5
Vespera poured a little more oil into her palms and rubbed them together.
“I’m going to start with your head and face,” she said. “A lot of tension lives up here too.”
Chloe nodded, not trusting her voice. She kept her eyes open for a moment longer, watching Vespera’s face, then let them fall closed as warm, slick hands settled gently along the sides of her skull.
The first slow circles of Vespera’s fingertips against her scalp pulled a quiet breath from her.
The pressure was different here—lighter, more careful, but still deliberate.
Thumbs stroked along her hairline, then down toward her temples.
Chloe felt the last of the outside world slip further away.
Every slow drag of those fingers seemed to sink straight into her nervous system.
Vespera’s hands moved to her face.
Oiled thumbs traced the arches of her cheekbones, then swept down along the soft line of her jaw.
The touch was almost tender. Chloe’s lips parted without her meaning them to.
When Vespera’s fingertips brushed the sensitive skin just in front of her ears and then slid down the sides of her neck, a small shiver ran through her.
It felt startlingly intimate. More intimate, somehow, than the deeper work on her back and ass. Lying on her back, face fully available, she couldn’t hide inside the cradle anymore. She was being looked at while she was being touched.
Vespera worked in silence for a while, thumbs stroking along the tendons of Chloe’s neck, fingers spreading oil across her collarbones.
Each pass left a trail of heat. Chloe could feel her own pulse under those fingertips.
She was still wet—embarrassingly so—and every shift of her hips against the table reminded her of it.
The sheet clung to the dampness between her legs.
She wondered again if Vespera knew. The thought made her cheeks burn hotter.
The hands moved lower.
Slow, firm strokes across the tops of her shoulders, then down along the upper chest, stopping just short of the sheet’s edge.
Vespera’s palms were broad and warm. When she leaned in slightly to get better leverage, Chloe caught the faint scent of her skin beneath the orange-blossom oil—clean, warm, a little spicy.
Chloe’s breathing had gone shallow again.
She tried to deepen it and failed. Every stroke that came close to the upper curves of her breasts sent a fresh pulse of heat between her thighs.
She kept her arms at her sides like she’d been told, fingers lightly curled against the sheet, fighting the urge to arch up into the next touch.
Vespera’s hands slowed. The next stroke started at the base of Chloe’s throat and glided down the center of her chest, stopping only when her fingertips brushed the very top edge of the sheet where it lay across the swell of Chloe’s breasts.
She didn’t move them away immediately.
Chloe’s eyes opened. Vespera was looking down at her, expression still carefully controlled, but the flush along her cheekbones had deepened. Her gaze flicked once to where her own fingers rested against the edge of the fabric, then back to Chloe’s face.
The air between them felt charged, heavy, waiting.
Vespera’s voice, when it came, was lower than before.
“I’m going to work your chest and pectoral muscles next,” she said, still sounding measured, professional. “A lot of tension sits here, especially if you carry stress in your shoulders. Are you comfortable with that?”
She paused, hands resting lightly at the upper edge of the fabric, not moving it yet.
“Uhm,” Chloe’s pulse picked up. “Yeah, of course.”
“I can keep you covered if you prefer. Or I can fold the sheet down for less obstruction. Your call.”
Chloe’s heart was beating hard enough that she was sure Vespera could see it. The question hung between them, framed as thoroughness. Being asked so directly made the choice feel heavier, more deliberate. Chloe wished Vespera just did it.
She swallowed. “I mean… Whatever is best for the massage and uhm… less obstruction.”
Chloe’s answer hung in the air for a second. She could feel her cheeks burning a hot red.
Vespera gave a small nod.
“Great.”
She took the top edge of the sheet between her fingers and folded it down in one smooth motion, baring Chloe from the waist up.
Cool air touched her breasts. Oh god. Her nipples tightened almost immediately.
Chloe felt completely exposed in a way that went beyond simple nakedness—lying on her back, arms at her sides, everything visible under the low golden light.
It’s just a massage. It’s just a massage, she repeated in her mind like a mantra.
Vespera’s gaze moved over her once, quick but thorough, before she reached for the oil again.
When her hands returned they were warm and slick.
She started at the center of Chloe’s chest, just below the hollow of her throat, and began working outward with firm, circular pressure along the pectoral muscles.
The first real contact with the soft outer curves of Chloe’s breasts made her breath catch.
Vespera kept her touch firm, her thumbs pressing into the muscle beneath the soft tissue, palms gliding over the full weight of her breasts as she worked.
