Meditation Massage

Brandi Love walks in knotted up tighter than a sailor’s knot. Her pal Sara Luvv figured Alison’s new studio could knock the stress out of her, and damn if the place doesn’t look the part: quiet lights, oils on every shelf, the low promise of exactly the kind of release Brandi needs. Alison greets her with an easy smile that already says, “I know what’s wrong and I’m happy to fix it.” Brandi sheds her clothes, lays face-down, and Alison gets to work—first kneading shoulders, then moving lower, hands sliding over cheeks and between the legs until the buzz of tension starts to crackle. She pauses, tells Brandi the pelvis is stuffed with old stress and she plans to squeeze every ounce of it out. Those fingers don’t go shy; they circle, rub, dip, coax. Brandi arches, she pushes back, and soon she’s turning over, spreading wide so Alison’s mouth can suck her swollen clit and lick the slick already dripping down. They trade places like kids swapping a double popsicle—Alison climbs up and plants herself on Brandi’s waiting tongue, grinds, moans, pulls Brandi’s hair until both cunts have been properly licked, sucked, and fucked breathless. By the time the two women collapse in a sticky, satisfied heap, stress is the last thing on anybody’s mind.