His hands took me over the edge

I’m 28, single mom.
Last week had been nonstop stress, so I booked a massage with a gift card.

The masseuse was Ethan tall, calm, with incredibly strong hands. I stripped down to just my thong and lay face down on the table.

He started professionally on my back and shoulders. But when he moved to my legs, things changed. His oiled hands glided up my calves, then my thighs. Every slow, deep stroke made my body heat up. When his thumbs pressed into my inner thighs, dangerously close to my pussy, I felt a rush of wetness soak my thong.

I tried to stay quiet, but my breathing was getting heavier. He asked softly if I was okay. I whispered “Yes…” but my voice cracked.

He kept working higher. The towel had slipped, but I didn’t pull it back. His fingers brushed right against the edge of my thong, pressing firmly into the sensitive skin where my thigh met my pussy. That was it.
A sudden, intense wave crashed over me. My clit throbbed hard against the soaked fabric as my pussy clenched repeatedly in strong, uncontrollable spasms. Warmth flooded through me. I could feel my juices leaking out, soaking the thin thong completely. My toes curled tightly, my legs trembled uncontrollably, and I gripped the sheet so hard my knuckles turned white.

I bit down on my forearm to stop myself from moaning out loud, but a soft, shaky whimper still escaped. The orgasm rolled through me in long, pulsing waves deep, throbbing pleasure that left me breathless and dripping.

Ethan paused for a moment, his hands still on my thighs. I’m almost certain he knew exactly what just happened. When the session finally ended, my legs were still shaky. He handed me water with a small, knowing smile and said, “You seem much more relaxed now.”
I could barely look at him. I was still pulsing between my legs as I left.
I definitely touched myself again that night thinking about it..