In a dimly lit room, a woman's ragged breath echoes as she lies face down, a stranger's hands kneading her flesh. Her panties dampen, clinging to her skin, as the masseur's strokes become more intimate, more insistent. His fingers trace the curve of her ass, dip into her thighs, and she gasps, arching into his touch. His hands are skilled, knowing, making her body respond in ways she can't control. She's dripping, her panties a mess, but he doesn't stop. He can't stop. Not until she's writhing, begging for release.