Just What She Needs...

Charlotte is already sinking into the couch when the doorbell rings. Audrey steps in with a portable table and a soft-spoken smile, sent over by the boyfriend who noticed Charlotte’s low mood. Clothes come off, the sheet slides down her back, and Audrey’s hands work warm oil into tight shoulders, down her spine, over the swell of her breasts. Every slow pass across Charlotte’s nipples sends a pulse lower. She bites her lip, heat blooming between her legs. Audrey pauses, voice low. “It’s okay,” she says, fingertips brushing the inside of Charlotte’s thigh. Charlotte’s breath catches, then she parts her knees, giving silent permission. Audrey’s fingers slip through slick folds, find the swollen spot that makes Charlotte’s hips lift off the table. The strokes stay steady, patient, until the tight coil in Charlotte’s belly finally breaks, her soft cries filling the quiet room.