Breast Massage

Darcie Dolce sits across from August Ames asking for a full body massage. Runner's body, rock hard, but those feet and those heavy tits want hands. August watches her undress. Eyes dragging down the hard stomach to the curves underneath. August sets to work. Rubs slow circles into Darcie's shoulders, fingers gliding along every rib. Her stare never leaves that ass. Soon her mouth is on Darcie's toes. One big toe sucked like candy. "Special massage," August murmurs. Tongue works between each toe. She flips Darcie, fists full of breast. Squeezes, pinches. Darcie's breath hitches, but she mouths protest after protest. August ignores every word. She drops low, lips traveling the slope of one pale nipple, then the other. Lower still. Her tongue slides over slick, shaved lips before Darcie can clamp her thighs shut. Fingers sink inside—slow, deep, insistent. With one long, wet lick, resistance cracks. Darcie gasps, hips lifting. Juices coat August's knuckles. They twist together. Legs scissor, wet centers grind, clits drag against swollen flesh. Hips buck. Breaths match. Both women arch and moan as they come, slick thighs trembling, bodies soaked and spent.