Training My Masseuse

Kalina Ryu asks for a deep-pressure shiatsu massage, but the rookie Kylie Page only blinks. She admits she knows nothing about that kind of pressure. She starts in anyway. Within seconds her elbow digs sharp and clumsy between Kalina’s vertebrae. Kalina curses, sits up, and offers a trade: one lesson for the pleasure of her hands on Kylie’s bare curves. Kylie strips. Kalina’s palms glide, sink, coax flesh instead of hurt it. When the blonde feels she’s caught on, she lays Kalina back and tries to mirror the slow, firm strokes—only to have Kalina pull her fingers straight down between spread thighs. “There’s a move clients never forget,” Kalina murmurs, then lowers her mouth. Kylie jolts. She whispers frantic warnings about noise and jobs, but her hips betray her, pushing harder against Kalina’s tongue until her whole body breaks, wet and shaking, onto the sheet. Kalina straddles her, grinds clit-to-clit for a few urgent strokes, then lets the blonde climb on top. Kylie’s fingers find the rhythm fast, precise. Kalina arches, teeth bared, and comes hard enough that the linen beneath her turns dark with every sudden rush she releases.