
But his hands were good. Too good.
Heat pooled low in my stomach, my pulse quickening.
I was married. I shouldn't be reacting like this.
This was a betrayal.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my face on fire.
Then—a sound.
A soft, unmistakable moan.
My heart lurched.
It was coming from behind the divider.
My husband. We'd come here together.
"Madam," the masseur murmured near my ear, amused, "your husband seems to be enjoying himself next door." His fingers pressed deeper. "No need to hold back. Just let go."
Irritation flickered—of course he wasn't holding back—but my resolve wavered.
Maybe... this was normal?
My thoughts shattered as his hands slid lower, until I couldn't stop the quiet gasp that escaped me—just like my husband's.
Because his palms had reached the dip of my lower back...
End of Addictive Japanese Massage Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to Addictive Japanese Massage book page.