Pansy believed in treating herself, especially after a stressful week at work. Which is why she was in the waiting room of Dao, an new, ultra-exclusive spa just off Diagon Alley. The room was painted a cool celery green and the floor was covered with tatami mats. Tiny boxes growing grass and little rock gardens with bonsai dotted the tabletops. The room was empty, save the girl behind the desk, as it was quite late—nearly their closing time.
“Ms. Parkinson? This way please.”
Pansy followed the hostess into the ladies' dressing room and changed into a thick pale green robe, putting her own clothes into a small locker. Answering a tap on the door revealed a tall girl dressed in a uniform that resembled loose silk pyjamas, who silently led her to a small room in the back. There was the expected massage table, in the center of a low-lit room. Speakers in the corner played soothing music from some sort of stringed instrument.
The girl held up one of the sheets from the table like a screen, and Pansy slipped off her robe and hopped up onto the table, laying on her stomach and putting her face into the donut-shaped headrest. She felt the sheet being placed atop her arse, leaving the rest of her skin exposed.
The girl then reached for the nearby massage oil, rubbing her hands together before stroking them firmly across Pansy's shoulders. This girl meant business, clearly, but Pansy liked her massages on the firm side. She felt she was in good hands, and focused on the soft music.
The masseuse knew what she was about, as Pansy's shoulders, arms, and back responded to her touch, muscles relaxing bit by bit. Pansy all but melted into the table as the girl moved down to her legs, working her way back up from Pansy's feet to her calves and thighs. But she didn't stop there; she slid her hands under the sheet and began to massage her arse. The girl used the same gentle but strong touch she had used on the rest of Pansy’s body, and it certainly wasn’t unheard of, so Pansy breathed deeply, determined not to be so gauche as to be turned on by the touch. This masseuse was good enough that Pansy was thinking of requesting her whenever she returned, and she resolved to be a good client.
The sheet was held up again and Pansy rolled over onto her back, the masseuse replacing the sheet over Pansy's hips and leaving her breasts and midsection exposed. Unusual, but again, not unheard of. Though now that Pansy could look, she did look, because there was nothing wrong with watching a pretty girl rub the tension out of your muscles.
Unless, that is, your mind was still on the feel of her fingers on your arse.
The masseuse continued her work on the front of Pansy’s arms and shoulders, all business, giving Pansy a brief smile whenever their eyes met but otherwise concentrating on her work. Pansy's breasts weren't ignored, exactly, but she couldn't say that the touch on them was erotic. Or, it wouldn't have been if this girl hadn't gotten her into such a state. Pansy had got massages before, of course she had, and she'd never once reacted in this way. Was it because the girl was so beautiful, with long black hair pulled up into a loose bun, warm brown skin, and pale green eyes?
Pansy found herself struggling not to hold her breath as the masseuse gently stroked her stomach, tried hard not to wish that the girls hands would move down further, slip under the sheet again. Of course they didn't; as before, she worked her way back up from Pansy's feet along her ankles, calves and knees to her thighs.
But then the girl didn't stop. With little prelude she slid a hand up under the sheet and directly into Pansy’s wetness.
Pansy gasped and closed her eyes. She dug her heels into the table, trying desperately not to make a sound. The girl was clearly an expert on women, as she knew precisely where and how to touch Pansy to get her going. She had most of her hand inside Pansy’s quim, and her middle finger had found her g-spot with remarkable speed and was rubbing across it in gentle arcs while her thumb did the same with Pansy’s clit. Her other hand slid further between Pansy’s legs, massaging her labia. Pansy sighed, opening her legs wider and tipping her hips up. She could feel her own wetness dribble down out of her pussy and was sure she looked ridiculous in her eagerness but found she didn't care. She wanted this, needed this.
She felt as though she had been wading and come to a sudden drop-off, so quickly were the girl’s fingers doing their work. She couldn't last long under this onslaught and there was no real reason to, so she didn't, coming hard against the girl's hand and pushing up into it. The girl rode it with her, going until Pansy pushed her hands away from her over-sensitive skin.
Pansy lay trying to catch her breath from this unusually fast, strong orgasm that was so different from the languid way that she and Parvati generally made love. She opened her eyes and saw Parvati standing before her holding up the robe Pansy had been wearing earlier. But while that might have been her plan, it certainly wasn't Pansy's.
"Oh, no," she said. "I've got this room for an hour, and we're going to use it. Come here."
Parvati relaxed her arms. "But you said you wanted—"
"I did, and I got it, thanks to you," Pansy said, sitting up and smiling. "And now you get a reward. Call it a very good tip, if you want to stay in character."
Parvati shook her head. She set aside the robe and slid off her pyjama bottoms. "Call it anything you want," she said, stepping closer, "as long as you make me come."
And Pansy had no problem fulfilling that particular request.