Category: IST

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I closed my eyes and said nothing.

I felt her hesitate. Her hand stayed flat on my stomach for one long breath, then another. Then, slowly, her fingertips slid under the edge of the towel.

Lower. Through the coarse hair. Her little finger brushed the base of my cock and I went rigid all over. She traced it upward, so lightly I could barely feel it, all the way up the shaft, under the towel, until her fingertip circled the wet head.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.

She wrapped two fingers around me. Just two. Tested the weight. I heard her breath shudder out of her.

“Mark,” she whispered, and her hand started to close properly around my shaft.

Then the timer on the counter went off. A loud, shrill, digital beep, beep, beep.

She snatched her hand back like I’d burned her. We both stared at the timer. Ninety minutes. Done.

“That’s… time,” she said, in a strangled voice. “That’s your time.”

“Can I book another ninety?”

She laughed, too high, and backed toward the door. “I’ve got a client at three. Mrs. Hendry. Eighty-four. Plantar fasciitis.”

“Claire.”

She stopped with her hand on the door. Looked back at the towel, still tented, a little wet spot darkening the top.

“So close,” she said softly, almost to herself. Then she was gone.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, cock throbbing, ninety seconds from heaven.

Ending 8 of 16: The Near Miss. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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“Do you still think about the wedding?” I asked.

Claire’s hand went still on my stomach. Then she smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Every time I see you,” she said. “Every single time.”

She tugged the towel away. My cock sprang free, slapping against my belly, and she looked at it the way I’d seen her look at chocolate cake at family birthdays. Like she was pretending she wasn’t going to have any.

“I’m not touching it with my hands,” she said. “My hands are for work.”

Then she bent over and licked me from balls to tip.

I nearly came off the table. She laughed against my shaft, warm breath and wet tongue, then wrapped her lips around the head and sucked, hard. Her cheeks hollowed. She slid down, inch by inch, until I hit the back of her throat and she held me there, gagging softly.

“Fuck, Claire.”

She came up for air with a string of spit between her lips and my cock. “Quiet,” she said, and went back down.

She sucked me like she’d been planning it for years. Sloppy, eager, swirling her tongue under the head, hands clasped behind her back like a rule she’d made for herself. When I warned her I was close, she just moaned and took me deeper.

I came straight down her throat. She swallowed every drop, then sat up and wiped her mouth.

“Ending your session now,” she said, breathless. “Tell no one.”

Ending 7 of 16: The Blowjob Instead. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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I kept my hands behind my head. “Claire. It’s your call. I’m not going to touch you unless you tell me to.”

Something broke open in her face. She leaned down and kissed me, soft and slow, then wrapped her oiled hand around my cock.

“God, you’re thick,” she breathed, and started to stroke.

She was a masseuse, and it showed. Long, twisting pulls from root to tip, her other hand cupping and rolling my balls. Her thumb circled the head until I was leaking all over her knuckles. Then she’d slow right down and squeeze, and I’d have to bite my lip to stay quiet.

“You can touch me now,” she whispered. “Please.”

She pulled her top off, then unhooked her bra. Her tits fell free, full and heavy, dark nipples hard as stones. I reached up and filled my hands with them, and she moaned and stroked me faster.

Then she pushed me back down, poured warm oil straight down her cleavage, and leaned over the table.

She wrapped her tits around my cock.

“Eleven years,” she said, pushing them together with both hands. “Eleven fucking years I’ve wanted this.”

She fucked me with them slowly. Slick, soft, tight. The head of my cock pushed up between them on every stroke and she licked it. My balls tightened. My thighs shook.

“Come on my tits,” she whispered. “Give it all to me.”

I came hard, shooting thick and hot across her chest and neck, and she kept squeezing until I was empty.

Ending 6 of 16: The Full Happy Ending. You found the full happy ending.

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I reached up and pulled her down to me.

She came willingly for a second, her mouth crashing onto mine, her oily hand closing around my cock and giving it one hard, delicious stroke. I groaned into her mouth and fumbled at the hem of her scrubs, desperate to get my hands on her tits.

Then my phone rang.

It was on the chair with my clothes. That ringtone. The one I set for Helen years ago, a stupid little jingle from our honeymoon.

Claire froze. Her hand was still wrapped around my shaft. We both stared at the phone screen lighting up: HELEN, with a photo of the two of us in Lisbon.

