Steamy therapy with younger girls

India Summer’s lips taste like expensive lipstick and restraint. Jenna kisses back harder, younger, hungrier, and the older woman lets her. Their mouths open, tongues slow-dance, then India catches Jenna’s lower lip and draws on it until the girl whimpers. India’s hand moves under the thin tank, finds the soft weight of a breast, and squeezes once. Jenna’s nipple beads instantly against the therapist’s palm. “See?” India murmurs, breath hot. “Nothing shameful about this.” She slides the tank higher, leans in, and closes her mouth over that tight nipple. Jenna’s spine arches like a bow. India’s tongue flicks—gentle, then firmer—while her fingers trace down the girl’s stomach, beneath the waistband of soft cotton shorts. No underwear. India smiles against the breast, then slips two fingers straight through warm, slick folds. Jenna gasps and spreads for her. India circles her clit once, slow and proprietary, before easing one finger inside. She curls it, draws it back, sinks again. The girl’s hips chase the rhythm. India meets her, thumb stroking in time, until Jenna’s thighs start to tremble. Then India sits back, shrugs off her silk blouse. Her own breasts, heavier, meet the air. Jenna stares openly, then reaches for them with both hands. India lets the girl palm and knead, lets herself enjoy it, before she pushes Jenna onto the leather chaise. The shorts come off next. India settles between smooth, parted thighs. She parts Jenna’s lips with careful thumbs, studies the glisten, then flattens her tongue and licks a long, deliberate stripe from entrance to clit. Jenna cries out. India stays there—lapping, sucking, easing two fingers in again—until the girl’s hand finds her hair and holds on. When the first climax hits, Jenna’s whole body locks. India keeps licking through it, slowing only when the shaking turns to little aftershocks. Then she climbs up, straddles the girl’s waist, and guides Jenna’s trembling fingers between her own legs. “Feel how wet I am for you,” she says. Jenna nods, fascinated. She pushes two fingers up inside the older woman and fucks her the way she was taught. India rocks her hips, rides the hand, tits swaying with each stroke. When she comes, it’s quieter, breath caught behind her teeth, cunt pulsing around the young fingers buried deep. They stay like that—bodies damp, breathing settling—until India leans down and kisses Jenna again, softer now, almost tender. “Lesson one,” she whispers against the girl’s mouth. “You wanted this. You get to have it.”