The Tired Client

Jill Kassidy dragged herself through last night's wreckage, now stiff and aching everywhere. Jillian Janson wanted to know where it hurt. "All over," Jill groaned. Off came the clothes. Back on the table, skin bare and raw under the lights. Oil hit skin. Jillian's palms slid across Jill's breasts, but Jill was already half asleep, too wrecked to flinch. Between her mumbled half-dreams she managed the word "tits." That was all Jillian needed. Her hands stopped pretending. They squeezed, thumbed nipples, circled and teased until the exhaustion cracked open into a low sigh. Jillian risked a touch lower. When Jill didn't stir, the stroking got bolder, slick fingers brushing closer to her pussy. Still nothing. So Jillian went in. Circling. Parting. Pressing. Jill arched and let out a long, shaky moan. "God, that feels good." No invitation was clearer. Jillian worked her harder, then barked the order to flip. Jill rolled onto her stomach, tight little ass up and exposed. A moment of reverence, then Jillian grabbed both cheeks, fingers sinking in. Admiration lasted seconds before she spread her, dove back between her legs, and stroked her clit until Jill came—hips jerking, voice cracking. Jillian peeled off her own clothes, dragged Jill up for a brutal kiss, then shoved her face down. Tongue deep, relentless. Another orgasm tore out of Jill. They ground together next, slick and frantic, before Jillian straddled Jill's face and rode her tongue until she shook apart, slick coating Jill's mouth and chin. Appointment's already in the books.