Physiotherapist Fantasy Erotic Story for Women

Monday

I didn’t sleep much last night.

My shoulder’s been acting up again — the old pain that never really left. So this morning, I finally booked an appointment at the physiotherapy clinic near work. I’ve walked past it a hundred times, but today, I actually went in.

It was bright inside. Clean. Quiet. A soft smell of something herbal floated in the air — maybe eucalyptus? I liked it immediately. It felt calm. Safe.

The receptionist smiled at me and handed me a clipboard. While I filled out the forms, I heard a voice behind the curtain at the back. Low, steady, kind of warm. I couldn’t hear the words, just the tone. And I noticed my pulse pick up for no reason at all.

Ten minutes later, the curtain opened, and he stepped out.

My physiotherapist.

He looked… nothing like what I expected.

Tall. Athletic. Soft brown hair with a little wave to it. Not styled, just natural. A short beard, neatly trimmed. And eyes that were… warm. That same tone I heard in his voice. He glanced around the room, then looked straight at me.

“Are you S.?” he asked.

I nodded.

He smiled. “Come on in.”

I followed him behind the curtain, trying not to stare at his hands — large, confident, slightly calloused. Not rough. Just… used. Like he worked with them, trusted them.

He asked about my shoulder, about my job, my posture, my habits. I told him I sat too much, worked too much, carried all my tension in my back. He nodded like he’d heard it all before — not in a bored way, but like he understood exactly what I meant.

Then he asked if he could do a quick evaluation.

I said yes.

He stood behind me. His fingers pressed gently into my shoulder blades, moving along my upper back, my neck. Nothing sexual. Nothing even flirty. Just calm, careful, professional.

But my skin noticed.

I noticed.

When he pressed into a sore spot near my neck, I made a sound — a little one, like a soft “mmm.”

He paused. “Too much?”

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s… fine.”

He continued. And I tried not to melt into the table.

The session lasted 25 minutes. When it ended, he gave me some stretches to do at home and told me I’d probably need a few sessions to work through the tension.

I nodded. Said thank you. Tried not to stare at his forearms while he filled out my file.

“See you next time,” he said.

I smiled. “Yeah. See you.”

And then I left. That was it.

Nothing happened.

But something… lingered.

---

It’s now almost midnight. I’m lying in bed, wearing an oversized shirt, watching a show I’m not really watching. The same episode has been playing for 20 minutes, and I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happened.

Because I keep thinking about his hands.

The way he stood behind me.

That moment his thumb pressed into my neck.

I didn’t even look twice at him at first. But now… now I remember how tall he was. How deep his voice sounded up close. The way he listened, like I wasn’t just another client.

God.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him.

But I am.

My shoulder still hurts a little. But the ache tonight is different. Deeper. Lower. Somewhere else entirely.

And maybe it’s nothing. Just a silly crush. A passing thought.

Still…

I already booked my next session.

Wednesday at 5.

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