Wild School Massage

Stephanie climbs the last block, blouse stuck to her skin, skirt hiked at the thigh. The day’s heat lingers. She lets herself into the parlor, its soft linen curtains and low, amber lamps inviting. Steam still clings to her from the quick shower she took out back. Naked, she spreads herself on the wide table, feet flexed, arms loose above her head. Rayveness glides in draped in ivory satin. A small smile, then the quiet pour of oil into her palms. Heat follows. She starts slow—palms gliding over Stephanie’s shoulders, pressing thumbs into long lines of tension down her back. The oil gleams. The robe rustles as Rayveness leans close, each deliberate stroke coaxing softness from the teen’s athletic frame. Her touch travels lower, cups the curves of Stephanie’s ass, spreads her fingers. Stephanie draws a quick breath. When Rayveness reaches the inner thighs, the teen parts them. Oil catches at the folds. Rayveness traces there, slow circles turning slick, pressing. Fingers slip, open, enter. Stephanie’s hips lift—want plain now. Rayveness removes the robe. Breasts bare, nipples already stiff, she climbs onto the table. Their bodies brush, warm and oily, slotting into place. Two sets of thighs open. Tongues meet nipples, lips catch on teeth. Rayveness’s mouth travels downward. She spreads Stephanie open, licks once—broad, flat—then sucks at the swollen clit. The girl moans, low and sure, thighs closing around Rayveness’s ears. They trade places. Stephanie returns the favor, tasting oil and salt, fingers working deep while Rayveness rocks against her mouth. The rhythm speeds. Their bodies—glistening, flushed—rock and chase the edge together, gasping when the wave finally breaks.