#Massage Therapist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leriexoxo · 3 days ago

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Pressure Points

Idol! Jeongin x Massage therapist! Reader

Tags: slow burn tension, soft dom!innie, inexperienced!innie, sensual massage, heavy teasing, desperate touches, oral (f receiving), fingering, protected sex, soft aftercare, body worship, and a sinful amount of mutual pining

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: You were hired by JYPE for your expert hands and professional demeanor—not to indulge in the fantasies of wide-eyed idols with dirty minds and little experience. But Jeongin? He makes it hard. Literally. Every time he’s on your table, his body reacts—shaking under your touch, biting his lip, unable to control the effect you have on him. He doesn’t mean to stare at your tits. He doesn’t mean to get hard. But he does, and when the towel slips… well. Let’s just say, sometimes relief goes beyond sore muscles.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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Jeongin wasn’t sure if something was wrong with him—or if you were the problem.

No, not a problem. You were perfect. And that was the problem.

Every time his name showed up on the recovery schedule next to yours, something in his stomach flipped. He’d tell himself to stay calm, to just show up, get the soreness worked out of his body, and leave like the rest of the boys did. That’s what a massage therapist was for. That’s what you were for.

But damn it, you made it hard.

You weren’t like the older therapists JYPE usually brought in—strict and clinical, always asking if the pressure was okay in that same monotone voice. You were young. Foreign. Sharp-eyed and soft-voiced, and you smelled like coconut lotion and something floral he couldn’t name. Every curve of you looked unfair in that tight black uniform. The stretch of your top over your chest. The hug of your pants over your hips. The way your waist dipped in when you leaned over him, wrists brushing his skin as your fingers dug deep into muscle.

Jeongin had no fucking idea how to handle it.

“Okay, take your shirt off for me and lay face down,” you said with a casual smile, flipping through your clipboard like this wasn’t the fifth time he’d gotten hard before you’d even touched him.

Jeongin swallowed. Nodded. Did as he was told.

He tried to will his thoughts somewhere else—tried to think about practice, lyrics, the last time Jisung made a joke so dumb he forgot how to breathe—but all of that melted when you pressed your warm palms into his back and moaned.

Not sexually. Not deliberately. But just a soft, appreciative hum like, “Mmh, tight again. You overworked your shoulders, didn’t you?”

Jeongin squeezed his eyes shut. God, your voice. That hum. The fact that your thumbs were pushing right into the knots under his shoulder blades, while your chest practically brushed his side.

You leaned closer. Too close. “Still breathing okay?”

Barely.

“Y-Yeah,” he croaked.

You smiled again, and he swore it was the devil in lip gloss. “Let me know if anything feels too sensitive.”

He didn’t need to say anything. His body spoke for him. His cock twitched against the towel beneath him, already half-hard and begging for attention, and the worst part? You hadn’t even touched his lower back yet.

And when you did? God help him.

Jeongin’s breath hitched the moment your palms slid back up his spine, firm and practiced, gliding with the oil that made your hands feel like silk over muscle. He was quiet—too quiet for someone who usually had a million things to say outside this room. You let your thumbs dip along the ridges of his lower back, working small circles, knuckles dragging just a little slower than strictly necessary.

“You’re always this tense,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, but he still flinched like you’d just whispered something filthy in his ear.

“I—I dunno,” he stammered, face buried in the cushioned cradle, voice muffled and shaky. “I guess… just sore from dancing?”

You smiled softly, biting down on the smug little curl of it. Poor boy. He wasn’t lying—but it wasn’t just dancing that had him tight and twitching under you.

“I can tell,” you replied smoothly, letting your thumbs drag along the outer edges of his waist. You knew it grazed nerves that had nothing to do with injury. You knew exactly what you were doing—and you told yourself it was still part of the job.

Strictly anatomical. Nothing more.

Jeongin choked on a breath. “Y-you always… uhm… do that?”

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

“That… thing.” He sounded embarrassed even asking. His ears were bright pink. “With your hands. That… like…”

Your voice stayed even. Calm. “You mean massage?”

