NOTE: The author is horrified by the recent murders in Atlanta spas. This story is not intended to contribute to the hypersexualization of Asian women. Neither of the protagonists are identified as being of any particular culture. However all profits from this story will be donated to charitable organizations focused on supporting Asian Americans, women, and sex workers, in perpetuity.
On 25 March 2021 all profits this story received since publication were donated to the Atlanta chapter of Asian Americans Advancing Justice, as recommended by Red Canary Song.
Censored Excerpt
She grinned at me. "Since it's your first time, I suggest you let me tell you what I'm about to do before I do it. So you can let me know of anything you might not care for."
"Sure, that sounds good."
"Okay, so I'm just going to start by assessing your current level of muscle tension."
I put my head back into the dipped part of the table, and she whipped the towel off of my butt.
I felt her strong hands briefly kneading my shoulders, my calves. My thighs. Way up my thighs.
Oh, God. It was good. I was afraid she could tell how turned on I was getting.
"I'm going to massage your butt now," she announced. She waited a beat to see if I made any objection, and then her hands went to work.
No, this was not relaxing at all. I stifled a moan.
"I'd like to slap you." She didn't sound quite as matter-of-fact as she had before. "To assess your circulatory response."
"Do it," I said, not quite a gasp.
She delivered a handful of stinging slaps. I could feel her handprints blooming on me.
"How is my circulation?" I managed.
"Very nice," she said. Her tone was definitely huskier. "Roll over, please."
I did.
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