My First Massage

Briana knocks, hears nothing, eases the door open anyway. Inside, Rayveness moves like warm light: white satin robe loose at the collar, earbuds in, fingers gliding shiny lotion across her own breasts. Briana almost steps back out, but Rayveness lifts her gaze and curls two fingers—come here. She’s never had a massage before, only this gnawing ache down her spine after some stupid lift at the store. The robe hits the floor. Nude, she stretches belly-down on the sheet. Warm oil lands between her shoulder blades, spreads under steady palms, slides along the dip of her waist, the curve of each cheek. Every stroke loosens what the accident locked tight. Then Rayveness lies over her, bare skin on bare skin. Breasts press Briana’s back, hips settle into the cleft of her ass, the masseuse’s belly warming the small of her spine. The oil turns every glide into velvet friction—nipples dragging, bellies sliding, thighs parting just enough for slick heat to find slick heat. Briana feels herself swell, open, wet collecting beneath her. Rayveness rocks with slow purpose, clit nudging Briana’s tailbone, fingers slipping under to cup her cunt from behind. The touch is unhurried, deliberate: two knuckles parting swollen lips, thumb circling the stiff bead above until Briana’s hips lift, chasing. When the fingers finally sink inside, Briana gasps into the sheet, cunt pulsing around them. She comes with her face buried, thighs shaking, Rayveness riding the tremor, mouth at her ear whispering filthy encouragement. Afterward they stay pressed together, breathing the same humid air, until Rayveness rolls her gently and tastes the want still slick on her tongue.