Immediate Relief

August Skye limps from her night jog, leg barking in pain, straight to her neighbor’s door. Serene Siren opens it—six-foot-something of cool confidence and zero clothing etiquette—taking one look and nodding her inside. “C’mon, bed works faster than the table tonight.” Serene plants August on her back and kneads the hurt thigh like she owns the muscle. Every pull draws a low sound out of August; the stretch tastes too sweet for a medical move. Serene’s palms climb higher, skating under the cotton, brushing heat until the air between them crackles. She doesn’t pause, doesn’t ask. She just lets her slick fingers skim the edge of August’s cunt, then drags them along the other trembling thigh as if she’s tracing the next move. August’s breath hitches when the massage dips again, slower, wetter, right over her swollen clit. Serene smirks, thumb pressing circles through thin shorts, and August bites her lip hard. One more pass, one more practiced stroke, and August cracks—voice low, greedy—begging Serene to stop teasing and just fuck her already. Serene’s eyes flash. She peels the ruined fabric aside, spreads August wide, and finally does.