Free Use Send-Off

Maddie Wren has her hands buried in the small of Ivy Ireland’s back, thumbs digging deep, rolling the skin over muscle like she’s been waiting to get her fingers there all week. “I’m heading out next month,” she says, bored as can be. “New town, new gigs, smaller beds.” Ivy just hums into the face cradle, hips tipping up an inch like gravity forgot them. The door clicks and Sarah steps in with an armful of towels, catches the two of them mid-knot. Maddie doesn’t miss a beat. “Drop the linens and close the door, I’ve got ten minutes before my next.” Sarah shrugs, parks herself on the rolling stool, and starts shooting the breeze about traffic. Maddie’s palms slide lower, knuckles brushing the swell of Ivy’s ass. One thumb circles the crease where thigh meets cheek, pressing slow like she’s testing fruit at a market. Ivy’s breath stutters, but neither woman comments. Sarah keeps talking about the highway detour, voice level, eyes everywhere except what Maddie’s doing. Maddie takes that as green, curls two fingers under the sheet, finds the wet heat between Ivy’s thighs and presses right in—knuckle-deep, lazy twist, out again. The sheet slips to the floor without drama. Sarah glances, registers bare skin and open legs, goes back to her story. Maddie nods like she’s listening, but the hand between Ivy’s legs is now two knuckles in and fucking steady. No one mentions the sound. Maddie leans down, bites the curve of Ivy’s ass just hard enough to leave a print, then licks over it, eyes on Sarah the whole time. Sarah lifts an eyebrow, keeps the chat rolling. Ivy pushes back, greedy, so Maddie stands, drops her scrub pants, and slides her cock between slick folds without asking twice. One thrust, then another—slow at first, hips snapping harder once the angle clicks. The table creaks; skin slaps; Ivy grips the edges and breathes through her teeth. Sarah watches the way you’d watch traffic—detached, maybe a little impressed. She keeps the story going about the detour, the new clients, anything except the steady slap of Maddie burying herself again and again. When Ivy starts to shake and clench, Maddie pulls out, flips her onto her back, lifts one leg over her shoulder, and slides home in one long drive. Free-use rules mean nothing gets asked, nothing gets refused. They chase it like it’s Tuesday; Sarah sips cold coffee and tells them both the new spa owner has a broken Keurig. Maddie grunts, finishes with a short, wet thrust, and wipes off on the towel Sarah offers without a word. Business resumes.