Unspoken Rhythms of Healing

Chasity slumped on the edge of her bed, tissues crumpled around her like fallen leaves after a storm. Her nose was a faucet, dripping endlessly from the cold that had hit her mid-semester, and her back throbbed like a drumbeat from those brutal soccer practices at college. She was home for the weekend, crashing in her old room on the second floor of the family house, a quirky two-story place on the outskirts where the neighbors' goats sometimes wandered into the yard. Downstairs, the kitchen clattered with her parents prepping dinner—her mom chopping vegetables with that relentless efficiency, her dad humming off-key while stirring a pot of stew.

"I found this guy online," her mom had announced earlier that day, waving her phone like a victory flag. "Tomohiro. He's got great reviews for deep tissue work. House call, even. Perfect for your back, sweetie." Chasity had protested weakly, but her mom's determination was a force of nature. Now, as the doorbell buzzed, Chasity dragged herself to the top of the stairs, peering down. Her mom opened the door to a stocky man in his forties, carrying a battered black bag. Tomohiro was fat, his round face shiny with a sheen of sweat despite the cool evening, his black hair slicked back. He bowed slightly, murmuring something in Japanese, his English nonexistent from what Chasity could tell. Her mom smiled, gesturing him inside with a mix of politeness and that organized vibe she always had.

Upstairs, Chasity's room smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser her mom had set up. Tomohiro unpacked his table in the corner, unfolding it with practiced efficiency while Chasity stripped down to her underwear, face burning. She lay face-down on the sheet he'd draped over, her sports bra and panties feeling too exposed under the thin fabric. The cold made her shiver, but his hands—warm, calloused, surprisingly strong—started at her shoulders, kneading the knots from her soccer-weary muscles.

At first, it was professional. His thumbs dug into her traps, rolling out the tension in firm circles. Chasity sighed, the pressure easing the ache in her back. But then his palms slid lower, tracing the curve of her spine, lingering just a beat too long at the dimples above her ass. She tensed, but the touch was insistent, not rough—almost coaxing. He muttered soft words in Japanese, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in. No common language, but his hands spoke volumes. They glided over her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh where her panties met skin, and a unwelcome spark ignited low in her belly.

Downstairs, the sizzle of onions in the pan mixed with her dad's laughter at some joke. "How's it going up there?" her mom called up the stairs after ten minutes, her voice carrying that casual check-in tone.

"Fine, Mom," Chasity replied, voice muffled against the table. But it wasn't fine. Tomohiro's fingers had slipped under the edge of her panties now, massaging her glutes with slow, deliberate strokes. She should have stopped him—said something, anything—but the cold meds had her foggy, and damn if it didn't feel good. His weight shifted, the table creaking under him as he positioned himself for better leverage, his belly brushing her side. The seduction was subtle, built in the pressure of his touch, the way he hummed approval when she relaxed into it.

She bit her lip as his hands ventured inward, parting her thighs slightly under the pretense of working her hamstrings. One finger grazed the dampening fabric between her legs, and Chasity's breath hitched. "What...?" she whispered, but he just pressed on, his touch turning exploratory. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as he hooked a finger under her panties and tugged them down, exposing her ass to the cool air. She gasped, but didn't move—curiosity and that building heat pinning her in place.

Tomohiro's hands were everywhere now, slick with oil, sliding between her cheeks, teasing the tight ring of her asshole before dipping lower to her pussy. He found her clit with unerring accuracy, circling it slowly while his other hand gripped her hip. Chasity's body betrayed her, hips lifting instinctively as wetness slicked his fingers. "Fuck," she murmured, ashamed at how quickly she was giving in. He leaned over her, his bulk warm and heavy, and she felt the hard length of his dick pressing against her thigh through his pants.

The first moan escaped her lips—low, involuntary—as he slid two fingers inside her, curling them against that spot that made her toes curl. The table rocked slightly with the motion, and downstairs, her dad chuckled. "Sounds like she's really getting worked out up there."

