Blind Masseur's Steamy Conquest: Milking the Billionaire's Wife

My name is Charles Cole, a blind lactation masseur.

Of course, everything except the fake blindness is real—my skills are the genuine article.

As the name implies, a lactation masseur's main job is to massage and unclog blocked milk ducts for new moms. But since it involves direct physical contact with them, male masseurs in this field aren't well-received—hell, we're outright despised by the dads.

I flunked my college entrance exams hard, and the major they funneled me into was "Traditional Chinese Care." Sounds fancy, but it's basically just massage and lactation therapy.

After graduation, I worked as a male lactation masseur at a shop, but I barely got any clients. Everyone preferred female therapists.

No choice—I changed my look, pretended to be blind, and moved to another city to work as a blind lactation masseur.

Thanks to the blind persona, most people overlooked my gender. Plus, my technique is top-notch, so I actually built up a solid reputation and a bunch of repeat customers.

Ophelia was one of my regulars, and this time she'd specifically requested me.

"Yeah, Charles, right there. I've been so engorged lately—rub it harder, it hurts like hell."

Having been through a few sessions, Ophelia wasn't shy at all. She lay there with her eyes closed, looking blissful, letting out soft, pleasurable moans now and then.

Ophelia was young, twenty-seven or twenty-eight, right in her prime—gorgeous face, and even after giving birth, her body was still killer. Those long, snowy-white legs of hers twitched gently under my massage, like they were getting stimulated.

I kept my head down, held my breath, said nothing, feeling the firmness and softness in my hands as I silently increased the pressure.

"Ah~~"

...

"The massage is over, Mr. Sterling. You can take your wife and leave now."

Russell's glare was murderous. He didn't say a word, just stalked over and stared me down with icy coldness.

I didn't flinch, acting like I hadn't noticed his gaze at all, busying myself packing up my tools like a true blind man.

That was also why I hadn't dodged the spray of milk earlier—any flinch, and I'd blow my cover as a fake blind guy.

Russell was a big-shot tycoon in our city, with connections in both legit and shady worlds. I'd heard from street contacts how ruthless he was. His stunning wife moaning under my hands during the massage...

If Russell found out I was faking it, I didn't even want to imagine how he'd come after me.

He stared me down for a solid two or three minutes before finally shifting his cold gaze away. Ophelia had dressed by then, looking utterly relieved.

"Honey, let's head home."

Ophelia wrapped her arms around Russell's arm, coquettishly pleading. Only then did a reluctant smile crack his icy face as he put his arm around her and left.

I could still faintly hear Russell's pissed-off muttering and Ophelia's whiny retorts.

"No coming back here next time, fuck, what kind of bullshit is this?"

"Oh come on, the other female masseuses aren't skilled enough. Only Mr. Cole's technique really works."

"But having a guy massage you? It makes me uncomfortable as hell."

"What's the big deal? Mr. Cole can't see anyway, and you were the one who recommended him to me in the first place..."

I couldn't hear the rest of their argument.

Sitting on the bed, I let out a long sigh of relief—my back was soaked with sweat without me realizing.

I glanced at the note in my right hand, something Ophelia had secretly slipped me before leaving. The words on it made my pupils contract.

"10 PM tonight. I'll be waiting for your call, Mr. Cole."