The Masseur’s Forbidden Touch - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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A sudden realization hit me like a lightning bolt.
So this was the "stimulation" Alina had hinted at.
I hesitated for just a heartbeat—then curiosity and desire took over. Biting my lower lip, I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
The female masseuse smiled warmly, guiding me onto the massage table before draping a whisper-thin towel over my body.
"Perfect, Ms. Hartley. Another specialist will take over from here."
With that, she gathered her things and slipped out silently.
Moments later, the door creaked open again.
"Good evening, Ms. Hartley. I'm Technician Seven, and I'll be assisting you tonight."
My entire body went rigid.
A man?
I was lying there with nothing but that flimsy towel between me and—
But he must have sensed my tension. His voice was smooth, reassuring, just like his colleague's.
"Ms. Hartley, please don't be nervous. We're fully trained professionals—your comfort comes first. My colleague has already applied the essential oils. To help them absorb properly, we'll need to engage in some... gentle movement to increase circulation and open your pores. It'll maximize the treatment's effects."
Movement.
My mind spun. What kind of movement exactly?
My throat went dry. I squeezed my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at this broad-shouldered stranger.
He let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Ms. Hartley, this service requires your explicit consent. I'll need you to sign a waiver."
He handed me a medical report.
"For your peace of mind—all our technicians undergo weekly health screenings. This is my latest report. Please review it before signing."
Clutching the towel, I sat up and scanned the document. Spotless. Impeccable. Clean.
Half my anxiety evaporated on the spot.
I scribbled my signature and flopped back down, my cheeks burning.
"Ready, Ms. Hartley?" he asked.
I nodded, pulse racing.
He lifted the towel with practiced ease, and I heard a low, appreciative hum.
"Ms. Hartley... you have a stunning figure."
The compliment from a man who was clearly younger than me sent a flush of heat through me.
"Oh, I—I'm nothing special. There's some extra—"
A sudden touch cut me off. "Ah!"
My body melted involuntarily as his calloused fingertips worked with surprising skill.
"Just breathe, Ms. Hartley. Next, I'll be using a special blend. Completely safe."
I tensed again.
Maybe it was the long stretch of loneliness, but a traitorous thrill shot through me.
He smoothed a pale pink oil between his fingers. "Ms. Hartley, I'll begin application now."
His tone was so clinical, so detached, that I shut my eyes without thinking.
"Your skin's warming up nicely... open pores mean better absorption..."
His voice—deep, velvety—wrapped around me like a spell.
By the time I snapped out of it, he was gone.
I shifted slightly—then froze.
That technician... he had actually...
So this was the "stimulation" Alina had hinted at.
I hesitated for just a heartbeat—then curiosity and desire took over. Biting my lower lip, I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
The female masseuse smiled warmly, guiding me onto the massage table before draping a whisper-thin towel over my body.
"Perfect, Ms. Hartley. Another specialist will take over from here."
With that, she gathered her things and slipped out silently.
Moments later, the door creaked open again.
"Good evening, Ms. Hartley. I'm Technician Seven, and I'll be assisting you tonight."
My entire body went rigid.
A man?
I was lying there with nothing but that flimsy towel between me and—
But he must have sensed my tension. His voice was smooth, reassuring, just like his colleague's.
"Ms. Hartley, please don't be nervous. We're fully trained professionals—your comfort comes first. My colleague has already applied the essential oils. To help them absorb properly, we'll need to engage in some... gentle movement to increase circulation and open your pores. It'll maximize the treatment's effects."
Movement.
My mind spun. What kind of movement exactly?
My throat went dry. I squeezed my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at this broad-shouldered stranger.
He let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Ms. Hartley, this service requires your explicit consent. I'll need you to sign a waiver."
He handed me a medical report.
"For your peace of mind—all our technicians undergo weekly health screenings. This is my latest report. Please review it before signing."
Clutching the towel, I sat up and scanned the document. Spotless. Impeccable. Clean.
Half my anxiety evaporated on the spot.
I scribbled my signature and flopped back down, my cheeks burning.
"Ready, Ms. Hartley?" he asked.
I nodded, pulse racing.
He lifted the towel with practiced ease, and I heard a low, appreciative hum.
"Ms. Hartley... you have a stunning figure."
The compliment from a man who was clearly younger than me sent a flush of heat through me.
"Oh, I—I'm nothing special. There's some extra—"
A sudden touch cut me off. "Ah!"
My body melted involuntarily as his calloused fingertips worked with surprising skill.
"Just breathe, Ms. Hartley. Next, I'll be using a special blend. Completely safe."
I tensed again.
Maybe it was the long stretch of loneliness, but a traitorous thrill shot through me.
He smoothed a pale pink oil between his fingers. "Ms. Hartley, I'll begin application now."
His tone was so clinical, so detached, that I shut my eyes without thinking.
"Your skin's warming up nicely... open pores mean better absorption..."
His voice—deep, velvety—wrapped around me like a spell.
By the time I snapped out of it, he was gone.
I shifted slightly—then froze.
That technician... he had actually...
End of The Masseur’s Forbidden Touch Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Masseur’s Forbidden Touch book page.