Massage Class Secrets Part One: The Conspiracy

Riley Reed walks in expecting a back rub, not a business pitch. Carter's mom bought that new table as a bribe, so they drag it downstairs like two idiots trying to make a grilled cheese in a coffin. Riley shrugs off her shirt once the table's level. The first dab of oil hits her neck. Simple. Professional. Inevitable. Carter keeps talking, heat keeps rising, next thing both girls are topless and trading barter for technique. Riley flips, laughs, rides the awkward idea of a school massage club all the way to Carter's smooth, giggling pelvis. Carter shifts, guides Riley's palm lower, trying to sell the concept of "all bodies, all zones, all profit." Riley hesitates. Carter, breathless, promises she'll reciprocate. Doubts dissolve into a quiet grin; they decide the future massage enterprise needs more anatomical practice than academic theory. Class isn't over yet.