Short Story ✍️ The Happy Ending She Didn’t Know She Wanted
Bored, bi-curious, and increasingly aroused by massage porn, Laura finally visits the place down the street. Things get slippery.
Hi! I was hoping to post this yesterday but real life got in the way, so it is just now going up. Since it was meant for yesterday, I’m putting it up free — no waiting for a paywall to unlock — but after today I’ll go back to most posts being available to paid subscribers a day or two before everyone else.
And fear not! OPS (Other People’s Smut) will never be paywalled on Wednesdays and Sundays — nor will any of the content featured within OPS.
I hope you enjoy this short story! I certainly enjoyed writing it. — L.H. 💋
Laura hated the place for years.
When she and Marcus first moved into the duplex, she’d noticed it immediately: Serenity Spa, with its garish purple awning, its papered-over windows, its blinking “OPEN” sign that never, not once, blinked off.
Not for Laura, but for someone with more upper body strength, it was a literal stone’s throw away. Just two blocks down, sitting there like a neon pimple at the intersection of where their otherwise sleepy residential street met one of the busiest roads in the city.
“Rub and tug,” she’d muttered the first time they passed it. “Classy.”
Every time she drove past the place she’d reflexively scrunch her face up like she’d just smelled something rancid.
Then COVID happened. First the remote work. Followed by the furlough. And then the—at that point inevitable—layoff.
She tried freelancing. Virtual assistant work. At one point, she was designing Canva graphics for a New Jersey dog groomer’s Instagram account. She looked into selling her panties but the margins were surprisingly slim.
Gigs came and went like the various, impossible to keep up with, lockdowns. Some were longer than others. None of them seemed particularly meaningful.
While Laura’s professional life collapsed, Marcus’ thrived. His company made record profits in 2020, and the division he leads was their single biggest revenue driver that year. So he’s been on a steady, arguably parabolic, trajectory upwards while Laura’s silently spiraled.
They barely saw each other anymore, his new responsibilities keeping him on the road or at the office late. She didn’t begrudge him, didn’t want to seem resentful of the diameter between his success and her lack thereof. In fact, she wasn’t resentful. She was just bored—and almost certainly experiencing mild, undiagnosed, clinical depression.
So she spent a lot of time in bed.
Not sleeping. Not even resting, really. Just scrolling. Watching. Wandering through the internet like it was a ruin with hidden doors.
At first it was yoga videos. Breathwork. Then ASMR. Then erotic ASMR. Then porn.
What a wonderland of sweaty, naked flesh! She’d never been much of a consumer before, but ennui breeds interest, which the algorithm masterfully converts to compulsion.
She cycled through all the major genres and niches that even remotely checked a box of potential arousal: threesomes, gang bangs, step-families, babysitters, gonzo-style grainy amateur stuff, even a bit of tentacled Hentai for a cultural experience.
Somewhere along the way, she discovered massage porn—something she didn’t even realize was a genre.
There were subgenres, too: Nuru massage, with inflatable vinyl pools and thick, slippery gel and both participants fully nude; “trick” massage, where some oafish man coerced a woman into sex after a few barely-legal shoulder rubs; and the simplest scenes, the ones that started out as a normal, albeit fully nude massage but transitioned organically into full-on sucking and fucking.
Those simple, formulaic massage scenes were the ones she liked best. A professional touch becomes a sensual touch. Laura found something about that simple concept obscenely tantalizing.
Especially when the massage scene involved two women.
She had never thought of herself as bi, and still didn’t, not exactly. She’d never been with a woman sexually — not even a kiss. But she had built a fantasy around it of late—of softness and care, and a pseudo-maternal sensuality—that had lodged itself deep into her body.
Her autoerotic pleasure began to rely almost exclusively on the fantasy of laying naked on a table, just a thin wall separating her from other clients and spa staff, while a woman with skillful fingers worked her slowly, delicately, to climax.
Even on the now-rare occasions when Marcus was home and awake long enough to fuck her, she’d insist he do it from behind, wanting to close her eyes and dream of sapphic delight without having to look at her husband.
She tried not to think about the fact that a massage parlor offering her precise fantasy stood within walking distance.
She tried. But eventually, she couldn’t stop.
She found the forums. The Map. A directory of erotic massage parlors—color-coded, user-reviewed, detailed like crime scene reports. Serenity Spa had three reports.
“Backroom only has curtain, be careful. Ask for Mimi. HJ with oil. Great attitude, 7/10 looks.”
“50 for half hour, 70 for hour. Good table shower. Older ladies. No FS.”
“Let me pop on her tits, she just smiled. Would repeat.”
