Chapter 1 — Massage on Demand

7 p.m. I met her near Anyang Station, the woman who'd called after seeing an ad in the local listings.

An awkward silence passed between us before we wordlessly began walking toward a nearby motel.

“What should I do?” she asked.

“First, take off your clothes and lie facedown on the bed, head toward the headboard. And since the oil might stain, you should probably take off your bra too—it'll be easier.”

Hesitating slightly, she stripped down, leaving only a thin, sky-blue panty on her lower half.

Even though I'd seen many naked women before, the sensation never lost its edge.

Especially not now—this rare moment of seeing a young woman in her twenties, not some middle-aged housewife with thick layers of flesh.

Her body was all soft, elegant curves. And the gentle contour of her hips, barely concealed by the flimsy fabric of her panties—
I swallowed hard, but forced myself to stay composed, spending about an hour slowly working over her body with my hands.

From her breasts down to her hips, from her hips to her thighs, then back up toward her groin—each light touch sent faint tremors through her frame.
And then, finally, I began the real game.

I began coating my palms with oil.

When my hands slid down her spine and parted her buttocks, slipping into the deep cleft between, she began writhing beneath me, her breath growing unsteady.

Then, as my fingers moved lower, caressing her perineum, she spread her legs and gasped, breathing heavily.

I stroked the damp curls between her legs, then told her to turn over.

She lifted her hips without hesitation, rolling onto her back as if she could no longer bear the tension.

Mid-to-late twenties, perhaps? Her delicate face, slender neck, and the soft swell of her breasts—each feature stirred a primal urge, the kind that made you want to taste, to claim, to devour.

Slowly, I moved my hands to her breasts, gently squeezing, releasing, repeating.

She moaned continuously, then suddenly reached down with one hand, gripping my crotch, urging me lower with no words needed.

When I dripped a few drops of oil onto her stomach, she was already half-dazed, her eyes bloodshot, legs trembling.

“How does it feel?” I asked—cruelly.

She couldn't answer, only continued kneading my groin through my clothes.

Slowly, I parted her labia and slid an oil-slick finger inside.

“Please… stop. No more.”

She let out a short, sharp cry.

But I knew better. At this point, refusal was just another form of pleading.

I added a second finger, slowly. Watching her face, I saw she was already halfway up the mountain.

Then a third finger, filling her completely.

She made a sound—half sob, half whisper—then flung her legs wide open.

I lifted her hips and brought my tongue between her thighs, into the wet heat waiting there.

Her buttocks, perfectly angled, glistened with oil and her own rising moisture.
Yet the scent—intoxicating, musky, sweet—was irresistible.

“I'm going to come… please, do something.”

Her voice was parched, desperate.

But I wanted to tease her more. I shifted position, lying down opposite her, facing each other.

This was the 69 position.

My erect cock loomed in front of her face. She didn't hesitate.

Grasping my thighs tightly, as if trying to swallow me whole, she began sucking me fiercely.

Below, her breasts and anus were also devoured by my mouth, while I lifted her hips, pressing her core closer to my lips.