On A Budget

Carter sat on the couch when Eliza came through the door, sore from eight hours of real work. The life they used to know had ended on their eighteenth birthday. No more handouts. Just bills, bosses, and early alarm clocks. Eliza dropped her bag. Her shoulders felt tight enough to snap. A private massage would fix this, but she would never set foot in a public place with strangers oiling her skin. Then an idea hit. They knew exactly how it was done. All those hands their parents once paid had shown them every glide, every press. Why hire anyone when they had each other? Carter stripped and stretched out on the cushions, arms loose above her head. Eliza peeled down to lace panties and climbed over her, knees gripping each side of that warm back. She laid both palms at the base of Carter's spine and moved upward, slow, sure, sinking the heels of her hands into muscle until Carter groaned. The sound went straight through her. She kept stroking, fingers curving around ribs, down to the dip of waist, then up again until the room seemed smaller. When she leaned forward, her breasts brushed bare skin and Carter turned her head. Their mouths met—wet, immediate, hungry. Eliza slid off, knelt between parted thighs, and licked. Carter lifted her hips, pushed against that tongue, and Eliza answered with steady pressure, two fingers sliding in deep while her mouth stayed busy on the swollen clit. Carter's breathing turned ragged. They switched. Now Carter fingered and Eliza rode her hand, the wet sounds loud between them. Then they were locked together, legs scissored, slick cunts grinding, sliding clit to clit, faster, harder, until orgasm crashed through both bodies at once and left them shaking.