"Next," I said, uttering the lewd nonsense with a flat face. "We'll focus on the chest area. Massage here is crucial for improving circulation and relieving accumulated tension."

Without giving her time to question or protest, I moved. My body rose over hers. I didn't go straight for her pussy. Instead, I knelt astride her, my thighs bracketing her hips, and leaned forward.

My cock, wet and glistening with her saliva, I lowered. I nestled it between her full, warm breasts—soft, pliant, yet firm. The sensation of her warm skin immediately enveloping my shaft made me let out a soft groan.

"We will massage your breasts this way," I whispered, my voice hoarse with pleasure. My large hands grasped both of her breasts from the sides, holding them, squeezing gently while pushing them together tighter, trapping my cock more firmly in the deep valley of her chest.

Then, I began to move. My hips thrust back and forth slowly, sliding my hard cock between the soft mounds of her breasts. My movements weren't rushed, but deep and measured. With each forward thrust, the reddened tip of my cock emerged above her cleavage, as if saying hello, before I pulled back, buried again in her warmth.

"Feel the heat and texture, Ms. Fiona," I whispered. "This skin-to-skin contact stimulates the release of bonding hormones. Let yourself feel it."

Ophelia could only moan, her eyes closed, surrendering to the strange, shameful but incredibly pleasurable sensation. Her breasts, which had always been symbols of her womanhood and strength, were now being used as tools for carnal pleasure—and for some reason, that made her even hotter.

"Ah... Freyden... that's... strange..." she mumbled, but her arms rose, her hands helping to press her breasts tighter around my shaft, increasing the friction and sensation.

"Good, very good," I praised, the rhythm of my hips quickening. The pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip of my cock now moistened the skin of her chest and her nipples, making the glide smoother, more tantalizing. "You are a very quick learner."

Every thrust, every slide, sent vibrations straight to her core. Her already-drenched pussy throbbed wildly, releasing more fluid that soaked the sheets further. Her brain could no longer think. There was only sensation: heat, pressure, the feeling of being used, and undeniable pleasure.

"How does it feel, Ms. Fiona?" I asked, my breathing heavy. "Do you feel a release in the chest area? A smoother flow of energy?"

"Yes... yes... oh god... it feels... strange but... good..." she answered in broken gasps. "My breasts... feel... full... hot..."

"That's a good sign. It means the blocked energy is being released."

I continued, mixing the movements of my hips with the massage of my hands. I pinched her nipples harder, tugged on them, rolled them between my thumb and forefinger. Each rough touch there made her body shudder, and her moans grew more uncontrolled.

Then, without me realizing it, she climaxed again. Her body arched off the bed, her breasts tightened around my cock, and a long, ragged groan escaped her open mouth. Her pussy clenched wildly, releasing another gush of fluid that soaked the sheets.

But I didn't stop. I kept massaging, kept sliding my cock between her breasts. The orgasm seemed to have only opened the floodgates for something deeper.

"Wait... I just... came..." she protested weakly.

"Sometimes, the body needs several waves of release to truly cleanse itself," I answered calmly, still moving. "This was just the first wave. Prepare for the second."

And indeed, a few seconds later, her body shuddered again. This time it was stronger. She cried out, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, her legs kicking uncontrollably. She was experiencing multiple orgasms, just from breast stimulation and titfucking.

And as she peaked, feeling the wild contractions in her empty vagina, I too reached my limit.

I pulled my cock out from between her breasts, and as the reddened, throbbing tip faced her masked face, a jet of thick, white cum shot out.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Three powerful spurts landed directly on the black mask covering her face. One right on the forehead, one on the right cheek, and the last hit her open mouth, some going in, some dripping onto her chin.

Ophelia gasped. Her body, still trembling from the afterglow, went rigid. Her eyes widened behind the mask now stained white. She hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected me to... finish on her face.

"Sorry, Ms. Fiona," I said, feigning regret while grabbing a towel. "A reflex. Let me clean you up."

But before I touched her with the towel, my gaze fixed on her mask, now soiled with my seed. A sudden, overwhelming curiosity seized me. All this time, I'd only heard her moans, seen her incredible body, but I'd never seen her actual face in moments like this.

I wanted to see her expression. Wanted to see if her usually authoritative red eyes were now teary, her cheeks flushed with shame and arousal, her lips swollen from sucking and now smeared with my cum.

"Wait," I said, my hand pausing in mid-air. "I'm so curious. The sound of your moans... they're so beautiful. Deep, husky, full of hidden passion. I can't imagine what the face that makes such sounds looks like."

My hand moved to the ties of the mask behind her head.

Ophelia reacted instantly. Her hand grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, her eyes visible through the mask's holes wide with panic.

"No! Don't remove my mask!"

"Why?" I asked, pretending not to understand. "Here, we are anonymous. I am Freyden, you are Fiona. What difference does it make if your face is seen? Unless... are you someone well-known? Someone who... shouldn't be seen in a place like this?"

"That's none of your business!" she snapped, but her voice trembled. "Respect my privacy! I'm paying you for a service, not to... to see my face!"

"But, Ms. Fiona," I whispered, my voice low and seductive, while my fingers gently worked the knot loose behind her head. "Our intimacy has already gone far beyond a simple transaction. You've swallowed my cum. You've let yourself climax repeatedly in front of me. You even allowed me to use your breasts like that. Is seeing your face really the most shameful part of all this?"

Ophelia fell silent. Her argument crumbled. She had already done things far more shameful, far more degrading. But there was something about revealing her face—her true identity—that felt like the final line that must not be crossed.

Yet, before she could protest further, the knot came undone.

I slowly pulled the black mask away from her face.

