* * * * * * * * * *
This is what happens when you mix business and pleasure, grumbled Ashley to herself as she ran her oil-slick hands down her client's back and fought to still the answering tremble in her hips.
Or more accurately, she corrected herself, what happens when you mix business, pleasure, and hypnosis. Because I’ve definitely mixed business and pleasure before, and it never turned out like… like this.
Ashley was a massage therapist–and a damn good one, if she did say so herself. Countless times, her ministrations had left her lovers in melty piles of bliss. But Tracy–goddamn Tracy, with their soft brown eyes and their honeyed voice and their wicked smile–Tracy had thrown hypnosis into the mix. Had somehow tapped into all of the secret desires that had been bubbling in Ashley practically since puberty. Tracy had turned service into pleasure, and left Ashley trembling in arousal from the feeling of her hands on her lover's skin. She had begging to touch them, had begged to please and to serve, her own touch undoing her as thoroughly as it had undone so many others in the past.
That night had been incredible, as Ashley had left her mind and her arousal in Tracy's capable hands, had pleased and pleasured Tracy in every way she could think of and had herself come hard enough to see stars–multiple times. And Ashley would have been thrilled to repeat the experiment as many times as possible–in private.
Instead, here she was in her studio with a client–a client, for fuck's sake!–and somehow, the effects of last night's brain-fuckery had not gone away. There was a lithe young woman laid out on the massage table before her, back exposed and slick with oil, her lower half obscured by a sheet, and Ashley's fingers ached to touch her in a distinctly un-professional way. Every stroke along her client's back filled Ashley with pleasure, every knot she loosened struck her straight between the legs.
