A Firm Hand

Lyra finally drags herself home, neck screaming for mercy. Screw this, she thinks, and books the first spot Google spits out. Fastest appointment? Hell yeah, she’ll take it. At the parlor, Mona Wales slaps on a smile, cracks her knuckles, and promises to hammer those knots loose. “Strip and hop up,” Mona says, palms already slick. Lyra flops onto her stomach, Mona digs into tight shoulders, then slides south. "My ass and thighs need it," Lyra murmurs. Mona obliges, works the cheeks, and that triggers another mini-lecture about how every muscle connects. Mona can’t resist a dry jab: “Must’ve missed that chapter in class.” Lyra boasts about a weekend course in Thailand. Mona rolls her eyes but keeps rubbing; paying customers get the smile no matter how obnoxious they sound. Hands slide between thighs, Lyra starts moaning. When she flips over, Mona snaps to attention. “Sexy extras cost extra,” Mona warns. Lyra grins, promises a fat tip later. Mona’s done with the chatter—she clamps a palm over Lyra’s mouth. "Your bratty mouth closes,” Mona growls, fingers sliding into wet heat. “I give orders; you take them. Got it?" Lyra nods against the hand, eager to obey. Whatever Mona wants, Lyra aims to please.