And there, it was revealed.

The face of Ophelia Blazinger, unmasked.

Her red hair, usually tied up neatly, was now disheveled, damp with sweat and clinging to her temples and high forehead. The porcelain-smooth skin of her face was flushed a deep crimson from her forehead down to her neck, covered in red blotches from arousal, shame, and perhaps lack of oxygen during the rough oral sex earlier.

Her deep crimson eyes—usually sharp and authoritative—were now puffy, glistening with unshed tears still pooled in their corners. Her full, red lips were swollen, clearly bearing the marks of biting and pressure, with remnants of my cum still clinging to the corner of her mouth and dripping onto her sharp chin.

She was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. Not the youthful beauty of her daughter, Arianna, but a mature beauty full of character, strength, and a vulnerability now laid bare. Her expression was a mixture of smoldering anger and profound shame.

For a few seconds, she just stared at me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, as I expected, the anger exploded.

"YOU BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU!!" she screamed, her voice cracking with emotion. Her free hand swung, trying to slap my face, but I easily caught her wrist with one hand.

"You damn dog! Who do you think you are?! You're just a sleazy masseur! You have no right—!"

"Calm down, Ms. Ophelia," I said softly, while my other hand rose and gently touched her disheveled red hair, stroking it like one would soothe a frightened kitten.

That touch stopped her mid-outburst. She stared at me, confused.

"I... know who you are now," I whispered, my voice filled with gentle recognition. "Ophelia Blazinger. The Blazewalker. Headmistress of Nine Stars Academy. One of the world's strongest Hunters."

Each title I uttered made her body grow more rigid, her eyes fill with more horror.

"But here," I continued, my fingers still gently stroking her hair, "you are no one. Not the headmistress. Not an SS-Rank. Just a woman. A woman who is tired. A woman who, like any other woman, has needs, desires, and a dark side she cannot show the world."

Ophelia stared at me, her eyes crinkling in deep conflict. On one hand, she knew this was wrong. She knew she should be furious, should destroy this man, should run away. But on the other hand... my words struck right at the core of her deepest weariness.

"You feel strange, don't you?" I asked, my voice like that of a kind therapist. "Humiliated, degraded, treated like an object... but at the same time, touched gently like this. As if two opposing sides."

Ophelia nodded. Her emotions were too chaotic. Her rationality and common sense had long drowned in lust, leaving only a shred of pride, and even that was now being shattered.

"That's because you, like all humans, are a complex being," I continued, my words flowing smoothly, full of subtle suggestion and manipulation. "You've been strong for so long, Ophelia. Carrying the burden of the academy, your reputation, the hopes of so many people. You could never show weakness. Never show fatigue. Every day, you had to be the mighty Blazewalker, the strict headmistress."

I crouched down so my eyes were level with her teary ones. "But behind all that, you are just a woman. A woman who is tired. A woman frustrated because she can never take off that mask."

Every word I spoke seemed to pierce right to the heart of her deepest exhaustion. She had carried that burden for decades. And never, never had anyone seen her like this.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, Ophelia," I whispered, my voice like a mantra. "Here, with me, you can let it all go. You can be 'Fiona'. You can be the woman who just wants to be satisfied, used, even humiliated—because that's the only way for you to feel truly free from the burden of being 'Ophelia Blazinger'."

My hand moved from her hair, down to her tense shoulders, and began massaging them with a deep, soothing pressure. "No one will know. This is our secret. A safe space where you can be anything you want."

I watched her eyes. The anger in them had subsided, replaced by surrender. She must have yearned for this. Yearned for someone to see her weariness. Yearned for permission to be weak.

"I... am so tired, Freyden," she finally whispered, her voice broken and small like a child's.

"I know," I replied, stroking her cheek again. "And here, you don't have to be strong. You can cry. You can beg. You can... be a girl who needs to be taken care of."

She nodded, lowering her head. A small sob escaped her trembling lips.

"And for the next therapy session," I said, while my hand moved down from her face, tracing her body, and finally coming to rest between her open thighs. My fingers gently touched the lips of her still-wet, throbbing pussy.

"We will focus on the pelvic and uterine area. Releasing tension here is the most important, as this is where all of a woman's emotional stress tends to accumulate."

My touch made her gasp sharply. Her body arched, pushing her pussy closer to my fingers.

"Feel the touch, Fiona," I whispered, my middle finger beginning to circle her small, hard clit with a slow, rotating motion. "Let yourself feel it. Don't fight it. This is for your own good."

"Ah... Freyden..." she hissed, her eyes closing again, but this time with an expression of total surrender. "That's... good..."

"Good," I praised, while sliding one finger inside her warm, tight vagina. "Very good. You are a very responsive woman. Very... sensitive."

I continued to massage and stimulate her, all the while whispering manipulative words that made her sink deeper into the role of Fiona, the weak woman who needed to be cared for, far removed from the strong, impenetrable Ophelia Blazinger.

"Alright," I said suddenly. "The main session. The most important one. Deep penetration to release the final tension in the uterus and pelvis. This will be... intense. But I promise, after this, you'll feel like a new woman."

I moved between her open legs. From this position, I could clearly see her pussy, already drenched, swollen, and pulsating. Her thick, red pubic hair was wet with her own fluids and perhaps a little cum that had dripped down.

I bent forward, my index finger touching the outer lips of her pink pussy. The touch made her body arch and she groaned.

"See," I whispered, "your body is ready. It yearns for perfect union."

With a slow movement, I lowered my body onto hers. My weight pressed down on her, and she sighed. My hand reached for my cock, guiding it to the wet entrance of her pussy.

"Get ready, Fiona," I whispered in her ear. "The main therapy begins now."

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