Fear of Touch

Jayme Langford sits stiff on the massage table, staring at the door like it might bite. Her therapist called this a solution for her touch phobia. Karlie Montana said she'd be soft, and for a minute Jayme almost believed her. Then Karlie steps out to give her privacy, but Jayme catches the quick turn of her head in the doorway. A glance that should have stayed outside the room. The door clicks shut. Jayme peels off her clothes, every muscle fighting her. When Karlie returns the sheet feels thin. Karlie starts talking low, gentle—almost believable—then lays warm hands on Jayme’s feet, runs them up tight calves, over thighs, squeezes the slope of her ass and cups heavy breasts like she’s checking whether the fear will snap. Jayme’s scream rips out anyway, strangled and raw. Karlie waits the howl out, then slips a hand between parted thighs. She promises reward for bravery, and the words sit between them like smoke. Jayme blurts the truth: she’s never been touched, kissed, or fucked—ever. The confession tastes metallic. Karlie answers by prying those thighs wider, settling between them, and dragging slow circles over a pussy that has never opened for anything. Slick spreads under her fingers. Jayme’s first orgasm rolls through sharp, loud, unpracticed. She drags Karlie’s mouth down, kisses hard, tasting want for the first time. Need overrides panic. Minutes later they’re locked in a sixty-nine, tongues buried, hips grinding, every secret Jayme kept locked away burning off between slick thighs.