Hesitant Housewife

Brett Rossi struts up to the massage parlor counter, and boom—there's Kenzie Taylor, her old school buddy, flashing a grin. Haven't seen you since we were trading notes in bio class! They hug it out, all bubbly and surprised, diving into chit-chat like no time's passed. But when Kenzie asks about Brett's hubby, she blurts 'He's fine!' and flips it right back to how the parlor's buzzing these days. Kenzie clocks the dodge but plays it cool, no prying. Talk drifts to Brett's achy back—stiff as hell, screaming for a solid pounding. She eyes Kenzie, hopeful. 'Think you could hook me up?' 'Hell yeah!' Kenzie fires back, grabbing her arm. Kenzie guides her to a private room, tells her to strip down—no sense ruining those clothes with oil. Brett's alone now, peeling off layers, nosing around the dim-lit space with wide eyes before flopping onto the table. She drapes a towel over her curves, but damn, it's half-assed—her tight ass cheeks and smooth pussy lips wink out from the edge. Kenzie raps the door soft. 'Come in,' Brett murmurs. Kenzie slips inside, sets up her oils. Circling to Brett's head, her gaze drops straight to that sloppy towel setup. Eyebrow arches— is this chick signaling? Nah, shake it off; she's got a ring on it. 'Lemme fix this,' Kenzie says, tugging the towel down to hide the goods proper. Then she digs in, kneading those knots. Brett's in heaven, moaning low. Nobody works her like this—pure bliss, she sighs, damn near orgasmic. 'Love a skilled woman getting her hands on me,' she adds, all dreamy. She spills how her last rubdown was from this knockout babe. 'Oh really?' Kenzie teases, sly as sin, flipping Brett onto her back to palm those perky tits. Brett's squirming, loving every second, so Kenzie takes the cue—slides her fingers south, stroking that wet pussy. But Brett bolts up, gasping, 'What the fuck are you doing?!' Kenzie's all apologies, flustered—shit, she thought you were flirting hard! 'What?! No way!' Brett shoots back. Kenzie lays it out: the towel slip-up, all that gushing about a woman's touch... total seduction vibes! Both crack up, cheeks burning—turns out Brett meant legit massages, duh. 'Hang on, what about your husband dodge?' Kenzie prods. Brett deflates with a sigh. Yeah, that's real—his big promotion's got him wired tight, no action in forever. Kenzie smirks, leaning in: 'Bet you'd kill for an expert woman's touch right about now.' Brett protests—she's no lesbian. But Kenzie counters smooth: 'Just like a massage, honey, nobody maps a pussy like another woman. And my tongue? It'll wreck you in ways you've only dreamed.' Brett wavers, but as Kenzie dives in, lapping at her slick folds, doubts melt fast. Before long, these old pals are tangled up, chasing highs neither's tasted before.