“Don’t,” Claire said. “Don’t answer that.”

It kept ringing. It rang out. Then it started again.

“She’ll keep calling,” I said. “She always does.”

Claire let go of me. She stepped back, wiping her palm on her scrubs, and I watched the whole thing drain out of her face. The heat. The want. All of it replaced by something like horror.

“That’s my sister,” she said quietly. “Calling her husband. While I’ve got his dick in my hand.”

“Claire…”

“Answer it.” She handed me the phone. “Go on.”

I answered. Helen wanted to know if I could pick up milk. I said yes. My cock was still standing up, shiny with oil, while I talked to my wife about semi-skimmed.

When I hung up, Claire was gone. The session ended twenty minutes early.

Ending 5 of 16: The Phone Call. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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“I meant every word,” I said. “Every single one. I just didn’t want to scare you off.”

She laughed, low and dark. “You don’t scare me, Mark.”

Then she leaned down, right by my ear, and slid her hand under the towel. All the way. Her oiled fingers slipped between my thighs from behind and cupped my balls, warm and slick, and squeezed gently.

I made a noise I’m not proud of.

“I’ve thought about this,” she whispered. “I’ve thought about touching you so many times. In the shower. In bed. At Mum’s, while you were carving the turkey.” Her fingers rolled my balls slowly. “I’ve made myself come thinking about you more times than I can count.”

“Claire. Fuck.”

“But not today.” She let go. Just like that. My hips actually chased her hand.

She pulled the towel back up, patted my arse twice, and walked round to the head of the table so I could see her feet.

“Today you get a massage,” she said. “And you go home to my sister. And you think about this all week.”

“And then?”

She crouched so her face was level with mine through the cradle. She was smiling, flushed and wicked.

“And then you book again. Same time next Friday. Ask for me by name.” She licked her lip. “Wear something easy to take off.”

I lay there for the rest of the session, hard as iron, absolutely tortured.

Ending 4 of 16: The Tease. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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“It was a mistake,” I said, and pushed myself up off the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

She didn’t argue. That was the worst part. She just stepped back, picked up the towel and handed it to me without meeting my eyes.

“Fine,” she said. “Okay.”

I dressed with my back to her, fumbling my shirt buttons, my cock still half hard and aching against my jeans. The room smelled of oil and something I’d just thrown away. I could feel her watching me in the mirror.

“For the record,” she said, as I reached for the door. Her voice was very calm, very flat. “I meant it at the wedding. I’ve meant it every day since. And you just told me it was a mistake.”

“Claire…”

“No. You had your chance. Twice now.” She folded her arms. “Tell Helen I said hi.”

I walked out through the reception, past the bamboo and the little bowl of mints, and sat in my car in the car park for ten minutes with my hands on the wheel.

My back felt great. Everything else felt terrible.

I drove home. Helen was on the sofa with her laptop. She asked how the massage was. I said fine. She didn’t look up.

That night I lay awake, cock throbbing under the duvet, thinking about Claire’s hands on my arse and the look on her face when I walked out.

I’d blown it. Completely.

Ending 3 of 16: The Shutdown. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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I grabbed her wrist, pulled her down and kissed her.

She melted into it for a second, a hot, desperate second, her hand still wrapped around my cock, her tits pressing into my oily chest. She was half on the table, one knee up beside my hip, moaning into my mouth.

Then the door opened.

“Claire, have you got the spare hot stones, I’ve… oh. Oh, shit.”

Kelly. Twenties, blonde, holding an empty basket and staring at us like she’d walked into a car crash. Which, to be fair, she had.

Claire jumped off me so fast she nearly fell over. My cock was standing straight up, slick and purple, and there was no towel within reach. I grabbed the face cradle cover and held it over myself, which was about as effective as a postage stamp.

“It’s not…” Claire started.

“It really, really is,” Kelly said. She looked at me. Then down. Then back at Claire, eyebrows somewhere near her hairline. “Nice.”

“Kelly, I swear to God…”

“I didn’t see anything.” Kelly backed out. “But you owe me. Like, so many lunches.” The door clicked shut. Through it, faintly: “Oh my God.”

Claire stood there with her face in her hands.

“That’s my brother-in-law,” she groaned through her fingers. “She’s met Helen. She’s met Helen at my birthday.”

