From Business To Pleasure

Crystal Clark steps into the massage room with her usual box of aromatherapy oils and candles. She’s all business—blonde hair pinned back, dress pressed, small breasts outlined beneath the fabric. Mocha Menage waits in a loose silk robe. Business is booming, she says, and the oils have made all the difference. She wants to repay the favor with a free massage. Crystal undresses. Pale skin, natural tits, the neat dark triangle between her thighs still untouched by the razor. She lies facedown. Warm oil trickles down her spine. Mocha’s hands start at the shoulders, firm, then slide lower, cupping, spreading, sliding between. Crystal’s breath catches when those fingers graze the soft hair and press deeper, parting her. She lifts her hips without thinking. Mocha rolls her onto her back. Their mouths meet. Mocha’s tongue is slow and teasing; Crystal answers with a hungry little moan. The silk robe drops. Mocha’s darker skin presses against Crystal’s pale curves. Fingers return—slick, insistent—sliding over Crystal’s clit and then inside, two at once, stroking the spot that makes her thighs shake. Crystal reaches up, finds Mocha wet and ready, and answers with the same rhythm until both women are gasping, hips rocking, the massage table creaking under the sudden weight of two bodies that have stopped pretending this is just business.