Sore Bottom Blues

Georgia Jones moved carefully in the private room, easing each garment down over the ache in her ass. Kristen entered a moment later and noticed at once, the way her client favored one side. Georgia offered a crooked smile instead of an explanation. Kristen warmed oil between her palms and pressed both hands to bare skin, working slow, deliberate circles down Georgia’s spine. The tension gave way, yet Georgia’s hips still shifted, wary of pressure lower down. The admission slipped out while Kristen’s thumbs dug into tight muscle—she liked being spanked, and last night her girlfriend had been enthusiastic. Kristen’s fingers never paused. Instead she rolled a firm bolster beneath Georgia’s pelvis, lifting her ass to a more forgiving angle. The new position exposed everything. Kristen poured more oil, let it slide between cheeks, thumbs parting the flesh as she rubbed. Georgia tried to hold still, but every glide of slick fingers sent heat curling through her belly. One careless brush skimmed across slick folds; her breath caught. The next pass lingered. By the third they stopped pretending it was an accident. Georgia lifted her hips higher, voice low, asking for more. Kristen accepted without hesitation. They moved like they’d planned it—Kristen climbing onto the table, Georgia rolling beneath her. Tongues and fingers found wet heat fast. Hands gripped, hips rocked, oil-slick skin slapped as moans filled the small room. The soreness in Georgia’s ass was forgotten, replaced by a deeper, greedier ache Kristen knew exactly how to satisfy.