Help Me Catch My Husband

Britney Amber's on TV hawking her new bath and massage gel today, but damn, that's just cover for her real game. She's itching to snap some pics of the killer view for her site when she spots this guy lurking in the corner. He steps up, all smooth: Eric Masterson, buddy of the big-shot producer. Turns out, he's knee-deep in wife troubles and just needed to bail from the house to shake off the stress. Britney clocks how knotted up he is around the neck and back—poor bastard's a walking knot factory. She flashes that celebrity grin and offers him a proper rubdown in the tub, slathering on her fresh massage oil. Like he'd say no to a star like her? Hell no. He strips down quick, slides into the steaming bath. Britney? She hops in buck naked, owning the moment. She scoots behind him, pressing those massive tits right against his back, kneading away the tension like a pro. Then she spins him around—time to work the front. Eric's rock hard now, cock standing at full attention, throbbing like it's got a mind of its own. Britney grabs those melons and wraps 'em around his shaft, sliding up and down in a slick titty fuck that has him gasping. He's straight-up mesmerized, brain short-circuiting: is this for real? She purrs it's all about unwinding, ditching those wife woes for a hot minute. But Eric's clueless about Britney's sneaky side hustle—and trust me, it's a mind-bender that'll leave you reeling.