Day 4 · Touch

“Okay, I have to ask,” you placed your coffee mug on the table, “What’s up with the rise of Lotus Healing lately? That place is fucking everywhere on social media.”

“A famous ASMR content creator visited us a couple of weeks ago, and ever since then we’ve been getting bookings like there’s no tomorrow,” Felix explained as if he was doing a newscast.

“The fuck? You’re getting rich because of tingles?”

“You haven’t seen what my boss looks like, have you?” he grinned and took his phone out. In a matter of seconds, you were looking at the About page of this high end spa’s website, and your jaw hit the floor.

“NO SHIT! This is him?!” you pointed at the zoomed in image of a ridiculously good looking man on the screen while scaring the passing waitress, “I really thought he was some ancient healing guru or something.”

“Well, he’s very much in his prime years as you can see.”

“I need this man to knead me immediately,” you pretended to wipe the drool from the corners of your mouth, “Does he do one of those happy ending things?”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” he scolded, seemingly offended, “Lee Minho is a legitimate god of massage therapy. He gets booked by stage performers a lot.”

“Oh, he’s a god alright and he looks like my salvation.” 

“Sorry to break it to you, but he’s not dating material, like at all. He’s so fucking stoic, not to mention highkey egocentric,” an utterly unamused expression climbed on his freckles, “I do get these intrusive thoughts of designing humbling experiences for him every now and then, but the pay is insanely good, so…”

“Can you blame him? If I looked like that, I would have confidence seizures, too.”

Felix’s face changed all of a sudden as if he was having a lightbulb moment. Being such close friends for the longest time, you knew a lot of unnecessarily intimate details about each other, but Felix also knew something about this Lee Minho. Something he casually divulged during some dude talk moment over drinks, but what was important here was that you happened to be in possession of his kryptonite. 

He couldn’t fucking believe this hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“You know what, I actually have reason to believe he would like you,” he loudly slurped on his coffee.

“Because of ya girl’s infinite charms, why thank you,” you quipped with a pleased smile.

“Something like that,” he smirked in return, “Why don’t you make an appointment for when you’re free? I’ve been meaning to thank you for helping me move anyway.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, but you’re the fucking man, Lix!”

You snatched his phone from him to check out the appointment schedule on the webpage, but damn, Felix wasn’t exaggerating when he said people were booking like there was no tomorrow.

“Jesus, how the fuck you don’t have anything available until December?!”

“Scratch the formalities. I’m your plug anyway,” he reached for his mug again, “I’ll hook you up with his custom therapy.”

“Custom therapy?”

“That’s the Lee Minho experience,” he winked and finished the rest of his coffee.

The following weekend, you made your way to Lotus Massage & Healing, very much looking forward to some me time being pampered by some man oozing sexiness. The location was in the heart of the city, and you could literally smell the simplistic extravagance of the place from the moment you walked through the door.

“Hi, I’m here for my 2 p.m. appointment?”

“Welcome to Lotus,” you were greeted by the god of massage therapy himself, “My name is Lee Minho. I’m the owner of the establishment.”

Oh, I know who you are, motherfucker, you wanted to say, but your usual antics weren’t exactly appropriate for your friend’s fancy workplace. Instead, you put on the good girl mask and politely smiled at him.

“I have you for custom therapy today, correct?”

You have me for whatever you want actually, the voice in your head commented on your behalf.

“Yes.”

It was hard to believe Minho was real for how good looking he was, but you understood what Felix meant when he was describing his boss. The man was polite, but he wasn’t smiling at all, causing you to wonder whether he was capable of feeling an emotion. Then again he had such an aloof serenity to him that it made perfect sense he was running a business like this.

“Please proceed to Room 3 and undress. I’ll be with you shortly.”

You thanked your prospective therapist and headed to the location you were given. The room looked like it was meant for relaxation. The walls were a very dark shade of brown, almost black, and the soft orange lights illuminating the place provided quite a nice contrast. Placed on a small table next to the massage bed, there were several wooden instruments as well as oil bottles in different sizes and straw-made decorations. Almost inaudible ambient sounds were playing in the background, and it smelled so good inside that the coziness quickly enveloped you. 

You removed all your clothes and put them in a closet, then lay facedown under the soft covers that looked like gray fleece blankets. The material felt so good on your skin. Shortly after, you heard the heavy wooden door open, and you caught a glimpse of Minho’s black scrubs to your left.

“I’ll be giving you a full body treatment today,” he started talking in whispers to let you know about his agenda, “If you’re uncomfortable at any point, please let me know.”

