All Girl Massage Update - Runaway Bride

Whitney hadn't expected the bride. Casey sat on the table in the full white dress, veil slipping down one shoulder like she'd run from the church straight here. Panic clung to her knuckles. Whitney shut the door with a quiet click. “I can work around it if you want,” she said. The dress hit the floor anyway, lace puddling, leaving Casey bare and blushing. Hands slicked, Whitney started at the shoulders. Small circles first, then deeper, until Casey talked—voice tight, words spilling like secrets nobody else had earned. Cold feet. Never touched a woman. What if marriage closed that door for good? Whitney leaned in, breath warm at Casey’s ear. “Let me be the key.” Fingers slid lower, over the swell of hips, down the backs of thighs, edging between them. Casey gasped when Whitney’s mouth replaced the hand, tongue slow and steady, drinking her open. She came once just from that—back arching, knuckles white on the sheet. Whitney climbed higher, settled between spread legs. Skin slid against skin, slick and hot, clits meeting, hips grinding harder. Casey locked her ankles behind Whitney’s back and rode every thrust, breath broken into short, sharp cries until she came again, thighs shaking, whole body slick and ringing. Sweat cooled. Whitney stood first, smoothed a palm down Casey’s spine. “Your call,” she said, already turning toward the door. The aisle waited. So did the rest of Casey’s life. Whatever she chose, she wouldn’t wonder anymore.