The Female Client

Billy’s out the door, arms around Sarah, thanking her for another magic hands session. He lets slip he told his pal Ryan all about her. Sarah smiles, flushes, sends him off. Five minutes later Ryan Keely breezes in and plants herself in the lobby like she owns the lease. Sarah comes down, spots a woman and does a quick double-take—her roster’s strictly dudes. Ryan gives her name, clicks the connection, and the blush creeps back up Sarah’s neck. “Look,” Sarah starts, “I normally work on guys—” Ryan cuts her off with a wink. “You can bend the rules for one afternoon. I came all this way. It’s only a massage, right?” Sarah caves—sure, why not—and leads her upstairs. “Strip,” Sarah says, already reaching for towels. Ryan doesn’t wait. One smooth tug and the dress drops, leaving her all curves and zero shame. Sarah’s mouth goes dry. She’s used to clients who ask permission to take off their socks, not women who strip like they’re headlining. Ryan clocks the blush and the way Sarah can’t quite look away. Billy nailed the description: hot masseuse. Ryan plans to enjoy every inch of her before the hour’s up—and maybe stretch the hour into two.