Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...Leah sticks to her hands and mouth.

Leah let Ethan’s cock slip from her lips and gave his shaft a slow, deliberate pump, just to feel its heat and heft and to affirm the reality of the moment. She met his gaze, blue eyes caught in the fluorescent limbo between awe and disbelief. For a heartbeat, the room was silent; her pulse and his together, the only soundtrack.

“Your turn to enjoy the table for a bit.” she said, voice husky and light at once, as if the words themselves could float. She made a show of licking the corner of her mouth, savoring his taste, before planting both feet on the floor and standing at the side of the massage table.

Ethan’s mouth opened in surprise—half-laugh, half-moan—then he understood. He quickly wiped his hands clean on a rolled towel, face flushed with a boyish delight that made the whole thing even more surreal. He tossed the towel aside, ceding his professional composure for something almost reckless, and clambered onto the table with childlike enthusiasm. The table creaked beneath his weight.

He lay back, arms to his sides, and Leah couldn’t help but drink in the view: Ethan’s lithe body splayed out, chest rising fast, the thin white uniform pulled up towards his ribs and his cock curving almost comically toward his navel. He looked, she thought, like a pornographic version of a sacrificial lamb—all pale, offering, and ready.

She wet her lips, then patted the crease of his thigh, encouraging him to relax.

“Just let go,” she murmured, and wrapped both hands around the base of his cock, hot and velvet-hard against her fingers. He shivered.

Leah’s mind echoed with all the usual warnings—about cheating, about consequences, about good girls and bad girls and the impossibility of going back—but what she felt in her gut was raw, reckless power. A kind of hunger, not just to taste him but to own the moment, to leave Ethan so ruined for any other client he’d never see the inside of this spa without thinking of her.

She leaned down and took the head between her lips, soft at first, letting her tongue swirl around the crown in lazy, slow circles. She could feel him twitch, taste the salt of his pre-cum, and hear the tiny, involuntary gasp he made every time she let her lips glide lower, enveloping more of him inch by inch.

Ethan’s hand reached automatically for her head, but she batted it away—gently, playfully.

“My turn to take care of you,” she said, glancing up with a look that could have either melted or ignited him. He surrendered, arms limp at his sides, hands twisting the edge of the tablecloth in a white-knuckled grip.