A beat of silence. He nodded furiously.

You held back a chuckle. “Yes, Jeongin. That’s what I’m here for.”

He groaned into the table, more mortified than relieved. “Right. Right. Sorry. I—I didn’t mean it like…”

You leaned in, just enough for your breath to warm the shell of his ear. “Like what?”

The tension in him shivered. God, he was so easy to unravel. So easy to read. The way his back arched just slightly when your palms skimmed down again, the soft tremor in his exhale when your fingertips grazed his hips in that slow, deliberate pass…

“You okay?” you asked again, feigning concern like your hands hadn’t just mapped every inch of his self-control.

“Yeah,” he said way too fast. “Mhm. Yeah, just—your hands are, um… warm. S’nice.”

“Warm?” you echoed, working into his glutes now with methodical pressure that dipped your fingers just between the creases. “That’s a new one.”

His breath caught. You felt it.

“D-do people not… say that?”

“Not usually with a voice that shaky.”

Silence again. His fists clenched against the table.

You smiled to yourself. “Want me to keep going?”

He nodded again, helpless, desperate, and you took your time, knowing he’d feel every inch of it. Every drag. Every press. Every cruel stroke of your thumb that barely skimmed the inner curve of his thigh.

You were still a professional. You hadn’t crossed a line.

But God, the way he shuddered beneath you? That was yours.

A little guilty pleasure. One that came back every week.

You worked him like clay—slow pressure down the length of his hamstrings, the kind of focused glide that wasn’t strictly necessary but felt good under your palms. His thighs were taut, practically humming, and every time your hands got close to the crease where muscle met ass, he twitched.

Jeongin was trying to be good. God, he really was. But the way you touched him? The way you spoke in that calm, unbothered voice while your hands danced over the parts of him he never let anyone else near—it had him unraveling. Thread by thread.

“Better?” you asked gently, pressing into his inner thigh with a slow, downward roll of your palm.

He hissed. Not from pain. Not even close.

“Y-yeah,” he croaked. “M-much.”

You hummed again. He swore that little noise of yours was going to kill him someday. The fact that you didn’t even realize what it did to him made it so much worse.

“Well,” you said, straightening up with a soft sigh, “I think that’s most of the tension out of your back.”

Jeongin peeked up just slightly, watching the way you adjusted the oil bottle in your hand. “Oh. So we’re done?”

“Nope,” you smiled. “Flip over for me.”

He froze.

“I—wait,” he said, voice suddenly an octave higher. “You—you usually don’t—uh—you only do the front sometimes, right?”

You arched a brow at him, lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “Are you telling me how to do my job, Jeongin?”

“N-no! I just—I mean—uh…” He rolled his face into the cradle again, groaning. “I’m not trying to be weird, it’s just… I’m fine, really. The back’s enough.”

You walked around to his side, fingertips brushing his shoulder in a featherlight tap. “Come on. I want to check your quads and your chest. That fall you took last week during practice could’ve stiffened more than you realize.”

That was a lie.

You knew damn well he hadn’t landed that hard, and his chest wasn’t even in the danger zone. But the way he hesitated now—sweating, flushed, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to flip over with his semi pressing against the table—was almost too pretty to pass up.

He whimpered under his breath, and you pretended not to hear it.

Still, you gave him one last out. “Or is there a reason you can’t flip over?”

A full beat of silence.

He groaned again, this time full of shame. “I… uh… No. No reason.”

You stepped back, letting him move.

And oh, it was everything.

His face was red. His hands trembled a bit as he pushed himself over, and when he finally settled flat on his back, arms at his sides, legs stiff and closed—there it was. Bold as day. A thick, obvious bulge tenting the towel that barely covered him.

You didn’t react.

Not a blink.

You only met his eyes, soft and professional.

“I’ll keep it quick,” you said gently. “You’re probably a little overstimulated. Happens more often than you’d think.”

He blinked at you, wide-eyed, pupils blown. “It… it does?”

“Mhm,” you said, oil slick on your palms again. “Perfectly normal.”

