She Gives Me What You Can't!

Kylie walks in on Emma stretched out beneath Sharon's hands and stops cold. Her smile drops. She has been Emma's masseuse for two years—tight shoulders, playful texts, inside jokes at the desk—and now her longtime client lies naked under someone else. “Emma?” Kylie’s voice cracks. “What is this?” Emma sits up, sheet clutched to her chest like a guilty spouse. “I didn’t think you’d be here today.” Sharon keeps her palms on Emma’s lower back, unbothered, marking her territory. Kylie’s cheeks flush. She launches into it—how she knows the exact pressure Emma likes, how she stayed late that one rainy Thursday just to work out the knot in her hip. Sharon counters, low and smooth, that new hands bring new energy. They spar without touching each other, voices snapping across Emma’s bare spine. Emma lies back, arms folded behind her head, eyes flicking from one woman to the other. “Fine,” she says. “Both of you. Same time. I’ll decide when we’re done.” Oil clicks open. Four hands descend. Kylie starts competent—steady, thorough, trying to reclaim ground—until the heel of Sharon’s palm slips lower. Kylie watches, jaw set, then slides her own fingers under the sheet, fingertips grazing the swell of Emma’s breast. No one objects. Emma’s breath catches. Sharon answers by cupping between Emma’s thighs, slick and decisive. Kylie curses under her breath and leans in, tongue tracing the flushed line of Emma’s neck while her thumb circles a tightening nipple. The table creaks. Limbs tangle—Emma half-turned, one leg hooked over Kylie’s shoulder, Sharon’s mouth sealed to the inside of her knee, then higher. Oil-slick skin slaps soft and wet. Kylie sucks at Emma’s clit; Sharon’s fingers curl inside at the same rhythm. Emma comes with a broken moan, clutching Kylie’s hair and Sharon’s wrist at once. They ease her down, breathing hard, three bodies gleaming. Kylie looks up, lips shiny, still hungry. Sharon meets her stare, just as unwilling to yield.