Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The clinic room was warm, the faint smell of herbal oil drifting through the air. Hye-jin sat on the edge of the massage table, her fingers twisting the hem of the robe Harin had given her. Her cheeks were already pink, her heartbeat skipping too fast. This was her last therapy session before she returned to camp, and she knew she should focus on recovery—on her shoulder, her back, her posture.

But her body remembered too much.

She lowered herself onto the table as instructed, lying face-down with her arms tucked by her sides. The cool linen pressed against her breasts, making her nipples harden instantly. She cursed herself under her breath—why did this always happen here? It wasn't just his hands, it was… him.

The door clicked, and she heard the soft steps of Joon-ho entering.

"Ready?" His voice was calm, as always.

"Yes…" She swallowed, trying to sound steady.

Warm oil spread across her skin as his palms slid down her shoulders. Her body tensed immediately, the memory of every past touch flooding back. She bit her lip, determined not to make a sound too soon. But as his thumbs dug gently into the tight muscle at the base of her neck, a low moan slipped out before she could stop it.

He didn't react, didn't tease her—just kept working, slow and methodical. That made it worse somehow.

Her breathing quickened as he moved lower, tracing down her spine, pressing into the knots in her upper back. Her muscles screamed at the pressure—sharp pain that dissolved into deep, heady relief. Each release sent a rush of warmth through her body, her thighs twitching as if the ache in her back connected straight to her core.

By the time he reached her lower back, her face was buried in the table, muffling her moans. Her legs shifted restlessly, thighs rubbing together, wetness already slick between them.

She hated how much she wanted this.

Joon-ho's hands glided over her hips, firm and unyielding, pressing, kneading. Her ass clenched under his touch, and she gasped when his thumbs pressed close to her tailbone, the sensation shooting sparks through her belly.

Her robe had slipped open, the curve of her ass fully exposed now. She didn't fix it. Couldn't.

Her body betrayed her completely.

Her nipples dragged against the sheet with every movement, sending sharp pleasure through her chest. Her legs, meant to stay closed, slowly parted on their own, knees sinking into the padding until her pussy was open, wetness pooling and dripping down her inner thighs.

"Breathe," Joon-ho reminded softly.

She obeyed, drawing in a shaky breath, but the sound came out more like a whimper.

When his hands slid lower—onto her thighs—her whole body trembled. He pressed into the thick muscle, kneading deep. Her legs spread wider, involuntary, her ass lifting slightly as if begging for more. The air between her thighs cooled, only making her more aware of the wet heat dripping there.

She thought of the nights since her last session. How she'd come home, her body still tingling, and had touched herself with desperation. How she'd tried to copy the rhythm of his hands, the precision of his pressure—but nothing compared. No toy, no finger, no memory matched the overwhelming sensation of Joon-ho's therapy.

Now, back under his hands, it was unbearable. Every touch made her pussy clench, made her body beg for release.

His fingers pressed into the muscles at the very top of her thighs, dangerously close to where she was throbbing. Her hips jerked when he brushed just near enough to tease her, a helpless moan ripping out of her throat.

She buried her face in her arms. "N-no… I…"

But she couldn't finish the thought. Her body betrayed her again, hips rocking gently into the table, ass lifting higher.

Joon-ho's grip shifted, one hand steadying her waist while the other pressed firmly into the pressure point just beside her hip. The sensation exploded through her like lightning. Her pussy spasmed, and she cried out, a loud, erotic moan filling the quiet room.

And then it happened.

Her body convulsed, heat snapping through her core, and a gush of wetness burst out of her, splattering against the sheets. Her eyes flew wide in shock even as pleasure ripped through her—she was squirting, her pussy clenching and releasing in uncontrollable waves.

"Oh my god—ahhh, ahhh—!" She couldn't stop the sounds, couldn't stop her body from shaking. Every press of his hand on her waist sent another wave through her, liquid dripping down her thighs and soaking the table beneath her.

Her ass remained lifted, her legs spread obscenely wide, her pussy exposed and twitching as it squirted again, weaker this time but still flowing. Her body didn't care about her shame—it only wanted more.

Tears prickled her eyes as the orgasm finally eased, her body collapsing bonelessly against the sheets. She was trembling, gasping, her face burning so hot she thought she might combust.

But Joon-ho didn't say a word. He simply adjusted the towel beneath her, pressing gently against her waist as if grounding her, waiting until her breathing steadied.

Her ass was still twitching, her pussy glistening and wet, the last drops of release dripping down her thighs. She felt ruined. Broken. Yet freer than she had in months.

Exhaustion crashed over her suddenly, heavier than she expected. She tried to lift her head, to mumble some kind of apology, but the moment she moved, her body sagged again.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of her orgasm pulling her into sleep.

When she finally stilled, her ass was still slightly raised, pussy still exposed, glistening under the dim light. Her body looked frozen mid-beg, twitching faintly even as she slept.

Joon-ho adjusted the blanket over her carefully, leaving her to rest.

For Hye-jin, the archer who had fought pain and injury for years, this release was unlike any she'd ever known. Therapy. Pleasure. Healing. It all blurred together, leaving her undone on the table.

And even in sleep, a faint smile curved her lips.

Harin was waiting when Hye-jin emerged from the massage room, hair slightly damp, skin glowing from the quick shower. She still wore the simple robe, clutching it tight as though it might hide what had just happened inside. Her face was flushed pink, and she couldn't meet Harin's eyes.

