I Am Done With Guys!

Paris's boyfriend had her tied in knots. She booked a massage to shake it loose. When she saw Samantha waiting, she felt a small surge of relief—no guy with greasy palms and a timer. She spilled about the fights, the cold shoulder, the late nights. Samantha listened, nodded once, then said she knew exactly how to clear a girl's head. She peeled off Paris's clothes and laid her out. Oil slicked warm palms moved up her thighs, down her back, circling tight knots at the base of her spine. Somewhere in the slide of hands, Samantha's own clothes came off. Neither of them mentioned it. Samantha leaned in, kissed the soft swell of breast, closed her lips around a nipple and sucked hard enough to make Paris gasp. Paris arched instead of pulling away, hips rolling against the sheet. Samantha took that as permission, climbed onto the table and turned so her mouth lined up over Paris's slick center. She lowered until Paris could taste her, tongue already parting wet folds. They moved together without talking—soft sucking, slow laps, the occasional moan caught between thighs. The room filled with the wet sound of two mouths working and the small creak of the table under shifting weight. Samantha came up for air, slid around until they lay facing the same way. Their hands replaced tongues. Two fingers each found the other's clit, rubbing fast, matching rhythm. Paris's legs started to shake first; Samantha followed two breaths later, mouth open against Paris's neck. They stayed like that a second, breathing hard, sweat cooling on bare skin. Best massage Paris had ever had.