The Actress

Riley Nixon walked in on time—famous face, unmistakable. Giselle got the thrill that clients like her still gave after years of work. The actress shed her clothes without ceremony, then paused when Giselle mentioned the lingerie. She unhooked the bra, slipped the panties down, and stretched out bare on the table. "Starting at the neck and shoulders," Giselle said, voice low. "Oil first. Always more than you think you need." Her palms circled, slow and firm. They talked while she worked—Riley’s nights out, the constant noise. "All of it’s great," she said, "until I get home and actually want quiet." When Giselle floated the idea of women, Riley shut it down fast. "Not my thing." The rhythm of the hands took over. Riley’s body gave. Giselle’s thumbs sank deeper near the hips, digging tension out, creeping close enough that Riley’s breath caught. "Perfect reaction," Giselle said. "You could use that." Riley didn’t argue when she flipped her over. Giselle climbed onto the table, knees on either side of her, and pressed warm palms over Riley’s breasts. Riley’s eyes flicked toward the corners of the room. "Are there cameras?" "Just us," Giselle promised, sliding down to Riley’s thighs. The moment her fingers found the swollen bead of her clit, Riley gasped, but Giselle kept talking—soft, reassuring. Heat prickled across Giselle’s skin. She stood, peeled off her clothes, and bent between Riley’s legs. Her tongue worked slow, then quicker. Riley came hard, hips jerking. After a minute Riley pushed up on an elbow. "My turn." She moved between Giselle’s thighs with shaky hands, mouth following. Giselle’s clit throbbed under her tongue. They shifted again, tangled, mouths and fingers swapping places, rubbing in rhythm until both shook through another climax, skin slick with oil and sweat.