The Last Release

The massage table creaked under me as Lena pressed her thumbs into the knot between my shoulder blades. The studio smelled of eucalyptus and clean sheets, dim amber light from a single lamp. I was supposed to be relaxing, but every time her fingers slid down my spine, my cock twitched against the towel.

"You're holding tension everywhere, Marcus," she said, her voice low and professional. "Breathe."

"I'm trying." I turned my head on the face cradle, watching her move. She was thirty-two, maybe, with a tight ponytail and strong arms that looked like they could lift me off this table. Her tank top clung to the sweat on her chest.

She worked lower, palms flat on my glutes, pressing deep. I couldn't help the groan that escaped.

"Problem?" she asked, but there was a tease in her voice now.

"Just... sensitive."

Lena laughed softly. "I've been doing this for eight years. I know when a client is enjoying my work a little too much."

I lifted my head. "And?"

She stopped. Straightened. Her eyes met mine in the dim light. "And sometimes I enjoy it too."

The towel did nothing to hide me now. She stepped closer, her thighs brushing the table edge. Her hand found my shoulder, then slid down my chest, over my stomach, until her fingers grazed the tip of my cock through the thin cotton.

"Fuck," I whispered.

"Shh." She pulled the towel away. "We have to be quiet. Thin walls."

Her grip was firm, deliberate. She stroked me slowly, watching my face, my mouth. I reached for her, pulled her tank top down. Her breasts were full, nipples hard against my palm.

"Not yet," she said, pushing my hand away. "Lie back."

I obeyed. She climbed onto the table, straddling my hips, her yoga shorts already wet at the crotch. She guided me to her entrance and sank down in one slow, wet motion. My hands flew to her hips.

"God, Lena..."

"Quiet," she hissed, but her eyes rolled back as she started to move. Her pace was maddening — slow grinds, circular, each one making her gasp. I watched her face twist, her mouth falling open, eyes unfocused.

"That's it," I groaned. "Let go."

She bit her lip, but a moan slipped out. Her rhythm broke, turned frantic. I sat up, wrapped my arms around her, and drove into her from below. Her nails dug into my shoulders.

"I'm gonna—" she started.

—Ven para mí.

Her body locked up. Her eyes went wide, then rolled so far back I saw only white. Her mouth dropped open, tongue slack, face completely lost — pure ahegao, undone and shameless. She convulsed around me, a long, shuddering cry swallowed against my neck.

I held her through it, my own release building. She whispered, "Inside. Now."

I flipped her onto her back, pinned her legs up, and fucked her deep and fast until I came with a grunt that shook the table. She watched me through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile on her lips.

Silence. Just our breathing and the hum of the lamp.

—¿La misma hora la próxima semana? —susurró.