Her mom paused in her chopping. "Chasity? Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Chasity managed, voice strained, as Tomohiro's fingers pumped deeper, his thumb now rubbing her clit in tandem. The wet sounds were obscene, her pussy clenching around him. She was soaked, the shame twisting with pleasure as she pushed back against his hand.

It escalated fast. Tomohiro unzipped his pants with his free hand, freeing his thick cock—uncut, veined, already leaking precum. He rubbed the head against her entrance, teasing, and Chasity nodded despite herself, whispering, "Okay, fuck it." He thrust in slow, filling her inch by inch, his belly pressing against her back as he bottomed out. The stretch was intense, her walls gripping him tight, and she moaned louder, the sound echoing off the walls.

The clapping started then—skin on skin as he fucked her steadily, the table creaking in rhythm. Chasity buried her face in her arms, but the noises were impossible to muffle. Her pussy squelched with each plunge, his balls slapping against her clit. "Oh god," she gasped, the cold forgotten in the haze of heat building in her core.

Downstairs, her parents exchanged glances. Her dad wiped his hands on a towel. "I'm gonna check on her. That doesn't sound like just a massage."

Her mom waved him off. "Give it a minute. Tomohiro's reviews said he's thorough."

But the noises grew—Chasity's moans turning breathy and desperate, the rhythmic slap of flesh punctuating them. Tomohiro gripped her hips harder, pounding deeper, his grunts mixing with hers in a wordless symphony. He reached around, pinching her nipples through her bra, twisting until she arched. Her orgasm hit like a wave, pussy spasming around his cock, juices dripping down her thighs. He didn't stop, fucking her through it, his own release building as he slammed in one last time, pulling out to cum across her ass in hot spurts.

Chasity lay there panting, sticky and spent, as he cleaned her up with a towel from his bag. He dressed quickly, bowing as if nothing had happened, and left her to pull herself together. When she finally stumbled downstairs, face flushed, her mom asked, "How was it?"

"Good," Chasity lied, avoiding eye contact. "But don't book him again. It was... weird."

Her mom just nodded, but that determined glint was in her eye.

A week later, Chasity was back home, the cold lingering like an unwelcome guest, her back still nagging from practice. She was in her room again, scrolling her phone, when the doorbell rang. "Mom?" she called, but the answer came from downstairs: organized footsteps and her mom's voice greeting someone.

Tomohiro. Of course. Her mom had booked the house call anyway, citing his "expertise" over dinner the night before. Chasity's heart raced as she heard him being directed upstairs, his bag thumping on the steps. Her parents were in the kitchen again, the familiar clatter of dinner prep—chicken sizzling, pots bubbling. Her dad was on grill duty this time, flipping pieces while her mom assembled a salad.

Chasity sat up as Tomohiro entered, his round frame filling the doorway. He smiled, that same knowing look, and set up the table without a word. She hesitated, memories of the first time flashing—his hands on her skin, the way she'd shattered under him. Shame burned in her cheeks, but so did anticipation. "Fine," she muttered, stripping down as before, face-down on the table.

His hands were magic from the start, oil-slick and firm, working her shoulders until she melted. But the seduction was bolder now, no pretense. His fingers trailed down her spine, dipping under her panties almost immediately, teasing her asshole with a light press. Chasity whimpered, spreading her legs without thinking. "You again," she breathed, though he couldn't understand. He chuckled low, a rumble in his chest, and peeled her panties off, exposing her fully.

Downstairs, the timer dinged for the chicken. "How's the massage going?" her dad yelled up, voice carrying over the sizzle.

"Starting," Chasity replied, but her voice cracked as Tomohiro's mouth descended. He spread her cheeks and licked a stripe from her pussy to her ass, tongue flat and hot. She gasped, clutching the table's edge. His tongue delved into her folds, lapping at her clit with sloppy enthusiasm, his beard scratching her inner thighs. Chasity's hips bucked, moans spilling out as he sucked her clit between his lips, fingers joining to fuck her pussy in shallow thrusts.