And then you leaned in—hands grazing up his thighs, slow and firm—and Jeongin nearly passed out when your thumbs came dangerously close to the edge of that towel.

Your hands started at his chest—gliding slowly over his pecs, fingers splaying wide, thumbs pressing just beneath his collarbones. His skin was flushed, smooth, and hot to the touch. You could feel how fast his heart was beating. The oil helped your movements slide easily, and you let your palms work firm circles over muscle, then down—lower, past the sternum, across the ridges of his abs.

His breath hitched every time.

“You’re always so stiff here,” you murmured, smoothing oil down his sides. “You hold your breath too much when you dance, don’t you?”

Jeongin couldn’t even answer right away. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, legs still clenched tight, trying to keep from twitching under you.

“I-I guess?” he choked out. “I didn’t—didn’t really notice.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, letting your fingers trail down to his lower abdomen now, pressing firm little circles right above the towel line. His abs tensed like they were trying to escape your touch. “That explains the tension.”

You grazed just above his hip bone, and his body jerked.

A low, broken sound escaped him. His eyes squeezed shut.

And then, barely a whisper:

“When you said… it happens a lot…”

You paused, fingers stilling for just a breath.

“Yes?”

“…you mean… with—” he cleared his throat, voice cracking, “—with other idols?”

Your smile was faint. “Why do you ask?”

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “It’s just—uh—so it’s not… just me, then?”

“Reactions like this?” you asked, like it was nothing, like you weren’t kneeling over him with your hands just a hair above his cock. “No, not just you.”

Jeongin swallowed hard. “Do they—do they get this bad, too?”

You didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, you slid your fingers lower, brushing over the edge of the towel—grazing it this time, not quite pushing, but not avoiding either. His hips bucked so fast, and he gasped out loud.

“Sensitive,” you said softly, as if that explained everything.

He couldn’t even form words now. His lips were parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling fast. He wasn’t hiding it anymore—the tent in the towel was obvious, throbbing, straining—and still, you worked like it wasn’t there.

“I-is it… part of the therapy?” he whispered, barely audible.

You leaned down a little, lips close to his ear again. “Only if you need it to be.”

Jeongin shuddered.

Your fingers trailed down his right thigh with methodical care, thumbs pressing just enough to make the muscle twitch under your touch. He was barely breathing now—tense in a whole new way, jaw tight, knuckles white against the table.

You shifted to the other side of the table, slow and smooth, reaching across his hips to begin working the opposite thigh. And when you leaned in—

—your chest dipped.

Just slightly.

Just enough for one soft, warm curve to brush against the side of his bare torso.

Jeongin twitched like he’d been shocked, a full-body jolt that jerked his hips—and that’s when it happened.

The towel slipped.

It didn’t fall completely. Just dipped low enough to reveal the flushed curve of his lower abdomen and the thick, aching top of his cock, straining upwards, flushed red and leaking at the tip.

“Shit—!” Jeongin gasped out loud, a strangled curse ripping from him as he tried to catch the towel—but his hands were slick with oil and his reflexes fried. “Fuck—I didn’t mean—”

His hips jerked again, back arching, and he let out something between a moan and a choked whimper.

You… didn’t move right away.

Your hands had stilled, one still cupping his thigh, the other resting above his knee. Your face was calm—almost too calm—except for the tiniest flicker of interest in your gaze as it flicked down, then back up to meet his.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice raw with shame, eyes wild with panic. “I—I didn’t mean to—shit, I didn’t mean for that to happen, I swear—”

“Jeongin,” you said softly, voice calm and low.

He shut up instantly.

“I leaned over you. That was on me.”

His throat worked. “Y-you’re not mad?”

“No,” you said, a little slower now, fingertips dragging once more—purposeful, steady, directly over the tense line of his inner thigh. “But you are incredibly sensitive.”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, a broken sort of whine in his tone. “You—your hands, and your… you brushed me and I—fuck, I’m so embarrassed—”

You tilted your head. “Why? It’s not like you’re hiding anything anymore.”