She threw my clothes at me. The session was over. My cock wasn’t.

I drove home with a hard-on and a sense of doom.

Ending 2 of 16: Caught by the Colleague. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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I gripped the edges of the table until my knuckles went white. “Don’t stop. Please, Claire. Fucking please.”

“Shh.” But she didn’t stop. She found a rhythm, slow and tight, her oiled fist twisting over the head on every upstroke. The sound was obscene, wet and squelching, and she kept glancing at the door.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “Married man. Lying on my table with your cock in my hand. Begging.”

“Yes.”

“Helen’s husband.” She squeezed harder. “My big sister’s husband, leaking all over my fingers.”

That did it. Something about hearing her say it. My hips started bucking, fucking up into her fist, and she grabbed my balls with her other hand and rolled them in her palm.

“Come on,” she hissed. “Come for me. Quietly.”

I didn’t come quietly. I came with a strangled groan, shooting thick ropes up over my own stomach, my chest, one hitting my chin. She milked me through it, slow and firm, until I was twitching and oversensitive and gasping.

Then she let go, grabbed a towel, and dropped it on my chest.

“Clean yourself up,” she said, voice shaky. She washed her hands at the little sink for a very long time, back to me.

“Claire…”

“Don’t. Not now.” She turned around, flushed and wild-eyed. “That’s all you’re getting, Mark. That was already too much.”

She left. I lay there, spent and sticky and wanting so much more.

Ending 1 of 16: Hands Only. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.

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Nadia Okafor was thirty-two, the Year Six teacher with the red lipstick and the laugh that carried down corridors. She and Claire shared a classroom wall, a coffee habit, and one drunken Christmas kiss neither had ever mentioned.

Mark had heard about the kiss. ‘Invite her for dinner,’ he said. ‘Tell her the truth. If she says yes, you’re hers for the night.’

Claire told her over the pasta, cheeks flaming. Nadia set down her wine glass and looked from Claire to Mark. ‘So she does anything you say?’

‘Anything,’ Mark said. ‘Within her limits.’

Nadia smiled slowly. ‘Then tell her to take her top off.’

‘Claire. Top off.’ She pulled it over her head, then her bra, and sat at her own dinner table with her tits bare while Nadia came round the table and stood behind her chair.

Warm hands cupped her breasts. Nadia pinched her nipples until Claire gasped, then kissed her neck, tongue hot. ‘I’ve thought about this every day since Christmas,’ she breathed. ‘Spread your legs.’

Claire obeyed. Nadia’s hand slid under her skirt, found her knickers soaked through, and rubbed her clit through the wet cotton until her hips were bucking against the chair.

Mark watched, cock straining in his jeans. ‘Your call now, Nadia. She’s yours.’

What happens next?

→ Nadia takes her to the bedroom, just the two of them

→ Nadia makes her eat her pussy at the table

→ Nadia brings out a strap-on and invites Mark in

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Harold Penrose was sixty-one, a widower with silver hair, forearms browned from his allotment, and a habit of watching Claire hang the washing. She had always pretended not to notice. Mark had noticed.

On Sunday morning Mark sent her out to the garden in a short summer dress, no bra, no knickers. ‘Ask him over for coffee,’ he said. ‘Then do whatever he wants. I’ll be at the kitchen window.’

Harold looked up from his roses as she leaned on the fence, the dress gaping. ‘Morning, Claire.’ His eyes dropped to her nipples, hard and dark through the cotton, and stayed there.

‘Mark says you’ve been admiring me,’ she said, voice shaking. ‘He says you can have me. If you’d like.’

The old man went very still. Then he glanced at the window, where Mark raised his mug in salute. Harold laughed, low and rough. ‘Forty years I was married, love. I know when a woman means it. Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m soaking.’

He opened the gate. In his potting shed, smelling of earth and tomato leaves, he lifted her dress to her waist and looked at her bare pussy for a long time. Then he pushed one gnarled finger into her, slow and deep, and Claire grabbed the workbench and groaned.

‘Oh, you’re a dirty one,’ Harold murmured. ‘Now. What shall we do with you?’

What happens next?

→ Harold bends her over the workbench, right there

→ He takes her back to his house and his bed

→ Harold calls Mark out to the shed to watch