The sounds were louder this time—wet slurps, her breathy "fucks" and "yeses" echoing. Her parents paused. "That girl and her noises," her dad said, chuckling. "Soccer must've toughened her up."

Her mom set down the knife. "I'll check." But her dad stopped her. "Let the man work."

Tomohiro flipped her over midway, her tits bouncing free as he yanked off her bra. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard while his fingers plunged back into her pussy, three now, stretching her wide. Chasity arched, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing her own clit. "Don't stop," she panted, even as footsteps creaked on the stairs.

The door opened just as Tomohiro's fingers curled inside her, hitting her g-spot relentlessly. Chasity's back was to the door, her legs splayed wide on the table, but she didn't see her mom enter—only heard the sharp intake of breath. Tomohiro didn't stop, his hand pumping steadily, thumb circling her clit as Chasity's moans turned to cries. Her pussy clenched, squirting a gush over his wrist, the wet slap audible in the sudden silence.

"Mom—wait—" Chasity gasped, twisting her head, face flushing crimson. Her mom stood there, eyes wide, but instead of outrage, there was a flicker of something else—curiosity? She backed out quickly, muttering, "Just... checking," and shut the door.

Tomohiro grinned, wiping his hand on the sheet before shedding his clothes. His cock sprang free, thicker than she remembered, and he positioned her on all fours, entering her from behind in one smooth thrust. The clapping resumed, louder, her ass rippling with each impact. Chasity pushed back, meeting him, the shame from before dissolving into raw need. "Fuck me," she urged, and he did, gripping her hips, his belly slapping her back.

Downstairs, her dad called up again. "Everything alright? Sounded like a yelp."

"Fine!" Chasity yelled, voice breaking on a moan as Tomohiro's fingers found her clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Her parents' voices murmured below, her mom whispering something about "intensive therapy," but the footsteps stayed away.

He flipped her onto her back, legs over his shoulders, pounding deep. Chasity's tits jiggled with each thrust, her nails digging into his arms. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he fucked her harder. The table shook, threatening to collapse, and Chasity came again, walls milking him, squirting around his cock. Tomohiro groaned, pulling out to cum on her stomach, ropes of it painting her skin.

But he wasn't done. He guided her hand to his still-hard dick, stroking himself back to full mast while she caught her breath. Chasity, emboldened, pushed him onto the bed—her bed this time—and straddled him. She sank down, riding him slow at first, grinding her clit against his base. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her ass, a finger slipping into her tight hole as she bounced. The dual sensation had her moaning nonstop, the bed creaking under them.

Her mom knocked once, softer this time. "Dinner's almost ready. You two... wrap it up?"

Chasity laughed breathlessly, not stopping. "Soon!" Tomohiro's finger fucked her ass in rhythm, and she came hard, collapsing forward onto his chest. He flipped them, missionary now, legs wrapped around him as he drove in deep, chasing his own peak. When he came inside her this time, filling her with heat, it felt like a claim—creampie dripping out as he softened.

They cleaned up in a rush, Chasity's body humming with aftershocks. Tomohiro packed his bag, bowing with a wink, and headed downstairs. Her parents greeted him politely over dinner, her mom serving extra portions with that organized smile. Chasity joined late, hair mussed, but no one commented on the flush in her cheeks or the way she sat gingerly.

Later that night, as the house quieted, Chasity lay in bed, replaying it all—the touches, the risks, the release. Shame lingered, but so did satisfaction. Her mom poked her head in before bed. "Booked him for next week. You need the help."

Chasity smiled despite herself. "Yeah. I do." In the end, the back pain was gone, the cold fading, and something new had bloomed—unspoken, thrilling, a secret rhythm in the house that made every creak feel alive.