Way Too Anxious

Dana and Billy are fried, both running on fumes. Billy figures a pro massage might un-knot his wife, so he drags her to the parlor right at closing time. Casey’s already counting the till when she clocks Dana’s twitchy vibe and can’t bail. She tells Billy she’ll knock off once Dana stops vibrating like a phone on silent. Billy’s relieved as hell. Casey swears she’s got the trick to melt that tension. Dana’s got every excuse, but Casey talks her into stripping. Top, bottoms, panties, gone. Dana lies face-down, nerves still crackling, until Casey digs her thumbs into Dana’s soles. That touch drags a shaky sigh out of her. Up come the ankles onto the bolster, hips tilted, legs spread just enough. Casey’s oiled fingers slide higher, over tense calves, behind the knees, straight between parted thighs. Dana’s monologue sputters when Casey brushes slick folds and presses in. By the time Casey’s knuckles are working tight circles over Dana’s clit and two fingers are pumping deep, Dana’s swearing under her breath, hips rocking, every worry about work, rent, life, squeezed out in wet pulses around Casey’s hand.