Prove You're Not A Cop

Kristen Scott's chilling in the massage parlor, waiting for her next sucker—I mean, client—when a prickly vibe hits her. She's got that gut feeling someone's eyeballing her. She glances at the window, and bam, there's this dude Robby Echo, straight-up peeking in like a sneaky fox checking out the henhouse. Looks like he's casing the joint, and Kristen's radar pings hard—sus as fuck. She hits the door, and Robby stammers that he couldn't spot the damn sign outside, so he had to play peeping Tom to confirm it's the right spot. But Kristen's bullshit detector goes off big time when he admits he's got no appointment and he's gunning for an erotic rubdown—yeah, right, we don't do that shit here. How the hell does she know he's not some undercover pig sniffing around? Robbie's all shy and fumbling, but he steps up to prove he's clean. Lifts his shirt quick—bam, no wire hugging his chest. Kristen's not buying it yet; she's all, 'Strip it all off, bucko, every last stitch.' Robby's face goes beet red, flustered as hell, but he complies, dropping trou and everything else till he's buck naked and swinging free. Once she clocks that smooth, wire-free skin, Kristen eases up, smirks, and figures he's the real deal—no badge in sight. She grabs his hand, leads him to the shower to kick off the real fun. Water's steaming, hands sliding everywhere, and damn if those touches don't light 'em both up like fireworks. Kristen's not one to tease; she drops to her knees, wraps her lips around his throbbing cock, sucking him deep with that naughty grin. Robby's no slouch—he flips the script, dives in to lap at her slick pussy, giving her clit the tongue-lashing it craves till she's moaning for mercy. Satisfied but revved for round two, Kristen tows him out of the spray, dripping wet, straight to the mattress for the big show. She drenches 'em both in oil, bodies gleaming like forbidden fruit. Not a beat later, she straddles him, sinks down slow and tight onto that hard cock, riding him like she owns the damn place. They lose it in the frenzy, grinding and thrusting wild—all that cop paranoia? Poof, gone from her head. No way this awkward stud's still playing five-oh after pounding her senseless, huh?