After sport massage

My muscles throbbed from the long workout. Limbs heavy. Useless. Jeannie offers to rub them out and every thought narrows on what her hands will do between my legs. She knows I want her inside the ache, where the real knots sit. Slick heat already gathers as I strip off damp shorts. Fingertips press into my calves, slide up thighs, pause just long enough to make me tremble. Then two knowing fingers part my folds, press in, curl. Tight circles over the tender rim, slow then quick, pulling whimpers from my throat. She leans in, breath warm on the flushed skin above my clit. Her tongue follows. One deliberate lick, then another. I arch, hips chasing. The massage turns deeper. She fucks me slow, steady, exactly the way sore flesh begs for relief. Every stroke stretches, softens, lights nerves that still hum from the workout and now burn hotter. When I come my whole body jerks, but the hurt is gone, replaced by the sweet, wet echo of her mouth and the careful weight of her palm against my stomach, holding me down until every last pulse fades.