Housewife Needing Bolstering

Savannah Bond arrived at her usual massage appointment only to learn her regular masseuse wasn’t there. When the substitute, Scarlett Sage, stepped in, Savannah explained her body felt tight and heavy. The standard work helped for a few hours, she said, but the pain always came roaring back. Scarlett proposed a bolster massage so she could reach the back of Savannah’s hips more effectively. While she arranged the pillows and laid Savannah over them, Scarlett began asking quiet, pointed questions about Savannah’s routine. Savannah answered that she barely lifted a finger during the day and doubted physical strain had anything to do with the ache. Maybe stress, she guessed. When Scarlett pressed, Savannah hesitated, then admitted the real problem. She’d been doubting her marriage for months. Pressed again, she confessed she’d long wondered whether she even desired men at all and had buried every urge beneath the surface of her tidy household life. Scarlett studied the prone woman in front of her. “Sometimes the only relief,” she said evenly, “comes from doing what you’ve been afraid to name.” Her hands slid lower, oil glistening on smooth skin as she parted Savannah’s cheeks. Savannah stiffened, then sighed when fingers teased her entrance. A single lick of tongue followed, light and deliberate. She whimpered, but she didn’t pull away. Scarlett paused, waiting. Savannah’s breath caught. After one long moment she gave a small, surrendering nod. Scarlett leaned in, mouth pressing warm and wet between Savannah’s legs. Slow strokes turned bolder as Savannah’s moans filled the quiet room, the steady friction chasing every coiled knot of doubt from her body. Each pulse of pleasure made her back arch deeper over the bolster, her marriage vows drifting further out of reach with every lick.