She told herself she was horrified. She knew she was supposed to be horrified. That reading Yelp-like feedback from internet johns should be a giant red flag, as well as a turn off. It was neither.
She started taking a different, longer route on her evening walks, looping past Serenity Spa. One night, she brought a notepad. Wrote down the number. The small plastic sign on the door said they were open until 1 am, seven days a week.
She didn’t call right away. It took her a few days, during which time she obsessively refreshed Serenity’s page on The Map, seeing if any new reviews had come in.
The first time she called, it just rang and rang. She didn’t try again for a week.
The second time, a heavily accented woman answered in a clipped tone: “Serenity.”
Laura tried to keep her voice casual, but ended up sounding unsure. “Hi, I’m interested in making an appointment?”
“You make appointment for your husband?” The woman sounded older, sixties maybe.
“No. For me.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Hello?” She wasn’t sure if she’d been hung up on.
“You been here before?”
“No”
Another pause.
“Usually only men.”
“But would it be possible for me to get a massage?”
“Half hour, fifty. One hour, seventy.”
“I’ll take the hour.”
She heard women yelling in the background. Laughter in a language she assumed was Korean. The woman returned.
“Come now?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
⸻
She wore a cotton sundress. No bra. Flip flops. Her heart was thumping from the moment she put the phone down. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced this amount or intensity of adrenaline coursing through her body.
The lobby was sparse and too brightly lit from overhead. A potted plant in the corner, a taped sign on the wall that said NO FUNNY BUSINESS in all caps. A laminated piece of paper with the rates for thirty, sixty and ninety minute services. There were two doors. One closed, one slightly ajar with a string of bells dangling from the knob.
A woman stepped out. Mid-40s, wearing pink scrubs. Her face was unreadable.
“One hour?” she asked.
Laura nodded.
“Been here before?”
“No,” Laura tried again for casual. “My first visit! I’m Laura.”
“Mimi.”
Mimi looked her up and down analytically. Then she gestured.
“You want table shower?”
She nodded, trying not to appear too eager.
⸻
She was given a towel and a pair of what she hoped were disposable, foam flip-flops. Mimi left the room for her to disrobe. She knocked on the door just as Laura cinched her robe, also now wearing a robe.
She led her to a tiled room with a waist-high plastic table covered in wet towels. A bucket of sudsy water sat nearby, along with several plastic squeeze bottles. Laura stripped and lay down on her stomach.
It was, she thought as warm water was sluiced over her skin, a kind of human car wash.
But better.
Mimi was methodical. She ladled soapy water across Laura’s prone body, while managing to keep her hair dry. She scrubbed every inch of her, rinsing with a gentle touch, never speaking. At one point, Laura felt the unmistakable touch of bare flesh against her back. Mimi had removed her robe.
Hands washed her ass, again and again, soft and soapy. Then her pussy—never roughly, never overtly sexual, but unmistakably intentional. Her fingers moved between her labia with care.
She turned Laura over and did the same to her front, washing her belly, her breasts, her thighs, and then again—between her legs. One hand always anchoring, the other in motion.
Lying on her back, Laura got to take in the sight of Mimi’s body. They were probably around the same age, and neither was entering a swimsuit competition in the foreseeable future, but Mimi’s skin was both softer and firmer than Laura’s, her complexion an unblemished ivory cream. Her small breasts were still pert, as were her long dark nipples perched atop small areolas of the same hue.
Laura was slick in more ways than one.
After ensuring one final time that Laura was thoroughly washed and rinsed between her thighs, Mimi dried her off with a towel and helped her back into a robe, still wordless, before leading her to the massage room.
⸻
It was dim and warm. A small diffuser puffed out lavender-scented mist. There was a folded towel on the table.
“Lie down,” Mimi said.
Laura did.
Mimi left for a moment and returned in looser clothing—an oversized blouse unbuttoned halfway, no bra, soft shorts that barely covered her hips. Her hair was now loose around her shoulders.
She poured oil into her palms and warmed it. Laura’s breath caught at the first touch.
The massage began like every other massage Laura had received: shoulders, back, arms. Her touch was exceptional, hands soft but powerful. She seemed to have a studied knowledge of Laura’s body, her points of tension, of tenderness.
It was unquestionably the best, most relaxing massage that Laura had ever received. Her adrenaline from just minutes earlier had receded into blissful calm, every so often stirred by arousal, as Mimi’s hands occasionally moved towards or across plains of flesh left untouched by a “normal” massage therapist.
After rubbing her hands and feet, gently cracking each of her fingers and toes, Mimi washed the oil off with a hot towel. Then her fingers changed.
