The Russian Masseuse

Ayumi straightened the table, wiping down every inch while the room sat quiet. Serena walked in, mid-sentence, complaining that her regular girl wasn’t here. Ayumi killed the chatter with a blunt string of Russian. One glance said she didn’t speak English. She yanked her own shirt up, then reached straight for Serena’s bra clasp. Serena’s hands flew up too late; the strap popped open and the bra hit the floor. Panties followed, snapped off and flung into the corner. Ayumi jerked her chin toward the table. Naked and trembling, Serena crawled onto it and told herself to shut up. Oil hit her skin. Ayumi’s palms slid hard over her back, then down to the cheeks of her ass, fingers working the flesh in slow circles. Serena kept babbling, voice shaking, until those hands slid between her legs and stopped talking for her. Thighs pushed wider, oil-slick fingers zeroed in on her clit and rubbed without pause. Serena’s breath caught, broke into a low moan. Words died mid-syllable. The orgasm ripped through her fast and raw, hips jerking against the table. She decided then she’d book Ayumi from now on. The rest of the massage blurred into a blur of fingers and oil until every tight muscle went slack and her body felt wrecked in the best way.