Parlor Tricks: Teacher Trap

Ryan Keely steps into the massage parlor and meets Kiarra Kai. There’s a flicker of recognition. Oh—Mrs. Keely, Kiarra says, voice catching. Ryan gives a tight little laugh. She had no idea Kiarra worked here. Kiarra shrugs, cheerful: she moved out at eighteen and the work pays the rent. Silence hangs, then Kiarra fills it. So…Ryan’s here for a massage? Ryan is. The class Kiarra takes isn’t the only one Ryan handles this term; her schedule has left her knotted and aching for relief. Kiarra’s smile tilts. Relief she can manage. Ryan wonders whether to wait out here or go into the room. Kiarra laughs. Her masseuse is already standing in front of her. Ryan blinks, confused, until Kiarra spells it out—she is today’s masseuse. The blonde shifts, uneasy. It wouldn’t be appropriate, she murmurs. Disappointment flickers across Kiarra’s face, but she offers to send another therapist. Relieved, Ryan heads down the hall. In the quiet corridor Kiarra finds Kasey Miller and whispers a playful suggestion. Kasey grins and nods. Inside the massage room Kasey has Ryan undress. As the blonde slips out of her clothes, Kiarra steals a glance through the doorway, tongue tracing her lower lip at the sight of bare skin. She catches Kasey’s eye, flashes a thumbs-up, then disappears. Ryan lies face-down, unaware. Kasey works warm oil into her shoulders, her spine, the curve of her ass. When she claims she needs more oil and steps out, Kiarra slips in to take her place. Ryan sighs, eyes closed, still floating. Kiarra drizzles fresh oil across her back and resumes the slow, firm strokes. Bit by bit her hands drift lower, cupping and kneading the soft, full cheeks. Ryan moans, hips tilting. Kiarra lets her thumbs graze the slick seam beneath. Ryan gasps but pushes back for more. Fingers slip in, glide, press deeper. Ryan’s breath breaks into ragged little sounds as Kiarra works faster, oil shining on trembling skin. Caught in pleasure, Ryan never notices the quiet slip—“Oh yeah”—until it’s too late. Her eyes snap open. That voice. She flips onto her back, shock widening her eyes when she sees her student above her. Kiarra? The word is half protest, half disbelief. She would never have allowed it if she’d known. Kiarra’s hand slides along Ryan’s thigh, unhurried. They’re not in class now, she points out, voice low. Ryan’s mouth curves despite herself. Kiarra leans down; their lips meet, hot and certain.