Eli Cross
An Extra Special Surprise
Easeling Them Into It
Sounding Off
Tied Up At Customs
Siri Dahl’s wife flew back home for one night. She slipped the masseuse a tip and took her place while Siri lay facedown, naked, clueless. Victoria’s hands hit her shoulders first—strong, familiar, wicked. She dug in, knuckles working tight spots, palms sliding lower, thumbs pressing just above Siri’s ass. Siri moaned low, thinking it was some random pair of hands doing their job. Victoria grinned, rubbed oil into the backs of Siri’s thighs, let fingers graze closer, teasing every soft inch. When Siri flipped over, her eyes went wide, then shiny. Surprise hit, then pure dirty joy. They both laughed, low and dirty. "Get on the table," Siri whispered, already reaching for her wife. Victoria climbed up, straddled her, kissed her deep, hands still slick. They kissed hard, hips grinding slow against the table. Victoria worked her way down, tongue tracing oil-slick skin, fingers finding wet heat. Siri’s legs opened wider, breath catching. They took their time—Victoria sliding two fingers deep while her mouth kept busy, Siri moaning, gripping Victoria’s hair, pulling her closer. They switched, bodies sliding, legs tangled. Siri got her turn, tongue working wet and steady, Victoria rocking on her face. Every touch was hungry, every stroke dirty. They came like that, loud and grateful, shaking on the massage table while the candle burned low.
Siri Dahl’s wife flew back home for one night. She slipped the masseuse a tip and took her place while Siri lay facedown, naked, clueless. Victoria’s hands hit her shoulders first—strong, familiar, wicked. She dug in, knuckles working tight spots, palms sliding lower, thumbs pressing just above Siri’s ass. Siri moaned low, thinking it was some random pair of hands doing their job. Victoria grinned, rubbed oil into the backs of Siri’s thighs, let fingers graze closer, teasing every soft inch. When Siri flipped over, her eyes went wide, then shiny. Surprise hit, then pure dirty joy. They both laughed, low and dirty. "Get on the table," Siri whispered, already reaching for her wife. Victoria climbed up, straddled her, kissed her deep, hands still slick. They kissed hard, hips grinding slow against the table. Victoria worked her way down, tongue tracing oil-slick skin, fingers finding wet heat. Siri’s legs opened wider, breath catching. They took their time—Victoria sliding two fingers deep while her mouth kept busy, Siri moaning, gripping Victoria’s hair, pulling her closer. They switched, bodies sliding, legs tangled. Siri got her turn, tongue working wet and steady, Victoria rocking on her face. Every touch was hungry, every stroke dirty. They came like that, loud and grateful, shaking on the massage table while the candle burned low.