My First Vajacial

Alison's strung out, knots tighter than a sailor's hitch. She hits the table and Lexi starts digging in, thumb-over-knuckle, right into the spot between her shoulder blades where the day keeps living rent-free. Lexi's voice slides low while her hands keep working—says she's got this little upgrade called a vajacial. Nothing clinical about it, just a warm cleanse and some careful touch where most people never get touched. Alison snorts, says why the hell not. The towel slips. Oil hits skin. Lexi's fingers slide lower, slower, parting folds like she's reading a map with her fingertips. Breaths start catching, hips give that tiny, involuntary rock. Labia glistens, clit swells, and suddenly the clinical towel is on the floor and Lexi's mouth replaces her hands, tongue tracing every slick ridge. She sucks the swollen bud like she's got a point to prove, two fingers curling inside, finding the spot that makes Alison's thighs jerk open wider. Wet sounds fill the room—slippery, hungry. Alison comes with a gasp, legs shaking, pulse pounding against Lexi's lips. Neither planned it, both ride it out, and when Lexi finally pulls back her chin shines.