Embers of a Forbidden Massage

I’d just settled into my own place, a small but cozy apartment in a quiet neighborhood. Independence had always been my thing, and after hustling to secure a stable job, I finally had the means to live solo. The thrill of it was still fresh. A few weeks in, I invited my mom over to see the place and get her take on it. It was a warm Sunday evening, and she called to check if I needed anything for her visit. I told her I had everything covered, but she insisted she might bring a little something anyway.

Around 7 p.m., the buzzer sounded. I opened the door to find Mom looking radiant in a deep blue sundress that hugged her curves, paired with strappy sandals. Her hair was swept up, and she carried a casual elegance that made her stand out. She’d brought a bag of food despite my protests — a spread of fresh bread, cheeses, and some chocolate tarts from a local patisserie she knew I loved. The sight of those tarts alone had me salivating.

She stepped inside, fanning herself. “ – It’s like an oven out there, – ” she said, her cheeks flushed from the heat. “ – Could you grab me some water, hon? – ” I nodded and hurried to the kitchen, but in my haste, I fumbled the glass as I handed it to her. Water splashed across her chest, soaking the front of her dress. The fabric clung to her, outlining her black lace bra and dampening the skirt below. I burst out laughing at the mess I’d made, and she joined in, shaking her head.

“ – Oh, you’ve drenched me, sweetheart! – ” she teased, still chuckling. I grabbed a towel and, trying to be helpful, dabbed at her chest, maybe lingering a bit too long. She raised an eyebrow but smiled. “ – Careful, you’re gonna make it worse, – ” she said playfully. I stepped back, embarrassed, as she peeled off the damp dress, revealing her bra and the way her skirt still clung to her hips. “ – This bra’s a favorite, – ” I blurted out, instantly cringing at my boldness. She laughed, covering herself with the dress, and said, “ – Flatterer. I’m hopping in the shower to clean up. ”

She left the dress draped over a chair, and I tried to scrub the water stain out, but it was hopeless. The sound of the shower running filled the apartment, and my mind wandered. That glimpse of her in her bra had stirred something in me — curiosity, maybe more. I knew I shouldn’t, but I found myself drifting toward the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, and the shower curtain wasn’t fully closed. I peeked in, catching sight of her silhouette through the steam, her hands gliding over her body as she washed her hair. I stepped closer, too drawn in to stop, but the floor creaked, and her eyes snapped to mine. She gasped, yanking the curtain shut.

“ – I, uh, brought you a towel! – ” I stammered, holding one up like a shield. She peeked out, her expression softening into a smile. “ – Thanks, you’re too sweet, – ” she said, and I left the towel on the counter, retreating with my heart pounding.

By the time we sat down to eat, she’d changed into one of my old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she’d packed. The casual look only made her more striking. As we shared the bread and cheese, I told her how much her visit meant, how the apartment felt warmer with her there. She leaned back, sipping wine, and admitted she’d been thinking of staying a few days. “ – I’d love that, – ” I said. “ – Stay as long as you want. – ” Her eyes softened, and she confided that since her split from Dad, she’d felt isolated. I reached for her hand. “ – I’m here for you, whatever you need.” She squeezed my hand, her voice low. “ – You’ve always been my rock.”

We finished dinner, her gaze lingering on me with a tenderness that felt new. I cleared the plates while she stretched out on the couch, her legs bare and relaxed. I brought her a mug of herbal tea, and as she thanked me, I noticed her painted toenails — a bright, summery pink. Feeling bold, I said, “ – You look so at ease like this, just chilling. – ” She laughed, a faint blush on her cheeks. I nodded at her feet. “ – Those nails are on point. Bet you could do some fancy footwork with them. – ” She wiggled her toes, giggling, and shot back, “ – Oh, you’d be surprised. – ”

We clinked glasses, toasting to good company. On a whim, I offered a foot massage, and her eyes lit up. “ – I’d never say no to that, – ” she said, settling back. I started with her feet, her skin soft and warm under my hands. As I worked, she sighed, her body loosening. I moved to her calves, and she shifted, lying face-down on the couch. Her shorts rode up slightly, revealing the curve of her thighs and the edge of her red underwear. The sight sent a jolt through me, and I tried to focus on the massage, but the air felt charged.

My hands glided higher, kneading her calves, and I could feel her relax further, her breaths deepening. I was hyper-aware of my own excitement, discreetly adjusting myself to hide it. Testing the waters, I pressed a soft kiss to her ankle, and she let out a quiet hum. Emboldened, I kissed her toes, and her hum became a soft moan. My hands slid up her thighs, and I glanced at her — she was watching me, her lips parted, her eyes heavy with something unspoken.