Night Before The Wedding

Ryan McLane bursts into the massage parlor, huffing like he's just sprinted from the altar. The guy's pumped for this appointment, no doubt. Then Brenna Sparks struts in and plops down right beside him, slapping her hand on his lap like she owns it. He drops the bomb: wedding's tomorrow. She pulls back fast—hell no, she's not touching a married dude. Not her style. But he grins and says his bride handed him a golden ticket? Boom, she's all smiles again. He amps it up: last day of freedom, so hit me with the top-shelf, priciest ride. She leads him to the massage spot, but he's scratching his head—no table? She smirks and spells it out: Nuru style means no table. Kick off with a steamy shower to scrub away the grime, then you stretch out on the mat while I slather that slick oil everywhere. She starts peeling off her clothes right there, eyeing him like dessert, and yeah, he knows he nailed the pick. They dive into the shower together, water pounding down, and Ryan's dick stands at full salute. Brenna wastes no time—grabs it, strokes slow and firm, loving the throb in her grip. Can't resist; she drops to her knees and sucks him deep, tongue working magic. Next thing, he's pounding her from behind, steam fogging everything, and that massage? Total afterthought. They finally hit the mat, bodies sliding like greased lightning, but it doesn't take two seconds before he's balls-deep again, railing her senseless. This groom's squeezing every drop from that free pass—lucky bastard!