His face went scarlet.

Still, you didn’t adjust the towel.

Didn’t cover him.

Didn’t look away.

Instead, you let your hand drift back up—so close to the tip of him now it made his whole body tremble.

“You want me to stop?”

Jeongin blinked, breath hitching again.

“I—I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t think I can take much more.”

But his hips lifted, just barely, chasing your fingers.

His chest was rising fast now, breath shallow and uneven, skin slick with oil and heat. The towel was halfway to giving up completely, and you still hadn’t fixed it. Your hand moved in soft, lazy strokes up his thigh, stopping just short of where he needed you the most.

And that’s when he whispered it.

“C-can you… help?”

Your hands paused again.

You tilted your head, letting your gaze drag over his trembling form. “Help with what, Jeongin?”

He swallowed hard. His lips parted and closed again. And then—

“My tension,” he breathed, barely audible. “If it’s not… not too much to ask.”

You blinked once.

“I didn’t mean—I’m not asking you to—I just—” He winced, eyes squeezing shut, voice breaking like he wished he could curl into himself and disappear. “I just can’t leave here like this.”

You said nothing for a moment. Just stared at him.

Then your voice came low, gentle, like you were still in that same clinical headspace—except your words told a very different story.

“That’s not technically part of the job,” you murmured, thumb sliding in lazy circles on his inner thigh.

He flinched at the touch—like it burned. His eyes snapped back open to meet yours.

“But…” you continued, gaze unwavering, tone steady. “My job is to relieve your tension. And if this… counts as tension…” Your hand drifted higher—still not touching, but close enough that he could feel the heat of your skin. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jeongin stopped breathing.

Just stared at you, completely frozen, lips parted, blinking fast like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said.

Your fingers grazed just below his hipbone, dangerously close to where his cock throbbed, fully exposed now that the towel had slipped too far to be saved.

Still, you kept your eyes on his.

Not a single flicker of shame. No teasing. No smile.

Just the question, silent in your stare: Do you want it?

His mouth opened like he was going to speak, but nothing came out.

You leaned in, voice barely a whisper now.

“Tell me, Jeongin. What do you want me to do?”

“I—” he started, but the words fell apart.

You didn’t rush him.

You just let your hands drift again, sliding up his thighs, stopping just short of where his cock now stood fully exposed, flushed dark red and twitching with every beat of his heart.

He tried again. “I think I… want you to…” His voice cracked, eyes flicking down to where your fingers hovered. “Touch me. There.”

You hummed softly. “Here?” you asked, circling your thumb around the base of his thigh—so close to the pulsing length, but not quite.

He whimpered.

“Yes. P-please.”

You moved your hand finally, trailing your fingers up along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. He let out the loudest moan yet—sharp, shocked, his head dropping back against the table.

“Sensitive,” you murmured again, as though assessing a muscle group. “You’ve been holding this tension for a while, haven’t you?”

“I—I didn’t mean to get like this,” he breathed. “I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about how you smell and how your hands feel and—fuck, your chest—”

You smiled, just a hint of it. “Ah. That part of my body’s been giving you trouble, too?”

He looked horrified—blushing so hard his ears were red—but he nodded, because it was true. His eyes had been flicking to your chest all session, unable to stop, each accidental brush of your body undoing him further.

“So let me see,” you said softly, shifting closer, cupping him fully now in your palm, letting your fingers glide up the shaft with care. He bucked into your touch immediately, voice breaking with a cracked moan.

“Oh my God—”

You leaned in as you worked him, slow and steady. “This is part of your treatment now. Understand?”

He nodded frantically, hips twitching with every stroke. “Yes—fuck, yes, I—I’ll do whatever—”

And then, barely a whisper:

“Can I touch you?”

You tilted your head. “Where?”

He stared at your chest, biting his lip, nervous and needy. “Your… your tits. Please.”

Your hand paused at the tip of his cock, thumb circling it gently. His whole body shuddered.

