Free Use Send-Off

Maddie Wren glides warm oil over Ivy Ireland's back in long, slow strokes. "I'm packing boxes this weekend," Maddie says. "End of next week and I'm gone for good." Ivy just hums under her hands. The door swings open—Maddie's coworker Lila steps in with a stack of towels, then freezes. Maddie waves her in like it's nothing. "Stay, chat. We were talking about my move." Lila sets the towels down and parks herself on the rolling stool. They talk rent deposits and highway exits while Maddie slips one slick hand between Ivy's thighs. Ivy's breath catches, but she keeps nodding along about parking permits. Maddie circles Ivy's clit, slow and deliberate, like she's checking pulse points. Lila describes her bus route the whole time. Maddie climbs onto the table, hikes Ivy's hips up, and slides inside her with two slick fingers. Ivy groans, still chatting about lease penalties. Maddie's hips roll, pushing those fingers deeper, pulling slick sounds out of Ivy, neither woman breaking eye contact with Lila. Ivy grinds back without missing a beat on the subject of U-Haul fees. Lila shrugs, spins a finger around the rim of her water bottle, and mentions traffic on the bridge. Maddie angles her wrist and pumps harder; Ivy comes with a broken little laugh, still perfectly polite. Lila just checks the clock and asks whether Maddie's new place gets mail before nine.