Cheeky Surprise

Erin steps into the spa the way she always does—every Tuesday at four—though something about this visit feels off-balance. Kenna greets her with the same quiet, lingering smile that sits just short of being professional. "Ready whenever you are," she says, voice low. Erin doesn’t need directions anymore. She slips behind the screen, sheds her clothes, and settles onto the heated table on her stomach, the small white towel folded once across her hips. Kenna knocks, gives the usual pause, then comes back in. Warm oil pools between Erin’s shoulder blades and Kenna’s hands follow it, spreading heat across bare skin. Each stroke glides lower, stopping just short of the towel’s edge, fingers turning outward as if the cloth might burn. The rhythm is slow, generous. Erin feels Kenna’s thumbs press and linger where towel meets flesh, breathing careful and measured. "I can move this down an inch or two," Kenna asks, palms already rubbing oil along the lower curve of Erin’s back. Erin nods into the face cradle. Fabric drags, exposing more skin, and Kenna’s hands stay disciplined—pressing circles into flesh the towel no longer hides. Another pause. Kenna’s fingertips brush the towel again, tentative. "Further?" Erin answers yes without lifting her head. The towel slips lower each time. Kenna’s touch tracks the newly uncovered skin like it’s studying territory it’s been warned away from. When the cloth finally rests across Erin’s thighs she pauses, voice almost casual. "All the way?" "Yes." Erin lifts her hips just enough to help. The towel disappears. Kenna freezes. The jeweled end of the plug gleams against the oiled swell of Erin’s ass. A short breath leaves Kenna. She clears her throat. "That’s… new." Erin turns her face to the side, eyes half-lidded, calm. "You’ve been looking at my ass for weeks. Thought I’d save you the suspense." Kenna’s laugh is quiet, startled. "I thought I was discreet." "You weren’t." Erin settles again. "It’s an invitation. Extra attention back there. Up to you." Oil clicks open. Kenna’s warm palms return, this time settling without hesitation on each cheek, pressing, parting, thumbs sliding either side of the crystal. The plug shifts beneath gentle pressure and Erin exhales against the cushion. The massage gets slower, heavier, edging into something that barely hides its own intent.