“Well,” you said calmly, like it was just another option in his therapy package, “technically, I’m paid to relieve your tension. So if that would help…” You leaned in, so close your breath kissed his cheek. “You can touch whatever you want—as long as the session’s still on.”

His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. And then both hands were on you, trembling as they reached up to cup your breasts over your thin top—groaning the moment he felt how soft they were.

“Oh my God, they’re—fuck—they’re real,” he whispered, squeezing gently, thumbing over your nipples through the fabric. “You’re so fucking soft, I—shit—”

You gave a quiet, satisfied noise, fingers working faster now, stroking him as his hands pawed at your chest like a starving boy finally being fed.

“Keep your hands there,” you told him. “Don’t move them.”

“I won’t,” he gasped. “I won’t—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m so close—”

“You’re doing so well, Jeongin,” you purred, stroking him in a rhythm now that matched his breathless moans. “Just let me take care of you.”

And he did. Head thrown back, mouth falling open, hips jerking helplessly as you worked him through every raw, overstimulated second.

He came hard, loud, moaning your name like a prayer—his whole body curling forward, breath gone, hands still clinging to your tits like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

And through it all, you kept that same calm voice.

“Much better. See? Told you I’d relieve your tension.”

⸻

It had been two weeks.

Two long, torturous, mind-melting weeks since the last time you’d touched him like that—calm, professional, deliberate in the way you stroked every inch of him like it was just another body part to be massaged. And then you’d leaned in, voice low and warm and lethal, whispering in his ear as his cum dripped down your hand:

“Next time… you’ll return the favor.”

Jeongin hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

He’d gone home hard. Twice. Woken up in the middle of the night panting, cock leaking and aching and useless in his own hand because it never felt like you. He even caught himself moaning your name once while jerking off in the dorm shower—and nearly died when Seungmin banged on the door asking who the fuck he was talking to.

So now, here he was—heart racing, legs twitching, dick already half-hard in his briefs as he waited on that massage table again, just like last time. He even came early. Embarrassingly early. Couldn’t help it. His body remembered you.

And then you walked in.

Holy. Fuck.

The scrubs were technically appropriate, he guessed—but they clung to your waist like they’d been sprayed on, tight over your tits, hugging the curve of your ass so perfectly he almost moaned out loud just from the sight of you closing the door.

“Jeongin,” you greeted sweetly, like nothing ever happened, clipboard in hand, smile soft and professional. “It’s good to see you again.”

He could barely speak.

“Y-you too.”

You didn’t even bother pretending this time.

Not when you walked in and found Jeongin already lying face-down on the table, the towel barely covering the outline of his very obvious hard-on. Not when he turned his head to glance at you and immediately flushed, caught mid-stare at your outfit.

The scrubs were professional. Technically. But they hugged your waist like they were custom-made, the neckline dipping just enough to draw attention—and Jeongin’s eyes kept falling there, again and again.

“I missed this,” he mumbled without thinking.

You smirked, slipping on your gloves, your voice light but knowing.

“Missed what exactly?”

His gaze darted up, caught.

You moved closer, brushing your fingers up his back and over his shoulders, slow and warm. “The therapy,” you added innocently.

He swallowed. “Y-yeah. The… therapy.”

You leaned in slightly, letting your palm smooth over the tight muscles in his back—but it wasn’t clinical. Not anymore.

“You showed up eager this time,” you murmured, voice close to his ear. “Hard already. It’s almost like you knew what was gonna happen.”

He didn’t move, but you saw his jaw twitch.

You straightened up, hands pausing at the top of his back.

“So… is this gonna be a regular therapy session today, Jeongin?” You trailed your fingers along the edge of the towel, just to see him twitch. “Or are you gonna pay back what you owe me?”

He lifted his head slightly. “Pay you back?”

You gave him a look. “I didn’t forget last time. You still haven’t returned the favor.”

His face went bright red. “I—uh—I want to. Just…”

You tilted your head.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Can I… touch you?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

He glanced up, breath shaky. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. About—your tits. I just—if I could touch them—feel them again—I’ll do anything you want after, I just… I need it.”

That honesty. That desperation. You felt your thighs clench.

