Repair Our Roof

Poor Antonio's up on that ladder, hammer in hand, just trying to slap some shingles on this massage parlor roof and bolt. But damn, how's a guy supposed to concentrate when the masseuse's rack and pussy are flaunting themselves like that? Olivia Wilder's rocking this skimpy fishnet bodysuit that hides jack shit, every curve screaming for attention. They're haggling over the price, and Antonio's playing the good guy, eyes glued to the sky—yeah, right, like any red-blooded dude could ignore those perky tits bouncing in his peripheral. Shit escalates when she calls his quote highway robbery. He stammers a defense, but Olivia swoops in close, her soft tits grazing his arm, turning his brain to mush. 'Let's cut a deal,' she purrs with that pouty lip, hands already yanking at his shirt, fingers diving for his belt. Antonio's toast, no fight left in him. Her lips ghost over his hardening cock, teasing the tip, and bam—price drops like a rock. She takes him deeper, sucking with that expert rhythm, and he slashes the numbers again, mumbling concessions around her bobbing head. Who'd have guessed a masseuse could negotiate a bargain with her mouth stuffed full of dick? Smooth as silk, that one.