Supper
by BindyBondy
Copyright© 2026 by BindyBondy
Erotica Sex Story: A shy heart finds desire.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Interracial Exhibitionism Massage Voyeurism Public Sex .
A few years ago, soon after I started working, I shared an apartment with Casey, another young professional. We got along, but our schedules rarely aligned, and the only thing we consistently did together was eat supper. She often stayed in her room reading while I sometimes watched TV. Even at dinner she seemed stand-offish, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we should be closer. I told myself this was simply how things were between people who happened to share a space. It was not my place to push.
One day, as I was preparing supper, Casey called to say she had to work late. She was sorry to stand me up, she said - “Wei, I’m really sorry” - when I had kept dinner warm. Surprisingly, her voice sounded bright despite the long day. I assumed she was relieved to be finally leaving the office.
I went ahead and ate but left her place set at the table. I poured a small cup of jasmine tea beside her plate - my mother always said a warm drink could soothe a long, stressful day. Casey arrived at 8:30 PM, exhausted and hungry. She looked completely worn out, younger than usual, and I noticed the way she paused at the doorway, surprised by the little ritual I’d left for her. It was a look I wanted to remember.
We sat down together. I served her, then joined her, and she thanked me profusely. She still looked ready to collapse, so I asked if her shoulders were tense and offered a massage. She admitted how stressed her job had made her and relaxed as I worked out the knots. Her shoulders were narrow but held a surprising amount of tension, as if she carried more than her frame suggested. I liked working the knots out. It felt like being trusted with something.
When I noticed she wasn’t eating while I massaged her, I stopped and told her to eat first. For just a moment before she agreed, she looked at me with an expression I didn’t know how to read - not gratitude exactly, more like surprise, like someone who hadn’t expected to be looked after. It passed quickly and she was composed again. She closed her eyes briefly, agreed, and then asked if I could give her a full back massage after supper. I promised I would, and after finishing, she called me to her room. She was already lying face-down on the bed, a towel neatly across her rear. I thought she hadn’t needed long to get ready. She must have changed while we were still at the table.
I sat beside her and began working on her shoulders and back. Ten minutes later, she thanked me again, then offered to return the favor. She insisted I lie down face-down, unhooked my bra, and started working on my shoulders and back.
Soon, she mentioned she usually gave massages while straddling someone. She did so, and I felt the strangeness of it but kept my face still. Then she dismissed the towel entirely. I couldn’t see her, but knowing she was there made me conscious of every point of contact between us. I focused on the ceiling and said nothing. Afterward, she got off, put on a robe, and handed me the towel before I carried my clothes back to my room. I did not ask myself what had just happened.
Casey and I didn’t become instant friends - she still rarely spoke - but a few nights later she suggested repeating the massage session. I agreed. She was always reading when I passed her door in the evenings - lying on her side with the book held close, the way children read. I never saw what the books were.
That second night she wore her robe while I was still dressed. She let me go first. Stripping to my panties, I lay down as she straddled me again. The massage was as soothing as before.
When it was her turn, she suggested I straddle her while she remained covered with a towel. I hesitated. She tilted her head slightly and said, “You’re more comfortable than you think.” I wasn’t sure if she meant the massage. I went along. We switched positions - me in panties, her nude - and I felt the oddness of it, kept my eyes where they belonged, and did not mention it.
Over the following days our massages became nightly rituals. Casey convinced me to dispense with my panties; we stayed covered only with towels. I grew accustomed to it the way you grow accustomed to anything - by not making too much of it. Those evenings were the best part of my days, though I would not have said so. I even dreamt about them once, and noted that too without dwelling on it.
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