What Husband?

India Summer lounges in the massage room, itching for her next client to walk through that door. In rushes Lyra Law, looking like she just lost a fight with the universe—frazzled hair, tense shoulders, the works. India flashes a warm smile, pulls her aside. 'Hey, relax, babe. Everything's gonna be alright.' She pitches their hot new NURU massage, all slippery and soothing. Lyra pauses, her eyes lighting up. 'Oh! Riley and I tried that on our honeymoon—total game-winner.' They strip down and hop into the shower, suds everywhere as they prep. Lyra mumbles an apology for her shitty mood. 'It's just... things with Riley have been rocky lately, you know?' India waves it off, hands gently scrubbing her back. 'No sweat, these bumps happen. My gig today? Wipe that crap from your mind and melt into bliss.' The cleaning turns steamy fast—India's fingers linger just right, tracing curves, building that electric hum between them. Out to the mat they go, both slick and naked. India pours on the NURU gel, then glides her body over Lyra's like silk on skin, all pro and teasing. As she works those knots loose, she murmurs, 'Sorry to hear about the hubby drama. Ever thought about couples counseling?' Lyra snorts, half-laughing. 'Hubby? Riley's my wife, you goof!' India's cheeks burn red—total facepalm moment—but Lyra just cracks up, loving the mix-up. Then India freezes, hands hovering like she's second-guessing the rubdown now that she knows Lyra's into women. Lyra calls her bluff, smirking. 'What's with the weird vibe? You sure you're as straight as you claim? That shower? Felt pretty damn flirty to me.' India stammers, insisting it's all business, just a massage, nothing more. But Lyra ain't buying it. She leans in close, voice husky. 'Wanna test the waters? It'll be our dirty little secret. Hell, I could use some real heat—Riley's been slacking on that front.' Lyra seals it with a bold kiss, and India's defenses crumble like wet paper. Lyra flips the script, taking charge—spreads India's thighs and dives in, tongue working magic for her first-time pussy feast. Then she grinds down, tribbing hard, their gel-slick bodies slapping in rhythm, heat cranking to inferno levels. India shakes off the shock, gets feisty herself—flips Lyra over, returns the favor with eager licks and hip rolls, tasting victory. Damn, this session hit all the right spots; both walk out grinning, worlds lighter.