Can I Use Your Phone?

Lola sat hunched over her laptop, fingers drumming the wooden table, swearing under her breath at the blank screen. The signal at the cabin was shit, so she drove twenty minutes into town for coffee and working wifi. On the way back her phone died and then she sideswiped a pine, bumper crunching, steam hissing from the hood. Her perfect vacation ruined by one tree. Abigail stepped onto the porch barefoot, wearing only a white tank and cotton shorts, wiping her hands on a towel. She sized Lola up in one glance, flushed face, clenched jaw, fingers still gripping her dead phone. "You look wrecked," Abigail said. "Come inside." She didn't wait for an answer. Just pulled open the screen door and kept talking until Lola followed. Inside, Lola tried calling the rental company, voice tight, pacing the living room. Abigail watched the rigid set of her shoulders, then stepped behind her when the call ended. Without asking she slid her hands up under the hem of Lola's blouse and started undoing buttons. Lola stiffened but didn't stop her. Abigail eased the shirt off, unhooked her bra, fingers brushing the warm skin beneath. Then the jeans, zipper down, fabric dragged over hips until only thin cotton panties remained. "Lie face down," Abigail said, low. She warmed oil between her palms and straddled Lola's thighs. Her thumbs dug into knots at the base of the neck, then slid lower, sweeping the length of the spine, pressing into the small of the back, kneading the tight muscles of the ass with slow, deliberate circles. Lola's breathing shifted, deeper, heavier. Abigail leaned forward, breasts brushing Lola's bare back as her oiled hands slid underneath to cup and squeeze. Her fingers found heat and slick, parted, stroked. Lola's hips rolled once, involuntary, and she reached back, palm sliding up Abigail's thigh until she found the waistband of those cotton shorts and tugged them down. Abigail kicked them off, never pausing her rhythm between Lola's legs, then shifted forward until her own cunt pressed against the curve of Lola's ass. They moved together in small, urgent motions, sweat mixing with oil, the room quiet except for soft gasps and the wet sound of fingers working.