Meditation Massage
2014·33 min·96% liked·44.4K Views
Brandi arrives strung out, veins humming with leftover court dates and empty beds. Sara sent her to Alison’s new studio, a spare, incense-laced room that still smells of fresh paint. Alison welcomes her in a whisper of silk and lotion, fingertips already warm.
She tells Brandi the hips hold grudges—old lovers, sharp words, every forgotten “I’m fine.” Brandi nods once and peels off her robe. The sheet slides away. Alison’s hands take over: long, steady strokes that move from shoulder blades to the small of the back, then lower. She pauses, skin to skin, just above the swell of Brandi’s ass, and says the tension has to be coaxed out from the inside.
Brandi’s breath thickens. Alison drizzles oil between her thighs, watches it catch light before she presses two careful fingers along the seam of Brandi’s cunt. She doesn’t rush. She circles the outer lips until they part on their own, traces the stiff bead of clit, then slides a single fingertip inside. Brandi answers with a guttural sound and spreads wider, hips lifting like a question.
Alison answers by replacing fingers with tongue—slow, flat licks from entrance to clit and back again—until Brandi’s thighs begin to shake. Brandi reaches down blindly, finds Alison’s hair, holds on. When she finally comes, the tremor starts deep and rolls outward until her toes curl against the sheet.
They trade places without words. Alison climbs onto the table and Brandi kneels between her legs like she’s been starving for the taste. She eats in greedy, open-mouthed strokes, sucking on swollen lips, pushing two fingers inside Alison until the wet sound mixes with Alison’s gasps. Alison’s hands find her own breasts, thumbs rolling over nipples, head tipped back, spine arching like a drawn bow. She breaks with a sharp cry, thighs locked around Brandi’s shoulders, cunt pulsing against tongue.
Afterward the room smells of sweat and expensive oil. Brandi lies boneless on the table while Alison rests her cheek against Brandi’s thigh, both women flushed and spent, the last electric sparks fading beneath their skin.
Directors:Stillsby Alan