I doubt it, you giggled to yourself inside. You heard the sound of him pumping oil into his palms, rubbing some up to his elbows, and then he established first skin-to-skin contact.

It was like a tornado made landfall.

Minho’s large and veiny hands felt oh so good on your skin, immediately causing you to exhale. Just a few minutes in, you already knew why he was dubbed the god of massage therapy. Slippery but precise movements of his fingers drawing abstract fractals on your back, undoing all the knots you didn’t even know you had, and weirdly enough… 

Arousing you without touching a single erogenous zone.

Sure, this wasn’t the kind of establishment where he fucked his clients, but just having him touch you however he wanted, and the awareness of being at a beautiful stranger’s complete mercy felt like the most oddly erotic experience of your life. Maybe it was the oils, maybe it was the dim lights, maybe it was simply the knowledge of Lee Minho running his hands on your naked body with the sole intention of making you feel good, who knew, but you were unintentionally clenching your jaw to stop yourself from making questionable sounds.

“Please don’t restrain yourself if it feels pleasurable. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he spoke very softly, noticing the tenseness, “It just means you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t want people to think something else is going on inside,” you admitted, kinda glad he wasn’t able to see your face, “It feels a bit too good.”

“Our walls are soundproof. Please be comfortable.”

Well… Since he asked...

His touch became firmer like he was encouraging you to let loose, and you couldn’t help the high note of a moan your sigh started with before receding into a mute breath. If you looked into his eyes at that moment, you would be able to see how satisfied he was with the reaction he elicited.

The moment you felt the flat surface of hot stones gliding on your back, Minho started properly pushing you into a comatose state of relaxation. You were wondering if death by massage was at all possible because it was that good. You were simply melting on that table, the sounds of delight you were making concerningly bordering on sexual gratification by the time he was done with your legs.

“Now turn around,” he whispered his instructions.

There was only one untouched zone left. You couldn’t dare open your eyes as Minho was working your torso, hands slithering all over you like a pair of snakes replacing the discomfort in your body with some poison of pleasure. Your anticipation inadvertently peaked when he finally reached your crotch. 

The room was so freaking silent that the slightest rustle was amplified in your ears sixfold. When he slowly removed the soft material covering you from the waist down, there was no mistake that Minho gulped.

The unexpected sight of a piece of minimalistic accessory adorning your pussy shocked his entire body like a bolt of lightning.

“Christina?” he nonchalantly asked.

“Hm?” you hummed a bit dazed, currently fighting the urge to fall asleep.

“Your piercing.”

“Wow, you namedropped,” you smiled stupidly, “You know your stuff, huh?”

“I’m an intimate jewelry aficionado,” he continued in whispers, “I don’t mean to be crass, but it makes you look even prettier.”

So this was what Felix meant when he said he had reason to believe Minho would like you. You as in your pussy. 

Aficionado my ass, you thought to yourself while internally laughing your ass off. Minho had a very obvious fetish he was normal about, but you still found it super flattering coming from a guy like him, the god of therapy or sex or who the fuck knows what else.

“Thank you very much,” you heaved a sigh through your smirk, “You can feel it if the fancy strikes.”

If the fancy strikes. 

Not only did Minho have complete tunnel vision on the titanium-plated jewelry, but he was also in the middle of a hardcore battle with his urges, chastising himself for being so fucking weak for something like this, not to mention utterly unprofessional. He was suffering from such a horrible case of acute onset desire that he was on the literal brink of throwing himself at you. 

Did issuing a trigger warning for extreme sexiness occur to you by any chance? 

Before soaking his hands in oil again, Minho maneuvered to slide his index and ring fingers down your labia, careful not to make contact with your clit for his own sanity even though both of you were longing for that touch. Your folds were already glistening with your arousal, making him heavily salivate with how much he was craving for it on his tongue. He discreetly stained the tip of his middle finger with you, then turned around to allegedly pump some oil in his palms whereas he just wanted to scratch an unbearable itch in his brain.

Not that he had any experience with narcotics, but he was convinced this was what heroin fiends felt like for how instantly addictive your taste was, and he was going to lose his mind if he couldn’t coat his tongue with your slick through and through.

He took a deep breath and started massaging your inner thighs first. It was a healing touch, but you couldn’t help how your body tensed up no matter how much you were trying to relax. Every time he got closer to your pussy, your breathing patterns changed, suddenly becoming much more frequent, then retreating to its basal rhythm again. It wasn’t long before the awareness hit—this feeling was uncannily similar to having a partner edge you for their own pleasure.