Fingertips traced Laura’s spine. Mimi’s nails scratched gently across her skin. She grazed her inner thighs, the round curves of her ass, drawing concentric circles towards her pleasure centers.
Laura arched up slightly, involuntarily.
Mimi didn’t speak. Now she cupped her hands and reached under Laura’s thighs, starting just above the knee. She’d find the front’s of her legs and then slowly move her fingers back outwards. Every stroke outwards and her hands would dip back under her legs, this time just a little bit closer to her pussy.
Laura’s hips continued rising to Mimi’s touch, hovering above the table insistently, inviting–pleading–for more.
She felt a fingertip brush the edge of her labia. Then again. Mimi began tracing her folds with slow, featherlight pressure, grazing her clit on each pass. Laura’s breath shortened.
Mimi teased her like this for what felt like minutes. She felt like she might cry.
“Turn over now,” Mimi said softly.
She helped her roll to her back. Took a towel and gently placed it under her neck.
The feathered fingertips began anew.
Her hands moved in wide circles across her breasts, teasing her nipples until they stood hard. She moved lower. Belly. Pelvis. Inner thighs again.
And then finally—finally—her hands landed where Laura had wanted them most. Then she stopped, withdrawing her hand and presenting it, palm up, to Laura.
“How much you tip?”
Laura blinked. Started to get up for her purse. Mimi placed a hand on her breast and pushed her lightly back down.
“No, no. Pay after. How much?”
“A hundred?”
“Okay.”
Mimi removed her blouse and shorts. She took Laura’s hand and guided it to her breast. Laura cupped her eagerly, rolling her erect nipple slowly between her fingers.
Mimi resumed the massage, placing her own hand on Laura’s chest, for a moment matching her touch for touch. As Mimi’s hands moved south, Laura’s did too. She felt the firm contours of Mimi’s ass, caressed her thighs.
She loved this novel sensory experience of touching another woman’s body with sensuality. It felt nourishing–and collaborative rather than reciprocal.
Mimi slipped a finger between her lips, slow and slick. She pressed inside and met no resistance. Just once. Just to coat herself.
Then she placed her fingertip directly on Laura’s clit.
She knew exactly where to touch. Mimi pressed gently. Released.
Laura squirmed, her whole body shivering with overstimulated pleasure. Her fantasy coming into diamond-sharp focus.
Pressed again. Each motion was so precise, so patient, that Laura could barely breathe.
Fuck, Laura thought, I’m going to come already. In thirty seconds like a teenage boy.
Sensing this, Mimi retreated, and placed her fingers on Laura’s outer vulva, massaging her sides, allowing her to relax, before pressing a single finger back on her clit, and back to the edge.
She writhed and bucked as Mimi repeatedly articulated her mastery of Laura’s pleasure. She desperately wanted to come, yet never wanted this cycle of ecstasy and anticipation to cease.
Mimi bent over Laura, so their breasts pushed together and their cheeks touched. She breathed hot into her ear.
“Come for me, baby.”
She kissed Laura’s neck and pushed her finger firmly onto her clit, moving with just a hint more speed and pressure than before.
Laura’s whole body jerked as she erupted into climax. Mimi held firm and patient, never changing her cadence, while Laura rode a cresting wave of physical rapture that she had never before known.
When she was finished, Laura was out of breath, flushed, sweat beading on her forehead.
“Okay, baby.”
Mimi put her clothes on and kissed Laura’s cheek.
“I get hot towel. Be right back.”
Laura laid there in a haze. Her mind was blank as she caught her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this relaxed or satiated.
Mimi returned a minute or so later with two hot towels and a small bottle of cold water, which she offered to Laura after washing the remaining oils off Laura’s body. One of the two towels was reserved specifically for the thorough cleaning of her pussy and asshole.
“Finish massage?” She asked after Laura had a sip of water.
“Yes, please.”
Laura dozed off for a second while Mimi gave her the best head and face massage she’d ever had.
“Okay, baby. All done.” As she stirred Laura awake.
She sat up, groggy, and was handed more water. Mimi dressed her, putting her legs through her panties as she sat on the table, and her sundress over her head once she made it onto her feet.
⸻
Mimi led Laura by the hand to the back exit–no one wanted to walk in the front door of a place like this, Laura now realized in hindsight, feeling a little foolish–and kissed her sweetly but chastely on the lips. Laura had tipped her an extra thirty dollars in addition the hundred they’d agreed upon.
Mimi opened the door, letting the harsh sunlight into the dark spa hallway.
“Bye, baby. See you next time.”
Laura looked at her for a moment, hesitating.
“Are you hiring?” she asked.