My All Girl Massage

April sits on the edge of the table, pulse hammering, when the woman named Jenna leads her back like this is just another appointment. Clothes hit the floor. Skin meets air. Jenna wastes no second, drizzling warm oil straight down April's spine, sliding it between her shoulder blades, down the dip of her waist, over the twin curves of her ass. When she pours too much, slick heat runs the crack, soaks the thin scrap of April's panties until they cling like a second skin. Jenna's breath ghosts across the damp fabric. Then her fingers press, drag, press again, working right over the cleft, parting swollen lips through cotton already turned translucent. April's hips twitch. She bites the heel of her palm so the sound that slips out is still small, still safe. But that edge of fear only makes the heat coil tighter. One tug and the panties are gone. Jenna's mouth lands hot and open, tongue flicking the newly bare slit, sealing over it. April's legs jerk. Moans crack out of her like static. She reaches up, finds Jenna's cunt already bare and hovering, and pulls the other woman down so she can bury her tongue the same way. 69 turns slick, desperate. Slick noises fill the room as they grind and lap, thighs shaking. Then Jenna rolls her, straddling again. Their cunts meet, puffy and wet, folds dragging, clits catching with every savage roll of Jenna's hips. April feels herself tipping, muscles locking, every nerve lit. They ride out the last hard shakes, come apart soaked, breathing ragged in the dim light.