I Need a Masseuse

Luna Star struts into her massage appointment, expecting her usual gal Maria. Instead, there's this hunk Charles Dera grinning at her. 'What happened to Maria?' she blurts out. Charles shrugs, all smooth: 'Family emergency, babe. She couldn't make it.' Luna tenses up right away. She's got a ring on her finger and zero interest in some stranger's paws on her. Charles chuckles, leaning in. 'Relax, I've got all kinds—guys, gals. No big deal.' But when she hears no refund's coming, she caves, grumbling. 'Fine, but give me a sec to strip down. Out.' He steps out, she slips under the sheet, and soon his strong hands dig in. Problem is, the dude won't shut his trap. Luna snaps, 'Quiet!' Twice, three times—nada. He works her legs, slides up those thighs, feeling all that pent-up knot. Whoops, hands too slick with oil. No sweat, he wipes it right on the towel draped over her juicy ass. She yelps, 'Hey!' He just smirks and keeps going, kneading those cheeks like he owns 'em. Luna flips over, trying to call the shots, but fat chance. He dives into her inner thighs, climbs to her tits—'Tons of stress here too, huh?' She bats at him: 'Hands off!' Yeah, right. Those fingers slide straight to her pussy, teasing her clit like it's his favorite toy. He's seen her type a mile away—bossy wives starved for a good pounding, attitude and all. Time to school her: he's the service, and damn if he won't deliver the fix she craves.