Emma Thompson had always prided herself on her professionalism. At twenty-eight, with her slim, athletic figure, porcelain skin, and long auburn hair that cascaded down her back in soft waves, she was the picture of refined elegance. As a high-end massage therapist and home service provider in the upscale suburbs, she catered to wealthy clients who valued discretion and skill. Her hands were magic—strong yet gentle, capable of unknotting the tightest muscles after a stressful week. But beneath that polished exterior, Emma harbored desires she rarely admitted even to herself. Her marriage to Mark, a decent but vanilla software engineer, had grown routine. Their s*x life was predictable: missionary on Saturdays, maybe a quick blowjob if she was feeling generous. Nothing that made her pulse r