You didn’t say a word.

You turned around slowly—walked to the door—and locked it with a soft click.

When you faced him again, he looked like he could barely breathe.

You stepped closer, undoing your gloves, and watched him push himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the table. His eyes were wide, already glued to your chest.

Your voice was quiet. “Help me out, then.”

His hands shook as they reached for the zipper.

He found it at your collarbone, sliding it down slow—inch by inch—until the curve of your breasts spilled into view. Your bra didn’t hide much; it just made them look even more perfect. Jeongin’s mouth parted, eyes locked on them like he was staring at treasure.

“Holy… fuck.”

You tugged your top lower, let the bra straps fall.

He just stared.

“Jeongin,” you said gently, drawing his gaze back to your face, “You asked to touch me. So go ahead.”

His hands rose like he didn’t even realize they were moving, palms sliding up to cup your breasts—soft and reverent and starving. He let out a breathless moan at the first squeeze, then leaned forward and buried his face between them like he’d just come home from war.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled. “I’ve been dreaming about this—I thought maybe I made it up—I didn’t think you’d actually—”

You cradled the back of his head, letting him nuzzle and kiss and squeeze all he wanted.

“Still tense?” you teased softly, heart pounding at the sight of his lips brushing your nipple.

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips wet.

“I’ll never be relaxed again if I don’t get to taste you.”

You bit your lip.

“Well,” you whispered, nudging his chin with your finger, “I guess you better keep going, then.”

Jeongin’s face was buried between your tits, hands roaming like he didn’t know where to start—palms sliding up your sides, fingers grazing your ribs, squeezing and rubbing like he just needed to touch everything.

You laughed softly, brushing his bangs back as he kissed the soft swell of your breast.

“You okay there, baby?”

He groaned into your skin.

“I think I’m gonna die,” he mumbled, “You’re so… warm. And soft. And perfect. Fuck.”

You felt his cock twitch against your stomach through the towel—completely unashamed now, grinding up into your belly as he worshipped you with both hands and lips.

“Can I…” he looked up, eyes dazed, lips parted, “Can I kiss you?”

Your chest tightened.

“Of course.”

He surged up clumsily, mouth colliding with yours in a messy, eager kiss—way too much tongue, no rhythm at all, but so much want. You let him lead for a moment, letting his hands tangle in your hair, feeling his hips buck once, twice, seeking friction. He kissed like a virgin with a filthy mind—like someone who’d watched porn a thousand times but never really done it.

And when his lips broke away from yours, they went straight back to your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about these,” he whispered, breath hot against your nipple before he wrapped his lips around it, sucking greedily. “They were in my head all the time. Couldn’t even sleep sometimes. Just… fuck—”

He licked and sucked and moaned against your skin, alternating between each breast, using his hands to lift and squeeze like he was trying to memorize every inch. He slid his fingers under your top, tugging it down further until it pooled at your waist.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned. “I swear to god—no one looks like this—no one smells like you��”

His voice broke off as he kissed down your chest, your stomach, his mouth getting wetter with every inch.

You laughed breathlessly, completely wrecked from how into it he was. He wasn’t even asking for anything in return—just kissing and licking and groping like he couldn’t help it.

But then his hands slid behind you, gripping your ass as he thrust up into your hip again.

“I wanna do more,” he whispered, cheeks flushed, breath heavy. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do but I wanna feel you. Please. I wanna know what you feel like.”

You let your fingers trail down his chest, over the soft rise of his abs, then lower, until you found his hands and slowly, deliberately, guided them down the curve of your waist—lower, over your hips—until his fingertips grazed the waistband of your scrub bottoms.

“Then let’s make you feel something new.”

You moved his hands to the seam between your thighs. He looked down, breath catching as his thumbs brushed the heat between your legs.

You weren’t wearing anything under the pants.

His whole body jolted.

“You’re—fuck—you’re not even—shit—”

“Still wanna touch me?” you teased gently, eyes dark with amusement.

His answer came in a shaky breath and a wild nod.

“I need to.”

