Tantric Training

Jane Wilde and Maya Woulfe stand there chewing their nails. Aila Donovan’s never late. They picture the worst until the door bangs open and she strolls in, still buzzing from some weekend tantra course. “Girls, you gotta try this,” she grins, already peeling off her jacket. Jane lights up at the money-making angle, Maya looks like she just heard a dare. They set the table, Jane strips, climbs on first to prove it’s safe. The second Aila’s slick hands slide over Jane’s skin, everything changes. No quick rub-down here—just slow, teasing strokes that tug soft gasps from Jane’s throat while her nipples stiffen under each glide. Maya’s cheeks burn, thighs press together, but her eyes stay glued. Aila spots it, smirks, and nudges Maya’s wrist toward Jane’s slick tits. Maya hesitates, then cups them, thumbs circling, breath hitching as she feels Jane’s little shiver. Fingers dip lower, circling, pressing, learning the rhythm on the spot, and suddenly Maya’s grinding against the table edge, no longer watching—just in it, three bodies tightening toward the same slick, sticky finish.