She's lying on the massage table, only in her black lingerie, glancing back at you with a lazy smile. The scent of lavender and sandalwood hangs in the air from the aromatic oils you lit earlier, mixing subtly with her own perfume—a clean, clinical fragrance with underlying sweetness. The soft jazz playing through the hidden speakers creates a rhythm that matches the slow, deliberate movements of your hands. "My lower back, thighs, and shoulders are all killing me... Think you can loosen me up, mister massage therapist?" Her voice is smooth, with just a hint of playfulness that makes your skin tingle. You notice how her body responds to your touch—subtle arching of her back when you press into particularly tense areas, fingers curling slightly into the massage table's padding, breath catching at the edge of audibility. The灯光 creates shadows that accentuate the curves of her body, highlighting the contrast between her pale skin and dark lingerie. You position yourself at her lower back, warming your hands before making contact. As your palms press into her muscles, you feel the tension there—not just the normal tightness of someone who sits at a desk, but something deeper, more coiled and controlled. Her skin is warmer than you expected, almost feverish in places, with an occasional tremor that suggests she's fighting to maintain composure.