The Re-Gifted Bolster

Kristen swings by Skylar Snow's office with a sly grin, clutching a wrapped box. 'Brought you a little something,' she teases. They rip it open, and Kristen hollers, 'Reading pillow!' Skylar smirks and sets her straight: 'Nah, this bad boy's a massage bolster, babe.' She insists on returning the favor with a rubdown—Kristen tries to bolt, mumbling about running late, but Skylar's not having it. 'Come on, we haven't caught up in forever.' Kristen caves, peeling off her clothes piece by piece. Skylar sneaks a peek—damn, her college roomie’s stacked these days, curves popping like forbidden fruit. Kristen stretches out on the table, face down, and holy hell, Skylar's fingers work wonders. Tension melts away like butter. Skylar clocks how knotted up Kristen is and probes, 'Spill it, what's eating you?' Kristen sighs, confessing the fire in her marriage fizzled out after the ring—passion's playing dead. Skylar eyes those tight glutes. 'Mind if I hit the backside? Looks like it's carrying the world's weight.' Kristen nods, and Skylar dives in, kneading that ass deep. Kristen's stunned—'God, I'm so damn sore down there.' Skylar's hands drift, grazing her pussy, and Kristen feels every electric brush, heat sparking. They swap stories from college, giggling about those wild nights fooling around, lips and fingers tangled in dorm-room heat. But Kristen pumps the brakes: 'Hey, I'm hitched now—that's ancient history.' Skylar doesn't quit, though. Her fingers tease that slick pussy just right, circling, dipping in, and boom—Kristen's flooded with memories of the raw fun she's starved for. Resistance? What resistance? She gives in, moaning like it's the first time all over again.