One Last Time

Wendy has known Mary for years. Every week Mary shows up at her door, sheds her clothes, and lies face-down on the massage table. They talk while Wendy works the knots from her shoulders, her lower back, the curve of her ass. Then Ginger moved in. Mary started canceling appointments, and Wendy noticed the tension in the silence that followed. Tonight Mary came alone. Wendy poured oil across her breasts and didn’t pretend the touch was innocent. She rolled Mary’s nipples between slick fingers until they stiffened, then slid her hand lower, parting the slick lips and sinking two fingers deep. Mary’s hips lifted. She was already wet—had been the moment Wendy locked the door. Wendy leaned over her, mouth at her ear. “You used to come here just to be fucked,” she whispered. Mary’s thighs trembled. Wendy worked her open, curling fingers against the spot that made her gasp, thumb circling her clit with slow, deliberate pressure. Mary came hard, cunt pulsing around Wendy’s hand, and Wendy held her there, fingers still buried inside, until every last tremor faded. She pulled her fingers out, wiped them across Mary’s stomach, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “That’s all you get. One last time.”