My mind went completely blank, panic flooding my veins as my mom's eyes darted wildly between my flushed face and his dark, towering figure.
"Oh! I think I pressed a tender spot just above her knee," my stepdad answered calmly. I hadn't even realized he’d already pulled the towel down.
My ass and upper thighs were safely covered again. He was leaning his hips flush against the edge of the massage table, no doubt trying to conceal his own hardness from her view. He was incredibly fast. My mom stepped closer, looking unconvinced.
"Right here. It looks like she bumped it on the ride," he said smoothly, pressing his thumb firmly into a spot just above my knee. I immediately caught on and moaned loudly again.
"Ouch! Daddy!" I cried, feigning pain to play along. I didn't need to be told to cooperate; I was sure he'd be proud of how quickly I picked up on his cue.
"Did you hit your thigh on something?" my mom asked. I could hear the genuine concern in her voice as she hovered behind him.
"I don't know, but it started aching this morning," I replied, my voice genuinely shaky—though I hoped she’d chalk it up to the lingering pain.
"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Dad will make it go away, just like always," she said, gently rubbing my shoulder.
"Yeah, it’s already feeling a bit better. How’s your ankle doing, by the way?" I asked, eager to shift the focus.
"I didn't actually fall," she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "After the therapist worked on it, I feel almost completely fine! See, I was able to come upstairs and join you myself, so don’t worry about me. I have to say, inviting her over today was definitely the right decision." She paused, looking between us. "The therapist still has other appointments to go to—do you want me to help you book another session?"
"No, Mom, really, I’m already feeling much better," I said quickly. "Having Dad as my free—and honestly, much better—therapist is more than enough for me."
"You’re definitely Eric’s number-one fan. I’ll just have to settle for second place," she chuckled, patting my stepdad’s shoulder. He actually looked a little sheepish at my praise. "Alright, I’ll go prepare something in the kitchen. Once you two are done, come out and have a snack."
I listened to her footsteps retreat down the hall. The second the door clicked shut, a massive wave of relief washed over me, and my tense muscles melted back into the table.
When his hands finally left my legs, a sharp pang of disappointment hit me. I wanted to beg him to put them back, but the words caught in my throat. Before I could do anything to make him stay, he answered with action: the massage wasn't over.
He moved up toward my head and took my left hand in his. He gave it a slow, deliberate massage, firmly tracing the lines of my palm and gently pulling my fingers. When he was done, he carefully placed it down and moved to the other side to massage my right hand as well.
When he finished with my arms, he peeled the towel down to my waist, exposing the full length of my back. I shivered at the cool trail of oil he poured down my spine, followed instantly by the searing heat of his palms. He began to massage my back and shoulders, kneading the knots with a strength that made me melt. He worked the tension out of my neck, pressing his thumbs deep into the base of my skull, before sliding down to the broad expanse of my shoulders.
I could feel how carefully he was handling me. As he worked the muscles along my ribs, he deliberately avoided brushing against the sides of my breasts. He kept his movements precise, trying to maintain some semblance of a boundary between us. Yet, despite his best efforts, his knuckles accidentally grazed the soft swell of my breast.
The impact was electric—a jolt of pure lightning shooting straight through my chest.
My nipples immediately peaked, pressing painfully against the padded surface of the massage table. The sensation was so intense I had to bite my lip to stifle a gasp. My mind flooded with images of those strong, oiled hands sliding completely underneath me. The thought of his palms cupping my breasts and his thumbs circling my hard nipples made me wetter than I had ever been.
I desperately wished he would forget who we were to each other, cut all restraints, and just let his hands wander wherever they pleased.
He glided down to my waist and swept back up to my shoulders in one long, continuous motion. I knew he was trying to play the responsible stepfather, but shattering those boundaries was exactly what my body craved. I wanted him to stop being the caring father figure and start being the man my body was screaming for.
I lay there, trapped in a maddening cycle of pleasure and frustration as he continued to work on my back. Just as my frustration threatened to boil over, he stepped back.
"Time to turn around, princess."
He handed me a smaller towel. "Use this to cover your chest." He turned his back to give me the privacy to comfortably roll over and arrange myself.
I didn't rush. I slowly discarded the large towel, rolled onto my back, and draped the smaller cloth over my breasts.
"You can turn around now," I said once I was decent.
He turned back, and I immediately caught his eyes dropping to my body. Even though I was technically covered, the sexual tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
He poured another pool of oil into his palms and started on my shoulders and collarbone. Slowly, he worked his way down my chest. My breath hitched as his hands moved agonizingly close to the upper swell of my breasts, only to veer away at the very last second. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was ruthlessly teasing me.
He slid his hands down my ribcage, deliberately brushing the sensitive undersides of my breasts just enough to make my skin prickle with a desperate need for more. Continuing his rhythmic strokes, he dragged his hands down my stomach, dipping dangerously close to the waistband of my panties before pulling back up again. I was breathing heavily now, and he definitely noticed.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice entirely too innocent, as if he wasn't perfectly aware of what he was doing to me.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I whispered, though my trembling body was screaming otherwise.
"Are you sure?" he asked, pausing his hands just above the pink lace of my panties.
I couldn't speak. I was losing my mind.
He dragged his hands back up, massaging my ribs and brushing against the undersides of my breasts with increasing frequency. After a torturous minute, he moved higher, massaging my upper chest and deliberately letting his slick hands slide into my cleavage, intentionally rubbing the inner curves of my breasts.
I was completely unraveling. I needed him to stop pretending. I needed him to fondle and massage me properly.
Reaching up, I grabbed his thick wrists. He froze for a split second, but he didn't pull away. Holding his gaze, I guided his hands upward until they fully cupped my bare breasts beneath the towel. The searing heat from his broad palms was intoxicating, and my nipples hardened into agonizing, tight peaks the second his skin made full contact.
I pressed his hands firmly against me, showing him exactly how I wanted to be handled. He didn't pull away. Instead, I felt his fingers flex before digging possessively into my soft flesh.
"Ohhh! Just like that, Daddy!" I moaned, my eyes fluttering shut as a violent wave of pleasure crashed through my entire body.