Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...Leah touches him back...

She let her gaze drop from Ethan’s face to the unmistakable bulge in his pants, which looked both impressive and pointedly unprofessional. The circumstances—her own nakedness, the lingering high of her orgasm, the absurdity of getting fingered by a spa attendant named Ethan—struck her as so outlandish that she almost started laughing. But instead she let her hand drift, index finger extended, until it traced the length of his cock through the cotton of his pants. He sucked in a sharp breath.

Ethan continued to rub her body as Leah rubbed his crotch sensually. She slid her hand along his thigh with lazy confidence, daring him. He stiffened, but not in protest—his cock pressed hard against the seams of his white pants, throbbing against her palm with nothing left to the imagination.

Leah’s mind raced with a mad, bubbly cocktail of lust and guilt. Married in less than six months, she thought. What would Jonathan say? What would she ever tell Sam, or her therapist, or her own reflection the next morning?

“Guess I’m not the only one who enjoyed that,” she murmured, half-daring, half-pleading.

Ethan’s hands hovered—one at her thigh, one at his own waistband, torn between restraint and the obvious. “We usually do not…” he started, but Leah was already tugging at his belt, her own reckless curiosity winning. He allowed her, then—no, wanted it—leaning into her touch as she freed his cock, thick and eager and already leaking from the tip.

“Let me return the favor...” Leah said. The words came out in a breathless rush, like a dare against her own better judgment.

He only nodded, biting his lip. Their eyes met—blue on blue, a shimmer of panic and lust beneath the reassumed mask of professional detachment—and in that unspoken understanding, Leah felt the last restraints of propriety snap loose. She flipped onto her stomach, and, with a coy but calculated flourish, reached behind and tugged Ethan forward by the waistband of his spa-white pants. Her fingers found the drawstring and, with a twist, tugged them low enough that his cock sprang upright, thick and flushed, poised over her face like the world’s most illicit dessert.

She smirked. “Guess it’s my turn now, huh?” she purred, the words so out-of-body she half-wondered if she’d spoken at all.

Ethan, silent but straining, braced himself on the table. For a heartbeat, Leah simply admired the line of his body: lean and defined, a faint tan against the white cotton. His cock twitched in her hand—a pulse, a promise—and she marveled at the absurdity of it all.

Ethan shuddered as she slid her lips over the head, rolling it on her tongue, then took him deeper, slow and deliberate, until her nose bumped his trimmed pubic hair. From above, Ethan let out a soft noise—half gasp, half prayer.

Leah felt wild and unmoored, as if someone else had taken the controls. She bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks just enough to draw another helpless groan from Ethan. His hands found her shoulders, then drifted down her back, skimming the line of her spine like he was mapping every vertebrae for future reference. He kneaded her ass, slick with oil, using his thumbs to gently spread her cheeks and expose her even further to the chill of the room.

She moaned a little herself, the vibration making him twitch inside her mouth.

Her mind cycled through a dozen potential outcomes: being caught, being blackmailed, never being able to show her face at this spa again. But the only thing she really cared about, in this moment, was the way Ethan’s hips bucked each time she took him just a little deeper, and the way his fingers dug into her skin as if he was holding on to a life raft.

She went to work, using one hand to stroke the shaft in sync with her mouth. Ethan’s breathing grew ragged, and every time she looked up at him, his eyes had gone wider, less human, more hungry. For a moment, Leah was sure he would cum right there; the thought made her pulse race, her own need pulsing between her legs. But he didn’t. Instead, he gritted his teeth and whispered, “You’re incredible…” with the quiet reverence of someone at a confessional booth.

Leah pulled back, running her tongue along the underside. “Just doing my part,” she said, then giggled, a little unhinged by her own boldness.

Ethan pressed his palm to her lower back, guiding her as if she were a precision tool. She let herself be moved, relishing the absence of hesitation in his touch. Each time she swallowed him, she felt more powerful, more necessary. It was stupid, crazy, perverse, but she wanted him to remember this forever—just as she knew she’d never be able to forget the way his cock tasted, the way he looked down at her like she was the only woman in the world.

Leah’s thoughts began to slosh together: her fiancé, the future wedding, her reputation, her job, the fact that she was actively cheating—if not technically, then certainly in spirit. It was just head…she could be sure to end it with just a blowjob, just a happy ending of sorts…or she could indulge.