Masseuse Of Honour

Gal Ritchie paces in her dress, nerves rattling like a loose wheel. Maddie Wren—her maid of honor, best friend, pro masseuse—steps in with calm hands and a wry grin. “Feet first,” Maddie says, kneeling to tug off those heels. She starts at the soles, thumbs pressing deep, then works up the calves until Gal’s breath changes. Heat climbs. Gal’s toes curl under Maddie’s touch and she blurts it out, half-joking, half-desperate: “Think you could keep going… everywhere?” Maddie pauses, one eyebrow cocked. It’s a day for giving the bride what she wants, though, so the hesitation melts. Maddie’s fingers slide higher, find slick warmth between Gal’s thighs, and work her open with slow, easy strokes. Gal moans, sits up to tug Maddie’s dress down. Natural tits tumble free; Gal sucks one nipple while her hand slips under Maddie’s waistband. They twist into a clumsy 69, tongues working, laughter muffled between thighs. Gal’s dark hair falls over Maddie’s hairy mound; Maddie buries her face in Gal’s smooth, wet center. Fingers and mouths keep time until both women shake, Gal’s nerves finally, blissfully, gone.