Mr. Edwards slumped into the leather chair in the dimly lit waiting room, the faint scent of lavender oil wafting through the air. He'd been teaching math for over a decade, and the end of the school year always left him drained. Just one massage, he thought, to ease the tension in my shoulders and reset before summer. He glanced at his watch, the second hand ticking slowly. His appointment was supposed to start five minutes ago.
Just as he was about to stand up and inquire at the front desk, the door to the massage room creaked open. A soft voice called out, "Mr. Edwards?"
He froze. That voice. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He turned his head, and there she was. Lena. His former student from this past year. The one who had just graduated last month. She stood in the doorway, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing a tight black tank top and yoga pants that hugged her curves perfectly.
Mr. Edwards' mouth went dry. "Lena?" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled, that same mischievous grin she'd always had in class when she was about to ace a test or pull off a prank. "I work here now," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I'm your massage therapist for today. Come on in."
He hesitated. This felt... wrong. But before he could protest, she reached out and gently took his hand, her fingers warm against his skin. Relax, he told himself. It's just a massage. Professional. Nothing to worry about.
He followed her into the room, the soft lighting and soothing music doing little to calm his nerves. She gestured to the massage table, its crisp white sheet neatly folded at the edge. "Go ahead and undress to your comfort level," she said, her tone casual as she turned her back to give him privacy.
Mr. Edward sighed, stripping down to his boxers and lying face down on the table. He buried his face in the cushioned headrest, trying to focus on his breathing. The door clicked shut, and he heard Lena's footsteps behind him. Her hands, warm and slick with oil, rested gently on his back.
Relax, he repeated in his mind. But as her fingers began to knead the knots in his muscles, he couldn't help but notice how... good it felt. Her touch was firm but gentle, her movements deliberate and practiced. He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the sensation.
Then her hands moved lower, down to his hips, and he felt it--a twinge of awareness that he couldn't ignore. No. His body betrayed him, and he felt himself growing hard against the table. This can't be happening. He clenched his teeth, trying to will the erection away, but it was no use. The more she massaged him, the harder it became.
"Mr. Edwards," Lena said softly, her voice dripping with amusement. "Are you... enjoying this?"
He froze, his face burning with shame. "Lena, I--I'm sorry. This is--"
"Shhh," she interrupted, her hands sliding even lower, closer to the edge of his boxers. "It's okay. It's natural."
Before he could stop her, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, exposing his fully erect cock. He gasped, his heart pounding in his chest. "Lena, what are you doing?"
She didn't answer. Instead, he heard the soft click of her phone camera. Flash. His eyes widened as he realized what she'd just done. "Wait--what? Did you just--"
"I did," she said, her voice calm but laced with something darker. "And if you don't do exactly what I say, I'll send this to the school board. And your wife."
His stomach dropped. No. No, no, no. This couldn't be real. But when he turned his head to look at her, she was holding up her phone, the photo of his exposed erection clear as day. His throat tightened. "Lena, please. Don't do this."
She smiled, that same mischievous grin, but it was sharper now, dangerous. "It's simple," she said, her voice low and sultry. "You're going to let me finish what I started."
Before he could protest, her hand wrapped around his cock, her fingers slick with oil. He gasped, his body betraying him again as pleasure shot through him. Her touch was expert, her strokes deliberate and teasing. He hated how good it felt, how much he wanted it despite himself.
