Heavy Hands

I knew I shouldn't be here. That thought ran through my head on a loop as I sat in the waiting room of "Serenity Touch Massage Studio," the faint smell of lavender and sandalwood wrapping around me like a lie. My wife thought I was at a late meeting. But when I'd seen Lena's name pop up on my phone that afternoon—"Hey, I'm working at a new place. You should come by"—I'd answered before my brain could catch up.

Lena was my neighbor. Married. Two kids. We'd waved at each other over fences for three years, exchanged awkward hellos at block parties. But something had shifted last summer, when I'd seen her in a bikini at the community pool. She wasn't thin. She was round and soft and ripe, with thick thighs that made my mouth dry and a belly that curved gently over the waistband of her suit. I couldn't stop staring. She caught me. She smiled.

That smile haunted me.

"Mark?" Her voice came from the doorway, low and warm. "You coming in or you gonna sit there all night?"

I stood up, my heart hammering. She wore a loose black tank top and yoga pants that hugged every curve. Her dark hair was pulled back, a few strands loose around her full face. She was beautiful in a way that made me feel like a teenager again.

"Hey, Lena." My voice cracked. Fuck.

She led me down a narrow hallway into a dim room with a massage table in the center. Candles flickered on a shelf. Soft music played—something with a slow, breathy beat.

"So." She closed the door behind us and leaned against it, crossing her arms under her breasts. "You actually came."

"¿Creías que no lo haría?"

"I hoped you would." She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her—coconut and sweat and something floral. "I've been thinking about you, Mark. A lot."

My hands were shaking. "Lena, we're both married."

"I know." She reached out and placed her palm flat against my chest. Her fingers were warm. "But I don't care. Do you?"

I should have said yes. Should have walked out. But instead I said, "No."

She smiled again, that slow, knowing smile, and pushed me gently backward until my legs hit the massage table. "Lie down. On your stomach."

I did. The leather was cold through my shirt. She straddled the table, settling her weight on my lower back, and I felt the heat of her through the thin fabric. Her hands found my shoulders and began to work, firm and sure, digging into the knots I didn't know I had.

"You're tense," she murmured, her mouth close to my ear.

"I wonder why."

She laughed, a soft, breathy sound. "Shut up and let me take care of you."

Her hands slid down my back, pushing my shirt up as she went. When she reached the waistband of my jeans, she paused, then tugged the fabric down just enough to expose the top of my ass. Her fingers traced the line of my spine, slow and deliberate.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," she said. "Watching you mow the lawn in those shorts. Seeing you at the pool last summer."

"I remember," I said, my voice muffled against the table.

"Good." Her hand slid lower, slipping under the waistband of my boxers. "Because I've been imagining this for months. What it would feel like to have you under me."

Her fingers found my ass, squeezing gently, and I groaned. She was soft and warm, pressing against me, and I could feel the weight of her body, the curve of her belly against my back. She wasn't thin. She was real. And that made it so much hotter.

"Roll over," she whispered.

I turned onto my back. She stayed on top of me, her thighs straddling my hips, her hands braced on my chest. The tank top had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the edge of a black lace bra. Her hair had come loose, falling around her face in dark waves.

"You're so beautiful," I said.

She snorted. "I'm fat, Mark. You can say it."

"I said beautiful."

Her eyes softened. She leaned down and kissed me, slow and deep, her lips full and warm. Her tongue slid against mine, tasting like mint and wine. I ran my hands up her sides, over the curve of her hips, the soft give of her belly. She moaned into my mouth and ground against me, and I felt the heat of her cunt through both our clothes.

"I want you inside me," she breathed, pulling back just enough to look at me. "Right now."

I didn't answer. I just reached down and tugged at the waistband of her yoga pants. She lifted her hips, letting me pull them down, along with her panties—black lace, soaked through. She was bare underneath, her pussy lips dark and slick, and I could smell her, musky and sweet.

"Fuck, Lena."

"Like what you see?" She was smiling, but her voice was shaky.

I sat up, wrapping my arms around her, and kissed her again. My hands found her ass, full and round, and I squeezed, pulling her tighter against me. She gasped and reached down, fumbling with my belt, my jeans. I helped her, kicking them off along with my boxers. My cock sprang free, hard and aching.

She wrapped her hand around it, stroking slowly. "God, you're big."

"Shut up and get on top of me."

She laughed, that breathy sound again, and positioned herself over me. I felt the head of my cock press against her wetness, her lips parting, and then she sank down, inch by inch, taking me inside her.

We both moaned. She was so tight, so wet, her walls gripping me like she'd been waiting for this as long as I had. She started to move, a slow, rolling rhythm, her hands braced on my chest. The candles flickered, casting shadows across her body, and I watched her—the way her breasts bounced, the way her belly moved, the way her head fell back as she rode me.

"You feel so good," she whispered, her voice breaking. "So fucking good."

I grabbed her hips, guiding her pace, and she leaned forward, pressing her breasts against my face. I took one in my mouth through the lace of her bra, sucking hard, and she cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Harder," she gasped. "Fuck me harder."

I flipped her onto her back, pushing her legs up, and drove into her. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I watched her face—eyes closed, mouth open, cheeks flushed. She was lost in it, just like I was.

"Come for me," I said, my voice rough. "I want to feel you come."

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body arching, her cunt clenching around me. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound, and I followed, burying my face in her neck as I came inside her, hot and deep.

For a long moment, we just lay there, panting, tangled together. Then she started to laugh.

"What?" I asked, lifting my head.

"Nothing." She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Just... that was worth the wait."

I kissed her forehead. "Yeah. It was."

She shifted, wincing as I slipped out of her, and grabbed a towel from the shelf. "You should go. Before someone notices."

"I know."

I got dressed, my hands still trembling. At the door, she caught my arm and pulled me into one last kiss.

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

I didn't answer. I just smiled, and walked out into the night, knowing I'd be back.