Blondage #3: The Dresser - Part 6

They don't even make it through the full hour. Janine lifts the sheet first, fingers sliding between her own thighs as the masseuse watches. No protest comes. The woman simply locks the door and drops her white coat to the floor. Bodies collide on heated linen, mouths tasting sweat and oil. Fingers work slick skin until Janine's back arches and the room fills with sharp, wet sounds. When it's over they linger in half-dried oil, breathing hard. Then the speaker crackles. Blonde drapes enter next, heels sharp on marble. They wheel Randi out on a padded cart—naked, wrists cuffed behind her back. She keeps her eyes down, cheeks flushed. One girl runs a riding crop beneath Randi's breasts, lifting each in turn; another traces the tip of the crop up the inside of her trembling thigh and pauses just shy of her cunt. A single measured breath. The crop lifts again. Silent command. The room waits.