The Yoni Trainer

Cadey Mercury arrived nervous, her shoulders drawn tight under a silk robe. Carter Cruise touched her lower back and eased her onto the heated table. "Just your back tonight," the client whispered. Carter poured oil warmed between her palms and worked it into the pale skin from shoulder blade to sacrum. The older woman's strokes grew firmer, slower. Cadey's breath lengthened. She started talking without prompting, soft voice almost lost in the sheets. Her marriage bed had grown silent; once a month and finished quick, as though neither of them dared ask for more. Carter traced the hollow above each hip, pressing the tension away. They listed possibilities, low and practical: stress at work, new apartment, birth-control side effects. Nothing landed. Carter stepped aside, opened a lacquered box, and revealed three smooth obsidian eggs. "These wake the muscles you've stopped using," she said. She oiled the smallest, parted Cadey's thighs with steady palms, and eased the egg inside. "Now breathe in, tilt forward. Clench and hold. Breathe out, rock back." Cadey followed, hips rolling in shy rhythm. Each tightening pulled a soft sound from her throat. "Feel the current you're building? That's what he'll notice," Carter murmured, watching the cheeks of Cadey's ass tighten and release. She guided the egg deeper, coaxed the muscles to learn the new grip. Cadey's hips grew bold. When the lesson slipped into something hotter, Carter lowered her mouth, replaced the egg with her tongue, and Cadey came with one long shudder, robe sliding forgotten to the floor.