Massage scenarios where clients have unrestricted access to therapist bodies during sessions. Fantasy Massage explores consensual availability dynamics, creating spellbinding encounters where pleasure is freely given and taken without negotiation. Tenderness and heat in perfect balance.
Maddie Wren's hands glide over Ivy Ireland's bare back, kneading those tight knots with expert pressure. The spa room hums with that soft, steamy vibe—candles flickering, oils slicking up the skin. Mid-rub, Maddie drops the bomb: 'Hey, Ivy, I'm packing up for a gig in the next town over. Can't believe it's happening.' Ivy sighs into the table, totally chill, as Maddie's fingers work lower, tracing the curve of her ass like it's no big deal. Suddenly, the door creaks open. It's Jess, Maddie's nosy coworker, popping in with a stack of towels. 'Whoops, sorry—didn't mean to barge,' Jess says, freezing for a split second. But Maddie just grins, all cocky charm. 'Nah, stay! Pull up a stool, spill the tea on that new client roster.' Jess shrugs and plops down, unfazed, like interrupting oiled-up bliss is Tuesday afternoon routine. As they chat—gossip flying about flaky tippers and killer playlists—Maddie's moves get downright filthy. She spreads Ivy's thighs wider, thumbs circling her slick folds, dipping in slow and teasing. Ivy moans low, arching up, but keeps yapping about weekend plans like Maddie's basically finger-fucking her mid-convo. Jess leans in, laughing at some dumb joke, eyes on the scene without a twitch. Total nonchalance, like watching your buddy score is just locker-room gold. Tension builds, and boom—Maddie flips Ivy over, spreads her legs wide, and dives in tongue-first, lapping at her dripping pussy while Ivy grips the table, gasping. Jess sips her water, tosses in a quip about traffic. Then Ivy's begging, and Maddie climbs on, grinding their bodies together in a hot, free-for-all fuck—thrusts deep, clits rubbing, tits bouncing wild. They cum hard, screaming each other's names, bodies slick and spent. Jess? Still there, smirking like, 'You two are legends,' as if it's the most everyday hookup ever.
Maddie Wren's hands glide over Ivy Ireland's bare back, kneading those tight knots with expert pressure. The spa room hums with that soft, steamy vibe—candles flickering, oils slicking up the skin. Mid-rub, Maddie drops the bomb: 'Hey, Ivy, I'm packing up for a gig in the next town over. Can't believe it's happening.' Ivy sighs into the table, totally chill, as Maddie's fingers work lower, tracing the curve of her ass like it's no big deal. Suddenly, the door creaks open. It's Jess, Maddie's nosy coworker, popping in with a stack of towels. 'Whoops, sorry—didn't mean to barge,' Jess says, freezing for a split second. But Maddie just grins, all cocky charm. 'Nah, stay! Pull up a stool, spill the tea on that new client roster.' Jess shrugs and plops down, unfazed, like interrupting oiled-up bliss is Tuesday afternoon routine. As they chat—gossip flying about flaky tippers and killer playlists—Maddie's moves get downright filthy. She spreads Ivy's thighs wider, thumbs circling her slick folds, dipping in slow and teasing. Ivy moans low, arching up, but keeps yapping about weekend plans like Maddie's basically finger-fucking her mid-convo. Jess leans in, laughing at some dumb joke, eyes on the scene without a twitch. Total nonchalance, like watching your buddy score is just locker-room gold. Tension builds, and boom—Maddie flips Ivy over, spreads her legs wide, and dives in tongue-first, lapping at her dripping pussy while Ivy grips the table, gasping. Jess sips her water, tosses in a quip about traffic. Then Ivy's begging, and Maddie climbs on, grinding their bodies together in a hot, free-for-all fuck—thrusts deep, clits rubbing, tits bouncing wild. They cum hard, screaming each other's names, bodies slick and spent. Jess? Still there, smirking like, 'You two are legends,' as if it's the most everyday hookup ever.
