Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...Leah lets the attendant fuck her...doggy...

Leah let Ethan’s cock slip from her lips with a playful pop, savoring the taste and the feeling of power that lingered on her tongue. She could sense the way his hunger had shifted—no longer just a greedy need to be serviced, but a swelling, urgent desire to have her fully, to consume and be consumed in turn. She lay on her side for a moment, running her hand along his length, slick with her own spit, and grinned up at him with a conspiratorial, wicked glint in her eye.

He was beautiful, she had to admit. Not so much in the way of a classic Greek statue, but in the way of a real, living body: lean muscle underneath sun-kissed skin, a dusting of hair across his chest and forearms, that subtle vein along one shoulder. His abs were tight, flexing with every breath. And his cock—fuck, his cock—was almost too good to be true. She wanted it inside her, and she was tired of pretending otherwise.

With a lazy, provocative stretch, Leah rolled onto her belly, then up onto all fours, her back arching like a cat. Her hair, a wild tangle from the massage table, tumbled down over her shoulder, draping her face in a curtain. She looked back at him, chin resting on the crook of her elbow, ass up and coyly wagging.

“Well?” she teased, voice syrupy. “You know how to treat a client properly, I assume?"

Leah felt the heat of his skin before he even touched her—his hands landing on her hips, strong but trembling ever so slightly, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. Sure he had done this before with plenty of older ladies who were craving attention that their husbands didn’t give them—but Leah was an absolute stunner.

For a moment, neither of them moved. He just held her there, thumbs pressing into her skin, fingers splayed wide. Leah felt her own pulse thrum in her wrists, her neck, her clit—her whole body one vast field of electric nerve endings, waiting for a storm.

Then he lined himself up and slid in, slow but relentless, the head of his cock nudging at her entrance and then splitting her open in the best possible way. She gasped, the sound muffled by the towel beneath her, and pushed back against him, greedy for more.

“Oh god…you feel so damn good.” Ethan groaned.

For a moment, that’s all there was: the slippery friction, the shudder of their bodies finding a mutual rhythm, the way the table creaked under their combined weight. There was no kissing, no soft romance, just the animal logic of hips and hands and sweat. He fucked her with a hunger that felt desperate, almost feral, and Leah reveled in it—relishing the rawness, the sheer lack of decorum. It was dirty, it was wrong, but it was exactly what she wanted.

She found herself bracing harder, planting her hands at the head of the table, ass tilted just so to take the full length of him every time. He had his right leg up on the table to help steady himself as he drove into her with increasing force, his grip tightening until she thought she would have bruises form on her hips.

“Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—” Leah huffed out through her moans of pleasure as his manhood brought her to orgasm. He jackhammered her from behind. Leah’s entire body seized up, every inch of her awash in lightning and heat. Her orgasm hit with the subtlety of a car crash—one moment she was biting into her fist, the next she was gushing around his cock, groaning loud enough to echo off the walls. She felt her muscles clamp down, milking him, trying to defy the laws of physics and suck him deeper into her. There was a sharp, hot ache as the head of his cock slammed her cervix, a pain so good she wanted to scream. She could hear him above her, panting, almost growling.