Luna Lain pushes open the door to Lauren Phillips' massage parlor. The smell of hot oil and lavender hits her first. She booked the hour because Sarah told her this woman does more than knots and sore shoulders. Lauren is the real deal—body and head both. The kind of touch that empties you out in more ways than one.
They strip fast. Clothes hit the tile. Lauren's voice is low and steady while her palms warm the oil on Luna's back. "Talk to me," she says. Luna lies there, face down, and the words spill. She tells Lauren about the eyes she feels on the street—old pervs, young pricks, everyone judging when she kisses her older girlfriend in daylight. It knots her shoulders tighter than any gym set ever did. She wants to stop caring. She wants to just take what Sarah gives her and enjoy it.
Behind them the door clicks again. Sarah slips in barefoot. Lauren sees her, doesn't say a word. Keeps Luna talking, keeps her open. When Lauren asks if having Sarah's hands on her would loosen her up, Luna answers without thinking. "God, yeah. If she were here I'd let her do whatever she wanted." Sarah's already crossing the room.
Lauren steps aside. Sarah takes over, slick palms gliding lower, fingertips dragging across the swell of Luna's ass before they slip between her thighs. Luna jerks, eyes wide, realization hitting late. Sarah's mouth finds her ear. "I'm right here, baby. Nobody else matters."
The three of them tangle fast. Oil-slick skin, wet mouths, the wetter sound of tongues working between spread legs. Luna's worries burn off under every lick and every moan. Lauren's special brand of therapy doesn't come with a name—just sweat, come, and three women who stopped giving a fuck what anyone else thought.
Luna Lain pushes open the door to Lauren Phillips' massage parlor. The smell of hot oil and lavender hits her first. She booked the hour because Sarah told her this woman does more than knots and sore shoulders. Lauren is the real deal—body and head both. The kind of touch that empties you out in more ways than one.
They strip fast. Clothes hit the tile. Lauren's voice is low and steady while her palms warm the oil on Luna's back. "Talk to me," she says. Luna lies there, face down, and the words spill. She tells Lauren about the eyes she feels on the street—old pervs, young pricks, everyone judging when she kisses her older girlfriend in daylight. It knots her shoulders tighter than any gym set ever did. She wants to stop caring. She wants to just take what Sarah gives her and enjoy it.
Behind them the door clicks again. Sarah slips in barefoot. Lauren sees her, doesn't say a word. Keeps Luna talking, keeps her open. When Lauren asks if having Sarah's hands on her would loosen her up, Luna answers without thinking. "God, yeah. If she were here I'd let her do whatever she wanted." Sarah's already crossing the room.
Lauren steps aside. Sarah takes over, slick palms gliding lower, fingertips dragging across the swell of Luna's ass before they slip between her thighs. Luna jerks, eyes wide, realization hitting late. Sarah's mouth finds her ear. "I'm right here, baby. Nobody else matters."
The three of them tangle fast. Oil-slick skin, wet mouths, the wetter sound of tongues working between spread legs. Luna's worries burn off under every lick and every moan. Lauren's special brand of therapy doesn't come with a name—just sweat, come, and three women who stopped giving a fuck what anyone else thought.
