Honey, It Started As A Footjob: Part One

Eric rolls into a glam house to rub down Alix while hubby Ryan chills nearby. He sends the busty blonde to the other room to strip, then brags to Ryan about scoring a hottie for a wife. Ryan side-eyes the sleazy vibe but decides the view from the couch—with Eric’s hot assistant sitting pretty—makes the wait tolerable. Alix comes back still in her sky-high-priced bra and thong. Fine by Eric; he’ll work around the straps. He pours the coconut oil anyway and starts kneading, telling her that lugging her perfect ass around that mansion is bound to knot up the lower back. She cracks that the place doesn’t clean itself, but Eric’s thinking about how nice it must feel doing literally nothing. She fires back that she keeps plenty busy. He reaches her legs and notices the spike-heeled fuck-me shoes still strapped on. Flip over, he tells her, and she rolls onto her back. Somewhere in the chit-chat he asks if she’s got kids; Alix sighs that she’s desperate for a baby but Ryan’s foot-fetish fixation means he never finishes inside her. Eric eyes those needle-thin heels, skeptical that any guy could enjoy getting stroked by lethal footwear. She laughs, says the shoes come off, and suddenly the air gets thick. Next thing, Eric’s pants hit the floor and he’s guiding her bare feet around his hard-on. A splash of oil makes her grip slick, and she starts stroking in earnest—heels kicking, toes curling just right—while he half-asses a back-rub with his cock still out. He slides the bra away to maul her tits, leans in for a kiss, gets shoved back, then vaults onto the table to wedge his dick between them instead. An accidental thrust bumps the head against her lips, and Alix, pinned and exasperated, offers to blow him just to shut him up. Before he blows, he peels her panties down. She warns him about the man in the next room; he asks if just the tip is okay. She caves—right as he slams balls-deep. Every thrust knocks little gasps out of her. Eric shushes her, worried hubby might hear, but she’s already cresting hard and loud. That clenching sets him off; he unloads straight inside her, creamy rivulets slipping out around his shaft. Down the hall, Ryan shifts on the couch. Door’s still closed… for now.