I Hate My Boyfriend

Brandi Blunt shows up at the spa needing relief from her tiresome boyfriend. The second Raven Rockette steps close, their clothes drop. They linger for a second, eyes drifting over smooth skin and tight curves, then their mouths meet—slow, wet kisses that taste like want. Raven’s oil-slick hands slide down Brandi’s spine, kneading muscle and drawing gooseflesh, but the client won’t stay still. Brandi’s fingers dip straight between Raven’s thighs, gathering the slick heat she finds there. The oil runs slick, yet nothing compares to the glossy strands Brandi pulls from Raven’s cunt. Brandi works two fingers in, curls them hard, strokes the spot that makes Raven’s hips lift and flutter. Raven gasps, surprised, then melts into the rhythm Brandi sets. The bedside manner flips. Brandi takes charge—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip—rocking Raven closer and closer until the masseuse’s moans turn into a broken cry, her thighs shaking around Brandi’s wrist as the orgasm rips through her. Perfect. Just the relief she needed.