Massaged By My Ex

Masseur Alex Legend struts in for his shift, and his buddy hits him up to cover a client. Alex shrugs and says sure, no biggie. Then the guy drops the name: Lena. Alex's eyes bug out slow, like he's swallowing a golf ball—shit, that's his ex's name. 'Uh...' But his pal slaps his back, grins wide, and bolts. 'Thanks, Alex! You're a lifesaver!' Alex yells after him, 'No, wait! Come back—aw, dammit!' Too late. Dude's gone. Alex mutters to himself, heart pounding, 'I mean, it might not even be her... Lena's a common name, right?' A beat later, the door swings open, and in walks Lena Paul. Alex's jaw hits the floor—yep, it's her, all curves and fire. She spots him and explodes. 'What the hell are you doing here?' Alex stammers, 'I've been working this gig for a couple months.' Lena's not having it. 'Get me someone else!' He shakes his head. 'Just me now, babe.' She's halfway out the door, but Alex pleads, 'Stay, please—help a guy out with my buddy.' They both spill it: their breakup was doomed from the jump. That cracks the ice a little, softens the edges. Finally, Lena caves. She eyes him warily, peels off her clothes, and stretches out naked on the table. Alex starts working her muscles, hands firm and knowing. She's stiff as a board at first, but he hits those sweet spots he remembers all too well—the ones that always made her moan like a siren. She loosens up, sighs deep. They chat about how their sex was straight fire, sparks flying hotter than ever. Tension cranks up, electric. Boom—Lena grabs him, yanks him in for a scorching kiss. Alex shreds his clothes, cock rock-hard and ready, and slides deep into her wet pussy. She gasps, arches. Just like that, they're picking up right where they left off, balls to the wall.