First published on MC Stories July 2018.

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 begged 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.

As she resolutely kneaded her client’s tight upper back, Ashley could feel herself getting wet. Wetter than she’d ever been, except for maybe while playing with Tracy. She couldn’t stop herself from focusing on the slick slide of skin under her fingers, the way the smooth body under her hands yielded to her touch and how amazing that felt. She pressed on a particularly stubborn knot and the woman gave a soft groan of satisfaction. To her horror, Ashley almost moaned with her. She bit her lip, hard. Ashley, what is wrong with you? she lambasted herself. Focus, fuckhead. Find something to work on. Uh, okay, her upper traps are kind of tight, I can start there... fuck it’s been fifteen minutes, how has it only been fifteen minutes, how has it already been fifteen minutes, I need to start working her legs...

In a vain attempt to keep things professional, Ashley covered the woman’s back with the sheet, then proceeded to lift up only enough fabric to expose her left leg and buttock. Were her hands trembling? The thought of touching the soft skin of this woman’s thigh, of pressing into the dense muscle there and bringing her pleasure, was driving Ashley wild. She fought to keep her hands steady as she took a pump of massage oil.

Laying her slick hands on the woman’s leg felt impossibly good. God, what was happening to her? Every touch made her wetter. Her body had a mind of its own—with a start, Ashley realized that she was pressing her cunt into the corner of the massage table, helplessly grinding against it as she massaged her client’s calf. It took every ounce of willpower she had to disengage her pelvis, though the loss of pressure on her clit nearly made her moan aloud. The ambient music in the room was echoing strangely in Ashley’s head, and she could swear she could smell the heady musk of her own arousal mixed in with the incense and massage oil.

Focus, Ashley, she told herself firmly, trying to be calm, trying to ignore the fact that her body was betraying her. This is a client and she needs your help, so help her. If I can get her soleus to loosen up, I can… but then she leaned low across the table to get a better angle at the left calf, and her breasts pressed full into her client’s soft body and all of her thoughts ground to a halt. Ashley withdrew hurriedly, but every inch of the contact still tingled on her. It would be easy, so easy, to lean across again, to knead at that supple calf and let her breasts brush against her client again, and it would feel so good, but more importantly it would give her the leverage she needed to keep working that calf, and when she made those muscles give up their tension, it would feel even better…

Tracy, thought Ashley desperately, what did you do to me? She felt consumed with lust. Her pussy, her nipples, her whole body ached to be touched, but somehow that ache was sublimated into a need to touch not herself, but the prone form on the table before her. How was it possible to feel this turned on, and to feel it all channeled into a desperate need to please this woman? Ashley wanted her hands all over her client, to bring all her skill to bear to loosen all this woman’s knots, to please her, pleasure her, serve her…

As Ashley’s mind spun, her hands worked automatically—though whether out of habit or need it was impossible to tell. She returned to the near side of the table and worked at the woman’s hamstring, coaxing the tension from it, even as the act sent a jolt straight to her pussy.

Ashley turned her attention to the glutes, tucking back the sheet another inch—the sheet that seemed an impossibly flimsy barrier to her desperate desires—and realized as her fingers brushed bare skin that her client wasn’t wearing underwear. Which in itself certainly wasn’t unusual—people varied in how much or little they disrobed for a massage—but suddenly Ashley was conscious of nothing besides how close her fingers were to this woman’s cunt. She risked a glance down and found that she could actually see it, just a corner peeping out from behind the sheet, pink and glistening and inviting. The sight struck Ashley with a need so strong it made her knees tremble.

But no, there was no way she could do that to a client, no way in hell, she thought with gritted teeth. She would lose her job for sure, if not worse, and so she simply wasn’t going to touch her client’s pussy, no matter how impossibly inviting it looked, no matter how her gaze kept getting drawn towards it like a magnet, no matter that she could practically feel the delicious warmth of it squeezing her fingers...

No, she thought fiercely, no no no! Ashley dug into the woman’s glutes, and the answering moan made her tremble but she continued massaging, anything to distract herself from thoughts of how amazing that pussy would feel around her fingers, how much more pleasure she could bring if she could touch, stroke, fuck…

And then she felt an inviting and electric warmth against her finger, and withdrew with a start. Had she actually just touched a client’s genitals? Had she lost control of herself so thoroughly that she’d done it without meaning to, without even noticing? Ashley flushed hot with shame, then cold with fear—and then somehow hot again with arousal. The woman on the table hadn’t seemed to notice Ashley’s wandering hands, though—and Ashley breathed a sigh of relief.

It had felt so good, though, even that one little contact. And if her client hadn’t even registered it, could she do it again? Just as light, just as subtle, and the woman wouldn’t even notice it, Ashley told herself. Part of her knew that it was a desperate lie, and she couldn’t even bring herself to care as she went to work at the top of the left hamstring, and then on the inner thigh, and then ever so gently brushed one finger against her client’s glistening pussy.

The contact went through her like a thunderbolt, shaking her to her very core. And Ashley wanted more, needed more, needed it like she needed oxygen, needed to touch this woman again—this woman who hadn’t responded to the last brush against her cunt, so what could be the harm, Ashley reasoned, even as the rest of her brain cried No, stop!, and once again she brushed her hand casually against the woman’s warm lips. And again. And again.

A low moan escaped her client. Just the massage, Ashley thought desperately, it’s just from the massage, but God did this woman’s noises feel good. Between strokes of her client’s hamstring, Ashley’s hands kept dipping helplessly back to that electric pussy, every contact more sustained, every touch feeling better.

