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

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.

Ethan looked both stunned and electrified. Leah, emboldened by the way his cock still glistened with her spit, shifted on the table so her leg dangled off the edge, making a conspicuous space for him between her thighs. She locked her gaze on his, eyebrows arched in a mockery of seduction that was anything but fake. The massage table creaked under her, and for a heartbeat, the whole world was reduced to the scent of lavender oil, Ethan’s breath, and the thrum of her own blood.

He didn’t need a second invitation. With a stilted, almost comedic urgency, Ethan maneuvered himself onto the table. He knelt between her legs, hands trembling on her thighs, as if he expected her to change her mind at the last moment.

He found her entrance with practiced certainty, gliding the tip through her slick folds, teasing her just long enough to make her squirm. Then he pushed inside, burying himself with a controlled, steady force that made Leah gasp. She felt every inch, every pulsing vein, every heartbeat throbbing through his cock as he filled her. Her body, already overwhelmed from her earlier orgasm, responded with a fresh torrent of sensation—stretching, burning, then settling into an exquisite fullness. It was different than Jonathan, different than anyone; Ethan was bigger, but not by ridiculous proportions. It was the way he moved, slow at first, with a kind of reverent awe, like he wanted to memorize the feel of her from the inside out.

For a while, neither of them spoke. There was only the slippery, obscene sound of their bodies, the slap of skin and the grind of hips, punctuated by Leah’s sharp little moans and Ethan’s ragged breathing. The table rocked under them, threatening to tip with each thrust, but neither cared.

Ethan buried his face in Leah’s chest, mouth latching hungrily to her tits even as he kept pistoning inside her, hips grinding with a ragged fervor. He alternated between sucking her nipples and dragging his tongue in wide, desperate circles, leaving her skin slick with spit and marked with the bruised shadows of his attention. It was almost feral—the way he worshipped her breasts, pawing at them like a starving man and groaning each time she arched up into his mouth. Leah, lost in the intensity, threaded her hands through his sweat-damp hair and held him to her, shivering each time his teeth grazed her sensitive flesh.

He slathered attention on her, fucking her with a rhythm that started to lose its pattern, erratic and needy, clearly teetering closer to the edge. His hands roamed from her tits to her waist, up her sides, then back again, as if he was trying to memorize every millimeter of her body through touch alone. The sloppy, obscene sounds of their bodies mingled with the wet, frantic noises of his mouth working at her chest, each tug on her nipple sending little electric zings straight through her spine.

When his mouth finally left her tits, Leah’s nipples were swollen and red, throbbing with aftershocks. But Ethan didn’t slow down—if anything, he seemed compelled to devour the rest of her. He dragged his lips up the slope of her breast to her collarbone, then nipped and sucked at the soft skin of her neck, not caring if he left marks. His breath came in hot, wet gusts, each exhale a promise that he was losing himself in her, letting go of the last vestige of restraint.