Harin, of course, noticed instantly. She handed over a warm towel and a small cup of barley tea with a knowing smile. "All clean?"

Hye-jin nodded quickly, ducking her head. "Y-yes… thank you."

Her hands trembled as she took the tea, sipping to steady herself. Every sip only reminded her of the heat pooling between her thighs, of the way her body had betrayed her during therapy. She couldn't forget the sounds she'd made, the way she'd lost control.

Her legs still felt shaky as she made her way to the lounge, where Joon-ho was already waiting. He sat at the low table, a notebook open in front of him, pen in hand as though nothing unusual had happened in the last hour.

Hye-jin perched on the sofa across from him, knees together, robe clutched so tight her knuckles whitened. She couldn't stop replaying the moment in her mind—his hands pressing her hips down, the flood of wetness she'd released, the way her body had arched and moaned without permission.

But Joon-ho treated her as if she were any other client. Calm. Professional. Focused.

"How do you feel?" he asked, voice even.

Her cheeks burned hotter. "I… I feel lighter."

He made a note. "Your shoulder?"

She rotated it gently, testing. There was soreness, but the sharp pain that had haunted her was gone. "It feels… better. Not stiff anymore. I think I can even draw a bow again."

"That's good," he said. "The inflammation's reduced. The tension was feeding into your posture, which made the pain worse. You've broken the cycle. Now you just need to retrain the right muscles."

Relief softened her posture, her shoulders sagging as though a great weight had been lifted. "So… I'll be okay for the team selection?"

His gaze was steady, calm but not promising too much. "You'll be okay—if you take care of yourself. Recovery is ongoing. Train smart, not desperate. Don't push harder than your body allows."

Her lips parted, hope flickering bright in her eyes. For weeks she had feared her Olympic dream slipping away. Now, sitting across from him, she believed again.

She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you. Really… thank you."

Silence fell, filled only by the quiet hum of the clinic's air conditioning. Hye-jin toyed with the hem of her robe before blurting out, voice small: "You'll… you'll be with the team? At the Olympics?"

Joon-ho nodded. "The volleyball team's medical unit. I'll be traveling with them."

Hye-jin's heart skipped. She looked down at her tea, swirling it nervously. "So if… if I need therapy during the Games… could I come to you?"

"Yes." His answer was simple, certain. "Whenever you need."

The words hit her like a balm. She smiled—shy, girlish, relieved. "Then I'll work hard. So I can stand there, healed." She rose, bowing again. "Thank you, Joon-ho-ssi."

She slipped out with her bag in hand, her steps light, a faint hum escaping her lips as though she were already picturing herself on the Olympic stage.

Harin came out from the massage room a moment later, carrying the used towels bundled in her arms. She dumped them into the laundry bin, her expression smug. "Well, that's another one gone for good."

Joon-ho raised an eyebrow. "Gone?"

She grinned. "Hooked. Snared. Permanently under your thumb. Did you see her face? She's done for. That archer girl is going to be your client forever."

He gave her a look, but Harin only laughed, clapping her hands together as if to celebrate.

Before she could tease further, the doorbell rang, the chime echoing softly through the clinic.

Harin perked up, brushing her hands off on her skirt before trotting to the door. "Who could that be? We weren't expecting—"

The door swung open.

A woman swept in, her presence immediately commanding. She wore a one-piece dress of dark silk, cut low to reveal the curve of her cleavage, the skirt short enough to flaunt her long legs. She smelled faintly of expensive perfume, her hair styled in soft waves that framed her sharp features.

Before Harin could even ask her name, the woman crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Joon-ho with easy familiarity. Her lips brushed his cheek in a kiss, leaving the faintest trace of lipstick.

"I missed you," she murmured, her voice husky, tinged with teasing. "Seo's been monopolizing you far too long."

Harin froze in the doorway, blinking. Her eyes flicked from the woman to Joon-ho, her mouth hanging open.

Joon-ho, however, only set down his pen, his expression calm, unbothered.

The woman pulled back slightly, her smile bright but edged with something sharper. "You haven't forgotten me, have you?"

Harin's mind scrambled, trying to place her. Elegant, confident, older than herself but ageless in the way only women with money and influence managed.

The woman turned at last, acknowledging Harin with a graceful nod. "I'm a friend of Seo's," she said simply. "And one of his longest clients."

Harin's brows shot up. "Client?"

"Yes." The woman's smile grew, sly and knowing. "A very loyal one."

Joon-ho leaned back, finally speaking. "This is Min-kyung. She's a fashion designer. Korean-American. Owns boutiques in New York, London, and Seoul."

The name landed with weight. Harin knew it—even she, who never cared much about fashion, had seen it in magazines and SNS tags. Min-kyung, the designer celebrities wore, the one whispered about in industry gossip.

And now she was here. Hugging Joon-ho. Kissing him.

Harin's eyes narrowed, heat sparking in her chest. "Seo unnie's friend, huh? Figures."

Min-kyung only laughed softly, her eyes never leaving Joon-ho. "Oh, I have plenty of stories about Seo. But right now, I only want to talk about him."

Harin scowled faintly, feeling suddenly small, but Joon-ho's calm gaze found hers, steady and grounding.

Still, one thing was clear: this woman wasn't just another client. She was history. A piece of his life Harin hadn't seen before.

And she had just walked back into it without hesitation.