Something For Your Trouble

Juan Loco pulls up to the house with a delivery, just another box on his route, nothing special. But damn, when India Summer swings open the door in skimpy lingerie under a loose robe, he's hooked. She eyes him like a prize, sizing up every inch, then purrs that the box is way too heavy for her dainty hands—mind dropping it inside? He stammers, trying to play it cool and professional, but her hungry stare melts his spine. In he goes, heart pounding. He barely makes it two steps before she hits him with, 'Hey, can you haul it to the bedroom? It's just a hop further.' Juan's brain screams no, but those bedroom eyes? They win. He nods like a puppet, gripping that package tighter than a lifeline, trailing after her swaying hips. Bedroom door creaks open, and bam—there's a massage setup sprawled on the floor, all plush and ready. India smirks, explaining it's her dirty little hobby. 'Bet you're aching from lugging boxes all day,' she teases. 'Let me work out those knots.' Juan's toast by now, her vibe wrapping around him like smoke. Screw it, he thinks—he's earned this perk. Clothes hit the floor fast. She slicks them both up with oil, hands gliding everywhere slick and sinful. Heat builds quick, and India pounces like a cat in heat, claiming his throbbing dick as her own. Juan's all in, thrusting deep into her tight, welcoming pussy, delivering the real package with gusto. Yeah, he'll invent reasons to knock on her door from here on out—count on it.