A Not So Relaxing Massage

Cindy's fingers begin with practiced restraint, pressing into Kitty's shoulders with the kind of measured touch that should soothe. Yet the pressure changes. Her fingertips stray, following the line of the shoulder blade before dipping lower. They test the curve of breast. Explore the dip of waist. A second hand joins the first, sliding between Kitty's ribs and hip. The blonde's breath catches once, then holds. Cindy watches that small reaction like a confirmation. She keeps her palm flat as she moves, pushing heat through skin with each pass. Kitty parts her lips but says nothing. Her back arches by fractions, leaning into the contact rather than away. The towel slips an inch. Cindy doesn't replace it. She skims across ribs she now reads by touch, then lower, past the usual boundary of a back rub. The quiet between them stretches taut, filled only by fabric moving over skin.