You pressed his hand harder between your thighs, and the way he moaned—like the mere heat of your cunt through your scrubs was too much—made you realize this boy was about to learn real quick what “relieving tension” actually meant.

Your fingers slipped under the waistband of your scrub pants, and Jeongin watched like you were unwrapping a goddamn miracle. You made a show of it—slow, teasing, hips shifting just enough to draw his hungry gaze as you slid them down and stepped out, bare and glistening beneath the dim room light.

You stood in front of him now, shirt bunched around your waist, bra still dangling from your arms, and nothing on from the hips down.

“Lay back,” you said softly, nodding to the table. “Your turn to relax.”

Jeongin didn’t hesitate—he scooted back until he was half-sitting, half-lying, eyes glued to your body like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You climbed up beside him, spreading your knees, then straddling the massage table right above his chest. Your cunt hovered inches from his face, glistening and warm, slick with how bad you wanted this.

His mouth parted.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “You’re… you’re soaked.”

You smirked. “Guess you really do make me tense.”

He didn’t even ask—just leaned in and pressed his tongue to your clit like he was chasing salvation. It was messy from the start—needy, wet, loud. His hands gripped your thighs, arms wrapped around your hips to hold you down as he mouthed at your pussy like he was trying to swallow you whole.

“Oh my—fuck, Jeongin—”

He groaned into you, tongue flicking, sucking, burying himself as deep as he could get. One hand came up to spread you open, the other fumbling with his towel because he couldn’t stop rutting into the air.

You rocked against his mouth, grabbing his hair, guiding his rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” you moaned, voice wrecked. “Just like that.”

He lapped and sucked and whimpered, nose bumping your clit as his fingers found your entrance. You were soaked, velvety-soft, your cunt practically sucking his fingers in like it missed him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, curling them carefully inside you. “You feel… insane.”

You rode his face like you’d been waiting for this since day one—hips grinding, thighs trembling as his tongue fucked you through wave after wave of pleasure.

He looked up at you from between your thighs, face soaked, lips shiny, pupils blown out.

“I wanna fuck you,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “Please. I’ve been thinking about it—I need to—I’ll be good, I swear—just let me—”

You smirked down at him, breathless, dripping, and absolutely ready.

“That,” you murmured, reaching for the box of condoms tucked into your drawer, “is gonna be a whole session of its own.”

You had never seen someone look like that.

Jeongin’s hair was messy, lips swollen and shiny from where he’d been buried in you just moments ago. His broad chest rose and fell in frantic bursts, skin flushed, abs flexing as he sat on the edge of the table—towel long gone, cock huge and thick between his thighs, hard and leaking and twitching with every breath.

“C’mere,” you whispered, condom already in your fingers.

Jeongin stepped toward you like he was in a trance. Your hands found his hips first—tight, strong, the kind of body that only came from relentless training and youth—and then you reached down, wrapping your fingers around that thick, heavy length.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hips jerking. “You’re seriously gonna—?”

“I told you,” you smiled, voice low. “If it helps you relieve tension…”

You rolled the condom over his length slowly, deliberately, watching the way his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. His cock was gorgeous, thick all the way down, the tip flushed dark, heavy veins running along the shaft. You stroked him a few times, letting your thumb slide over the head.

Jeongin shuddered.

“I’m gonna lose it,” he whispered, biting his lip. “I—fuck—I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it,” you said, then stepped back onto the table, lying down on your back and spreading your thighs just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Come here and fuck me.”

He climbed over you like a man possessed—careful, but shaking with need, eyes stuck between your legs.

“You’re so wet,” he said hoarsely, lining himself up, tip just barely brushing your entrance. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Jeongin,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist, “you’re not gonna hurt me. Just go slow, and let me feel all of you.”

And god—he did.

He pushed in inch by inch, hips trembling, his cock stretching you open with a slow, perfect burn. He cursed loudly, voice high and wrecked.

“Holy *shit—*you feel—fuck—so warm, so tight—I’m not gonna last, I swear—”

You grabbed his face, kissed him, moaned right into his mouth as he bottomed out.

