Massage Bait

The scene kicks off with Tori, this tiny 21-year-old firecracker, tapping her feet in the waiting room like she's got ants in her pants. She's got an appointment with her go-to massage whiz, Linda, that sweet older lady who's been fixing her busted lower back from all those sports wipeouts for years. Linda spots her, pulls her into a big hug, and they stroll into the massage room chatting about nothing. After a bit of yakking, Linda tells her to strip down and hop on the table, then dips out. Tori peels off every stitch, folds 'em nice and tidy, and stretches out naked on the table. Cut to Linda in the next room, looking like she's about to puke from nerves. She hears Tori yell she's ready and shoots a jittery glance at the dude chilling next to her—her hubby Richard. She whispers if he's dead sure everything's locked tight, no chance of getting busted. He snaps back, irritated as hell, calling her a total pussy for worrying her ass off. She promised, right? Just follow his lead and it'll be golden. Linda gulps hard, face twisted in regret, and they both stand up to head in. CUT TO TITLE PLATE Tori's sprawled face-down on the table when Linda slips back in. She starts kneading those muscles, voice shaking a tad, and says hey, they're switching it up today with this 'four-hand treatment' gig—mind if we roll with it? Tori, all innocent, asks what's the deal. Linda explains it'll amp up the pressure, really hit those tense spots down low in her body. Tori's all in, grinning. Linda, guilt eating her alive, tells her to shut those eyes and chill, then quietly calls Richard over. They tag-team it, swapping turns to lay hands on Tori. Nothing full-on sexual yet, but they slide lower, grazing that intimate stretch of lower back and upper thighs. Tori's clueless—thinks it's just Linda working her magic. Linda keeps the chit-chat flowing to sell the ruse, while Richard leers from the edge, stroking his cock as he watches his wife oil up Tori's skin. Then he dives in, hands roaming her body, dick hovering inches away but never quite touching. Linda says flip over for the front side. Tori does, and Richard ducks behind her head, rock-hard and throbbing. Linda ramps up the compliments on Tori's killer bod, firing off sex questions like it's no biggie. Tori figures it's just girl talk and spills freely. Linda keeps shooting knowing looks at Richard; he mouths her to push harder. Through clenched teeth, she dishes on her bedroom romps with him, then hits Tori with what she thinks of the guy. Tori admits he's kinda cute but swears off married dudes. Behind her, Richard jerks faster. Linda drops that Richard's jumping into the client game and teases if Tori wants a slot with him. Tori squirms, awkward, says maybe someday but today she's good with the usual touch. Linda drapes a steaming cloth over her eyes to 'relax' her, while Richard sneaks down to kneel by her pussy, sniffing deep and staring like a starving wolf. Linda works those thighs, convo rolling on, inching closer and closer to Tori's slit. Hot breath ghosts her labia now. Tori starts melting into it, loving the twist—even getting that tingly sexual buzz. She moans low, wriggles, bites her lip, then yanks the cloth off to peek. Boom—Richard's right there, nose in her pussy. She bolts off the table in shock. Tori snatches clothes to shield her bits while Linda babbles apologies. Richard steps up, all cocky control, and smooth-talks her: So, what'd ya think of that four-hand magic? You green-lit it, remember? Felt pretty damn good, huh? Why not climb back up and let it ride? Tori's fuming—what the fuck is this, some creepy seduction ploy? Swinger trap? She feels stabbed in the back by Linda, the trusted pro she's known forever. Linda's gutted, urges her to bail, but Richard glares daggers and keeps wheedling. He spins lies: Linda's been dreaming of him banging her clients for years—her idea, 'cause she's ice-cold in bed and can't keep him satisfied anymore. Linda's face crumbles as Tori demands if it's true. She mumbles yes and slinks behind him. They go back and forth, haggling like it's a damn bazaar, till Tori caves and says fine, finish what you started. But Richard twists the knife—tells Linda to scram so he can solo this party. Tori's floored; she figured her regular would stick around. More arguing, round two, and she finally nods to let Richard rail her. Pissed at Linda's betrayal, it's her twisted payback to the backstabbing therapist. He unloads on her face, then struts out, leaving Tori wrecked on the table. In one long, heavy shot, she dresses slow, silent as a ghost, and ghosts past Linda—who's stuck scrubbing the mess alone.