The Tired Client

Jill Kassidy came in wrecked from the night before. Every muscle feels bruised. Jillian Janson asks where it hurts, and Jill says everywhere. Clothes come off. Jill settles onto the table, face up. Jillian warms the oil in her palms and starts rubbing, slow circles over shoulders, ribs, belly. Jill’s too tired to flinch when those hands glide across her tits, though the nipples tighten under the slick pressure. A sleepy mumble slips out, something about her tits. Jillian takes it as permission and stays there, kneading the small, firm mounds until Jill’s breath shortens. Still no protest. Emboldened, Jillian slides lower, fingertips tracing the crease where thigh meets hip. Jill doesn’t move, just parts her legs an inch. That’s enough. Jillian cups her cunt, fingers parting the wet folds, circling the swollen clit. Jill moans, low and surprised. “Feels so good,” she breathes. Jillian doesn’t stop. She sinks two fingers inside, pumps steadily, thumb never leaving that tight nub. Jill’s hips lift. When she’s close, Jillian tells her to roll onto her stomach. Jill obeys. Oil glistens on the perfect round ass now presented like an offering. Jillian squeezes, spreads, watches the little hole wink, then drags her fingers back down to the dripping pussy. Two quick thrusts and Jill comes, thighs trembling, a choked cry against the table. Jillian strips. Naked, she climbs up, straddles Jill’s face and lowers her own cunt to Jill’s eager mouth. They rock together, sixty-nine, slick skin sliding, tongues working. Jillian comes first, grinding down, flooding Jill’s lips. Jill follows seconds later, soaking Jillian’s chin. They flip. Jillian sits on Jill’s mouth and rides, hard, hips snapping until she shudders again, wetness spilling over Jill’s tongue. When she finally climbs off, Jill is smiling through the mess, already wondering when she can book the next session.