Was she imagining it, or was the client angling her hips up to meet her? The thought made Ashley’s heart skip a beat, and her treacherous hands increased their rhythm. Light brush against the labia. Light flick against the clit. Back to the hamstring. And then brushing lightly against the labia again.

Ashley’s arousal-fogged brain registered a moan. For a panicked second she thought it might be hers—but no, it was her client. It was definitely a moan, thought, a distinctly un-massage-related, undeniably sexual moan.

And then a dam in Ashley broke loose. Her hands went to work in earnest, touching and stroking and slipping and sliding all over the woman’s pussy, which was already nearly dripping. Ashley was sure she’d soaked through her own panties by now, and maybe her leggings. But that didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that she was sopping wet or that she was rubbing the pussy lips of a paying customer on her massage table or that she would almost certainly be fired and probably arrested: all that mattered was this woman’s pleasure. All that mattered was her wetness, her low moans, the way she was lifting her hips off the table in invitation and the way Ashley felt her hands drawn magnetically towards the woman’s clit, her fingers to her entrance.

And then Ashley was fucking her—still slow and measured, as deliberate as any other massage she’d given, only now instead of scented oil Ashley’s fingers were slick with sex, and she rubbed steadily at the woman’s clit and thrust firmly in and out of her, building pressure, tightening muscles rather than loosening them. Ashley could feel the woman coiling like a spring, the beginnings of a tremble in her abdomen, as both of their moans reverberated off the high ceilings—because fucking this woman on her massage table felt better than anything Ashley had ever felt, better than a mouth on her pussy, better than any cock inside her, better than any of her lovers had ever made her feel before, anyone except Tracy—

“Fuck,” gasped Ashley as the pleasure in her body redoubled—almost of their own accord, her fingers sped up, pumping faster, rubbing more urgently, her left hand crushed between the table and the woman’s grinding pelvis. Ashley wanted to make her come, needed to make her come. Her own pussy throbbed in time with her thrusts, but somehow that wasn’t important. Nothing mattered—not her own arousal, not the fact that she would surely lose her job, not the cramping of her fingers—except this woman’s pleasure, except making her come.

The woman on the table was trembling and gasping now, with Ashley fucking her in earnest. She was close now, Ashley knew—though whether the “she” was her or her client she couldn’t tell anymore. Her own body thrummed with pleasure both all-consuming and unimportant, and her whole world narrowed to her furious fingers, the woman’s exquisite pussy, her moans, the bucking of her hips, and how close she was, how fucking close, how badly Ashley needed to push her over that edge…

The client levered herself up on one elbow and turned to face Ashley, and Ashley fucked into her even harder as their eyes locked. The stranger’s face was somehow familiar, and it sent a jolt through her, because it looked like, fuck, it looked like—

“Tracy?” Ashley gasped, recognition flooding through her, and then the woman under her hands exploded into a body-rocking orgasm. Ashley felt the pleasure mirrored in her own body and cried out as the wave broke over her too, and gasping and trembling, she dissolved along with her lover.

* * *

It was several minutes before Ashley managed to peel herself out of the heap she’d collapsed into on top of her client—no, on top of… Tracy? She shook her head vigorously to clear it—with little success—and gazed baffled at the naked, glistening body below her.

No doubt about it, it was definitely Tracy—Tracy’s familiar blunt nose, the dusting of freckles across their shoulders… And Tracy’s crooked smile, nefarious and loving all at the same time, grinning lazily up at her.

“Damn,” they drawled, looking so much the picture of postcoital bliss that Ashley was surprised a cigarette didn’t just materialize in their hand. “Ash, that was amazing.”

Ashley felt her body respond to the praise—a warmth bubbled in her and she felt physically drawn to Tracy, wanted to feel their skin… But at the same time, her nerves jangled. The bafflement and fear she had felt earlier, pushed away by her unbelievable arousal, was starting to trickle back. “Tracy,” she began haltingly, “I—something’s wrong. I just did something—something bad. There was a client, and I—”

Tracy jumped up, looking stricken. “No, sweetheart, no…” They took Ashley by the shoulders, looked into her eyes. Ashley could feel her breathing automatically falling in time with her lover’s. “Remember, Ashley,” instructed Tracy firmly.

Ashley blinked rapidly as the words penetrated her brain—and the fog that cloaked her thoughts began to dissipate, like clouds scattered by the wind. She looked at the big digital clock blinking at her from the wall and for the first time in hours, actually processed what it said. “Ten at night,” she murmured as the pieces started to fit themselves back together.

“It’s after hours,” Tracy confirmed, leading her over to the table and sitting her down. “We’re the only ones here, everyone else is gone for the day.” They joined Ashley on the massage table and wrapped them in a tight hug.

“So I didn’t just fuck a client?” Ashley murmured into their shoulder.

Tracy stroked her hair. “No, sweetheart, it was just me. It was always me.”

“And I’m not going to lose my job or get arrested?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And I’m not losing my mind? L-losing control of my body?”

“Well…” Tracy pulled back, looked her in the eyes, quirked a smile. “Not except for when you want to, darlin’.”

The words sent an agreeable shiver up Ashley’s spine even as they calmed her. She folded herself into Tracy’s arms and let Tracy hold her. Her thoughts continued to slot themselves back into place, and the thrill and the glow of what they had just done tingle happily within her. She melted into Tracy’s arms, and Tracy held her tight.

Maybe mixing business and pleasure wasn’t so bad after all.