“Just move, baby. Don’t hold back.”

Jeongin groaned and began to thrust—slow at first, hesitant, but as your hands slid down to grip his ass and pull him deeper, he started to move faster. Stronger. More confident.

And that’s when it changed.

The moment he found a rhythm that had your thighs trembling, his body took over—instinct taking the reins. His muscles flexed above you, abs tightening with every roll of his hips, sweat dotting his collarbones. He stared down at you with blown-out eyes, watching the way your tits bounced every time he slammed into you, the way your nails scraped down his back.

“Is this okay?” he panted, thrusting harder.

“So fucking okay,” you moaned, biting your lip. “You feel so good, Jeongin.”

He whined—whined—and leaned down to kiss your neck, then your tits, sucking one nipple into his mouth as he kept fucking you like he was losing his mind.

“You’re so pretty,” he gasped, “I’ve never—fuck—never wanted anything like this—”

You locked your ankles behind his back, pulling him in deeper. His hips snapped harder, louder, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls. The table creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared.

And then he slid one hand down, almost instinctively, pressing his thumb to your clit while still pounding into you.

You arched, gasped, clenched around him so tight he nearly sobbed.

“Oh my god,” he cried, “did I—fuck—did I do that?”

“Keep doing it,” you gasped, “don’t you dare stop—”

And he didn’t. He kept that rhythm—deep, hard, needy thrusts, thumb circling your clit until your whole body locked up under him, until your moans turned into incoherent cries, until your orgasm hit like a damn wave crashing down.

You came so hard you nearly forgot where you were—head thrown back, legs shaking, cunt clenching tight around his cock.

That’s what finally broke him.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—fuck—fuck—FUCK—”

Jeongin buried his face in your neck and slammed into you one last time, hips jerking wildly as he came with a moan so raw and loud it made you clench all over again. His whole body shuddered on top of you, arms trembling, cock twitching deep inside as he emptied into the condom.

You lay there for a moment—both of you a sweaty, tangled mess, breathing hard, skin flushed.

Eventually, he peeked up at you.

“…So, uh,” he smiled sheepishly, “how often do you take repeat clients?”

You grinned, pulled him in for a kiss, and whispered against his lips—

“As often as they need me.”

He hadn’t moved much—just lying there on top of you, face nuzzled into your neck like he didn’t want to let go.

You brushed your fingers through his hair gently, letting the silence stretch, feeling the warmth between your thighs where his cock had just been. His breath still came in soft, shaky bursts. The scent of sex clung to the room, thick and delicious, but the moment had turned tender—intimate in a way neither of you had prepared for.

And then—

“…Would you ever… wanna go out with me?”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to look at him. He was still hiding his face, but his ears were bright red.

“I-I mean—not just for this,” he added quickly, clearly panicking. “I—I like this, obviously—god I love this—but I meant like… food? Movie? I don’t know—something normal?”

You couldn’t help it. You cooed.

“Jeongin.”

He peeked up at you, lips pouty, eyes so round and sincere you felt your heart clench.

You smiled, leaned in, and kissed the tip of his nose.

“We can plan that,” you whispered. “But take my number first.”

His eyes widened.

“Y-You mean it?”

“I don’t just give my number to anyone,” you teased, reaching over to grab your phone off the stool nearby. “But I think my favorite client deserves a little something special.”

He watched you type in the digits, completely entranced, then took the phone and stared at your name in his contacts like it was a gift from heaven.

“I’m gonna text you,” he said, still breathless. “Right after I get home. Unless—unless you text me first, then I’ll text you back—but I am gonna text.”

You giggled. Actually giggled.

Jeongin, freshly ruined, freshly in love, already planning dates while still lying bare on the massage table.

Yeah… this was going to be so much more than a one-time thing.

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Authors note: more innocent big dicked Innie smut? Count me in! 😍 ugh i just wanna ruin that boy 😭❤️

You know the drill mamas! Drop me that like and comment for encouragement, and REBLOG so others can see this 🥲❤️