The Trophy Wife

Whitney's chilling in the massage parlor, ready for her next gig, when Chanel Preston damn near kicks the door down, all breathless and sorry for showing up late. Her hubs dragged his feet getting out the house and dropping her off on his commute. She waves it off like no biggie, but her face screams bullshit. Whitney smooths it over, tells her it's cool, just kick off those shoes and strip down, hop on the table. Chanel strips while unloading on her lazy-ass husband, pissed that he never puts her first. Whitney eases her onto the table face-down and starts kneading those tense shoulders. She tosses out some chit-chat to loosen her up, but every damn topic circles back to the control-freak hubby. It's obvious he's running the show, and Chanel's just along for the ride—though her scowl says she's over it. Whitney picks up on that vibe and straight-up asks if she's happy with the guy. Chanel shrugs, says she's got it all, but mostly feels like a shiny trophy collecting dust on his shelf. Whitney nods along, drops a couple empathetic zingers while her hands work magic on Chanel's back. Chanel clings to the fact that someone's actually listening, spilling her guts about insecurities, frustrations—especially the bedroom crap. Their sex? Fine, whatever. But she can't even recall the last time she came. Hell, he won't let her own a vibrator! Whitney's gutted hearing this; Chanel's got that fire, the kind that could snag everything and then some. Chanel admits she used to think that—hooked her man back in the day—but now? Nah. Whitney grins, says plenty of time left to flip the script. So, what would she tweak if she could? Chanel sighs, misses her wild college days—hell, she once locked lips with two dudes in one night! But her real fantasy? A threesome with a girlfriend. Never pulled the trigger, though. Never been with a chick, got cold feet not knowing the ropes. Whitney drops the bomb: she's bi, been with tons of girls. Chanel's eyes go wide, then she wonders how she'd even know if she digs it. Whitney pushes back: time to seize the reins in bed, figure it out solo or grab a woman to scratch that old itch. Fired up, Chanel declares she's done playing safe—she's getting hers, starting with a damn vibrator! Whitney chuckles, offers to tag along shopping, help pick the perfect buzz toy for her cravings. As her hands glide lower, Whitney presses in tight, her voice all husky: 'Wanna know what it's like with a girl? I can show you.' Chanel flushes, but that inner throb when their hot skin meshes? Undeniable. Whitney leans in for a kiss, and Chanel dives right in, tasting the sweet heat. They go deep, tongues dancing slow and dirty. Chanel melts as Whitney's fingers tease her tits, then drops low to devour her pussy, lapping and sucking till she's lost in the rush. Finally unleashing those buried fantasies—and man, this is only round one.