Each stroke lifted and spread them slightly before releasing.
Oil made everything gleam. Chloe could feel the exact path of every finger, the way the pressure sank deep and then eased, only to return.
It felt indecently good.
She closed her eyes tight and tried to keep her breathing even. It was getting harder. Every slow pass of those strong hands sent another pulse of heat straight between her legs. The sheet still covering her hips felt useless.
Vespera shifted her stance, moving to the side of the table so she could work more directly.
Her hands cupped the outer curves of Chloe’s breasts now, fingers spreading as she kneaded the muscle underneath with deep, rolling pressure.
The motion made Chloe’s breasts move in her palms.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped before she could stop it.
“Ahh…”
Vespera’s hands slowed, but didn’t stop.
“You’re very responsive here,” she said quietly. “A lot of women hold tension through the chest without realizing. Once it starts to release…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Her thumbs swept upward along the undersides of Chloe’s breasts, then over the soft slopes, coming close enough to the nipples that Chloe’s stomach clenched.
She kept her hands at her sides by sheer force of will, fingers curled tight into the sheet, fighting the growing urge to push up into the next stroke.
Vespera’s hands kept working, slower now, more thorough. The strokes that had started as firm work on the pectoral muscles gradually shifted until she was simply holding the soft weight of Chloe’s breasts in her oiled palms, thumbs sweeping in long, deliberate arcs across the full curves.
Chloe’s had to hold her breath. Her nipples were tight, visibly hard under the warm light. Every slow pass of those thumbs sent a fresh rush of slick arousal between her legs. She could feel how soaked the sheet beneath her was becoming. There was no hiding it anymore.
Vespera noticed. She had to. Her gaze dropped for a moment to the stiff peaks of Chloe’s nipples, then lower, to the way Chloe’s hips had begun making tiny, restless movements against the table.
A faint flush had spread across Vespera’s own cheekbones.
Her hands flexed once around the soft flesh they held, as if she were steadying herself.
When she spoke, her voice was carefully even, but lower than before.
“There’s actual benefit to working the breast tissue itself,” she said quietly. “Circulation, lymphatic drainage... A lot of people never get that kind of touch. It can be… really effective.”
She paused, thumbs still moving in slow circles just beneath Chloe’s nipples.
“If you’re comfortable, I can go more thoroughly here. Properly.”
Chloe’s mouth was dry. She knew what she was agreeing to—knew the difference between a clinical pass over the chest and what Vespera was offering now.
She also knew she was too far gone to pretend she didn’t want it.
The ache between her legs had become a steady, heavy throb.
Every brush of those strong hands made it worse.
“Yes,” she managed, the word coming out softer than she intended. “That’s… fine. Whatever you think is best.”
Something shifted in Vespera’s expression—subtle, but unmistakable. The last thin layer of pure professionalism faded further.
“Fantastic.” she murmured.
Her hands adjusted. This time there was no pretense of focusing only on muscle.
She cupped Chloe’s breasts fully, lifting and kneading them with slow, deliberate pressure, thumbs brushing directly over the tight nipples on every other stroke.
Oil gleamed on the soft skin. The wet sound of her palms moving over Chloe’s flesh filled the quiet room.
Chloe’s back arched a fraction before she could stop it. A small, broken moan left her throat. She was so wet now that she could feel it against her inner thighs every time she shifted.
Vespera continued.
She worked Chloe’s breasts with slow, thorough attention—lifting the soft weight, kneading deeply, letting her oiled thumbs drag across the tight nipples again and again.
Each pass made them harden further. Chloe couldn’t keep still anymore.
Her hips shifted restlessly against the table, small, involuntary movements that rubbed her soaked pussy against the damp sheet.
It was obvious. The flush across her chest, the way her back kept wanting to arch, the glistening wetness she could feel spreading between her thighs—none of it could be hidden.
Vespera’s breathing had changed too. Quieter, deeper.
Her thumbs lingered on Chloe’s nipples longer than any purely therapeutic stroke required, rolling them gently under the slick pressure, watching the way Chloe’s body reacted.
A faint tremor ran through her hands once before she steadied them again.
She kept going for another long minute, working every soft curve, every sensitive inch, until Chloe was openly panting, thighs pressed together in a useless attempt to ease the ache.
Then, slowly, Vespera’s hands left her breasts.
The sudden absence made Chloe almost whimper.