The Satellite Guy

Mason shows up with his ladder and tool bag, says he’s here to mount a dish on the roof. Lucky pops the door open in nothing but a silk robe, flashes a quick grin, and tells him he can sit his ass down while she finishes her smoothie. “Install fee’s three grand up front,” Mason reminds her. Lucky sets the glass aside, leans in so he gets an eyeful, and offers to wipe the debt clean with a hot, wet, soapy rub-down instead. Mason raises an eyebrow, still holding his invoice, but the tent in his jeans makes it obvious he’s listening. She leads him to the bathroom where the ceiling is already rigged with a rail and a slippery air mattress underneath. Steam fogs the glass as Lucky squeezes a bottle of shower gel down her tits and slides onto her knees in front of him. Mason drops the paperwork on the counter, kicks off his boots, and steps onto the glistening vinyl. The second his cock slips into her slick, sudsy pussy he grunts and announces the whole bill’s gone—no charge, no dish, just the sound of skin slapping soap and Lucky moaning like she just hit the lottery.