Squirts Up!

Karla shows up at the parlor still wet from the ocean, board under her arm. Krissy answers the door in her robe and doesn’t bother hiding the slow drag of her eyes over Karla’s bikini. They trade quick nods about the heat, each of them slick with sweat and claiming the AC’s shot wherever they live. Karla asks for a NURU massage. Krissy grins, tells her they start in the shower, and leads the way. Steam fills the tiled stall as suits hit the floor. Hands slick with soap trace ribs, breasts, the dip of waists. Krissy’s palm cups Karla’s ass; Karla answers by pressing soapy fingers along Krissy’s nipples. The touch lasts a little longer than it needs to. Krissy cuts the water, eager now for gel and bare skin. They move to the massage table. Krissy reaches for the bottle and comes up empty. She curses under her breath, then brightens. Both of them are soaked—shower water and fresh sweat—and she offers that as the slick. Karla smiles at the risk and lies facedown. Bare skin glides across bare skin, heat and moisture turning every pass smoother, wetter. Heat builds; hearts pound. When Karla rolls, Krissy’s body covers hers from ankle to collarbone. “Feels like surfing,” Karla says, lips brushing Krissy’s ear, “only the wave is me.” The kiss lands hard. Tongues chase; hands slide between parted thighs. Gel is forgotten. Their bodies shine with sweat now, not oil, and arousal dries it too fast. Karla pulls back, panting. She bites her lip, says there’s one more fluid they haven’t tried. Krissy’s pupils blow wide. She slides down the table, parts wet folds, and drives two fingers deep. Karla comes in a shaking rush, soaking Krissy’s palm and wrist in clear, sharp bursts.