My All Girl Massage

April’s boyfriend dreams of another woman’s hands on her. Jenna’s the one who answers the call. April books the appointment, unsure whether the masseuse means the massage or something sharper. Jenna leads her to the private room and nods toward the table. “Get comfortable,” she says. April hesitates, asks for a moment alone. Once the door clicks, she peels off her clothes and lies down face-down, bare. Jenna returns, pours warm oil across April’s shoulders, down her spine, over the curve of her ass. The bottle tips. Slick liquid runs between her cheeks and soaks the strip of fabric still clinging to her hips. Jenna doesn’t apologize. She works the oil into April’s thighs, inching higher until her thumbs brush lace. April’s breath stalls. Jenna peels the panties aside and slides two fingers between April’s folds, slow, sure. April gasps, hips lifting. Jenna licks her—long, wet strokes over a freshly shaved cunt. April’s cry breaks loose, loud and helpless. Jenna crawls up, swings a thigh over April’s face and sinks down, her own slick pussy meeting April’s open mouth. They lock in a sixty-nine. Tongues flick. Fingers sink deeper. Wet sounds fill the room. April’s thighs shake as Jenna grinds against her tongue. They roll, finish face-to-face, thighs locked, cunts sliding hard and hot until both women come in a slick, trembling rush.