This wasn’t some tantric massage technique or anything anymore. He was legitimately playing with you, and you wanted him to get wetter, messier, just fuck the shit out of you on that table, and use you to satiate his own appetite.

But he wasn’t making a move. 

You didn’t know if it was against some mighty principle or if he just couldn’t find the courage to go through with it. You were trying to find the right words to tell him that you would keep this little secret between you two as long as you lived, that he had nothing to worry about, and that all you needed was his mouth on you, but your mind had stopped working some time ago. All you could process was Minho’s touch. His breathing. The way he kept subtly licking his lips and how his Adam’s apple bobbed every time he swallowed. You were so damn turned on that weren’t able to tell anymore if it was the pleasant-scented oils or your own slick covering you between your legs. Minho’s sharp sense of smell, on the other hand, was snitching on how he was able to get you this wet, which served as a phantom touch that stroked his ego and his cock at the same time.

And even though he had a completely expressionless façade, Minho’s professionalism still couldn’t stop him from getting embarrassingly hard, throbbing every time his fingers caressed your piercing. He was done with the session maybe five minutes ago, but he kept dragging it on to admire you just a little bit longer, and with each drop oozing out of you, he found himself contemplating harder. 

Was your taste worth risking his whole entire reputation and career for?

In the battle of logic versus lust, the latter had already declared a bloody triumph. All he needed to do was to take the loss with grace and surrender. 

So did you.

Minho’s ministrations came to a halt, and he was looking at your soaked cunt like he was in a trance, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide, lips parted and slightly panting. He brushed his thumb over your clit once, overcome with the urge to suck on it, and even though you were visibly clenching, he was just too stunned to act on it.

And you ran out of fucking patience.

“Do it,” you breathily uttered, leaving absolutely no room for any doubt or second thoughts.

One look into your eyes, and Minho’s entire train of thought immediately derailed. You shouldn’t have said that. You really shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have looked at him with that much fire in your gaze. You shouldn’t have sounded like he was everything you ever desired. 

As if he was possessed, Minho pressed two fingers on your clit and started rubbing you. Your moans were getting more and more desperate, and it was just so fucking tempting. His eyes were examining your every move, how your body was reacting to him, how good he was making you feel, and he could only promise to make you feel better. You eventually couldn’t stand it anymore and propped up on your elbows.

“Taste me,” you firmly commanded looking dead into his eyes.

And he lost all control.

Was your taste worth risking his whole entire reputation and career for?

Yes. Yes, it was. It fucking was.

He sinisterly smiled at you in response, and you watched him lower his head and fucking finally give you what you were in dire need of. A single slow drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit, punctuated with a soft suck.

“Never thought I would describe taste as pretty, but that’s what you taste like,” Minho spoke a bit more audibly than a whisper this time, “You taste as fucking pretty as your pussy.”

Then he immediately proceeded to ravage you, closing his entire mouth on your cunt. Just kissing, licking, and slurping on you so eagerly as though he was touch-starved for years. You may have said that half-jokingly, but turns out you were going to get your happy ending after all. Happy ending but it was in hell and you were forever burning in the fires of lust consuming you, bestowed with a climax every time you fucking blinked.

And that was the only right way to die. Between Minho’s perfectly plush lips.

You were already so on edge that you instinctively put your hands on his head, which prompted him to lock his arms on your thighs and bury himself deeper into you. You rode his beautiful face faster and faster and faster, hurrying to get your sweet release until you finally snapped, dissolving in his mouth and offering him the most intense notes of your essence. The afterglow of your orgasm slowly spread throughout your entire body, and combined with the already relaxed state you were in, you were almost on the brink of passing out. Minho came into your vision again with a tall glass of water, and you felt every single one of your cells being rejuvenated with the cool liquid rushing down your esophagus. With a pleased smile on his face, he left you by yourself to gather your wits and get dressed, and greeted you in the hallway after you emerged from Room 3.

“Satisfied with the service I presume?”

“Very much,” you reciprocated the curls at the corners of his mouth, “I would love to come in frequently, but I understand you’re quite booked.”

“I take after-hours appointments if you’re interested.”

“Do you now?”

You shared a silent look that lasted several seconds, your smiles still intact. Then Minho took out something that looked like a business card printed on matte black paper from his back pocket and handed it to you.

“This is my personal number. The private booking comes with a side benefit of a nice dinner,” he checked you out one last time from head to toe before leaving, “Call me.”

Exxxtraoddinary? Appreciate with a pudding.

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