Mistaken Identity

Abigale Mac begins her morning with weights, building strength for the hands that keep her clientele coming back. Then Erica Fontes walks in. Abigale watches the tall blonde across the room, smooths a free-massage card into her gym bag, and waits. Months later the same blonde steps into the spa, trusting her body to the stranger’s table. Erica lies face down, bare skin catching the low light. Abigale’s oiled palms glide over shoulders, then lower, pressing deep until Erica’s breath catches. Fingertips trace between the cheeks of her ass, circle, then push inside with a slow, sure thrust. Erica moans, legs parting. Abigale works her open, curling two fingers against the slick heat until Erica’s hips lift and the table creaks under the rhythm. Nothing left untouched, every knot coaxed loose, every nerve coaxed tight.