The Table Shower

Zoe Parker and Nickey Huntsman had never crossed paths. One look and Zoe knew today was different. She laid out the Table Massage in clear terms while Nickey listened, already imagining the water, the hands, the slow pressure. She took the slot, Zoe prepped the table, and the two women stood in the open shower room, skin bare under the lights. They talked—where each came from, what still kept them up. Zoe ran the cloth over Nickey’s shoulders and back, mentioned a girl client once, years ago, who liked women only. She pressed deeper into the tight bands under Nickey’s shoulder blades, worked lower, noted the way her ass tensed. Nickey pulled away a half-inch, said nothing, but the air had changed. Zoe stayed quiet, then placed both palms on the firm cheeks, kneaded them open, thumbs sliding the cleft. A small breath hitched from Nickey, yet she didn’t move. Encouraged, Zoe let one hand slip lower, fingers parting Nickey’s folds under the running water. The soap made everything slick. Nickey’s protest came out weak. Zoe stripped off her own top and bottoms, tossed them aside, stepped close until her breasts brushed Nickey’s back. She guided Nickey to lie belly-down on the warm table, spread her thighs, and lowered her mouth to the flushed, pink cunt. The first slow lick drew a gasp. Zoe moaned against the wet flesh, tongue circling the swelling clit, and sucked gently until Nickey’s hips bucked. She slid two fingers inside, curling them, finding the ridged spot that made Nickey cry out. Soon Nickey’s thighs shook, her voice breaking into hoarse shouts that bounced off the tile. Zoe climbed up, swung one leg over, and pressed their slick centers together, rocking hard, clits dragging in tight, wet circles. Nickey’s hands gripped Zoe’s hips; Zoe rode until a second, sharper orgasm tore through her, then dropped her mouth again, tongue lapping until every tremor eased and Nickey lay spent, sweat and water shining on flushed skin.