Braless Is Better

Dillion Harper jogs to a near-perfect body until something hits her chest like a fist. Too-tight bra. Blood trapped. Pain spikes hot between her ribs. She gasps, quits running, fists her sports top and calls Samantha. Samantha slides in quick. Eyes linger over the sweat-slick abs and straining tits. "Glad you brought that body here," she says, voice low, already moving behind Dillion. She works the clasp loose, palms spread wide, thumbs tracing the angry red lines. Relief floods, but the hands keep traveling. They cup heavy under the swell, stroke down the waist, dip under the waistband of the tiny running shorts. Heat rises. Breaths shorten. Two fingers toy with the soaked seam at the crotch, then slip deeper, stroking bare lips swollen from the jog. Samantha leans in, lips at Dillion’s ear. "Anywhere you want rubbed, baby." The shorts come down. Fingertips part the slick folds and push inside, slow at first, then grinding deeper. A thumb circles her clit, every stroke slick and loud in the quiet room. Dillion’s thighs quiver. Samantha smiles like she’s already mapped the next spot she plans to claim.