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Coups de cœur Cultura
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Farah pushed open the clinic door, and her breath caught the moment she saw Selma. There she stood, leaning casually against the reception desk, clad in nothing but a sleek black bikini that hugged her toned limbs and showcased her ravishing bust. From their conversations Farah knew that Selma was 24, in her dating prime. Nearly as tall as Farah, her slim frame radiating a lithe, effortless strength—long legs stretching endlessly, a flat stomach tapering to narrow hips, and those full breasts straining against the bikini top, a sight that hit Farah like a punch to the gut. Her dark hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, framing her piercing eyes and kissable lips.
Farah's mind spun with the sudden realization that Selma must have admirers lining up, men and women alike, and yet here she was, waiting for her. The thought sent a surge of arousal coursing through her, her skin prickling as her eyes drank in every inch of Selma's stunning form.
Selma's lips curved into a slow, appreciative smile as she took in Farah's outfit, the burgundy satin plunging low, the leather skirt molding to her hips and legs. "Well, look at you," she said, her voice a warm tease, laced with delight. "I knew you'd kill it in that. Makes me feel like I've got some power over you, dressing you up like my own personal muse." She pushed off the desk, her bikini-body moving with a fluid grace and gestured toward the treatment room.
"Come on, let's get started." Farah followed, her heart pounding, the air between them humming with a tension that felt sharper tonight, heightened by Selma's near-nakedness. It felt not so professional now. And yet they continued…
