Chapter 955: Samantha Inside The Blanket

I pretended to be ashamed, rubbing the back of my neck and looking down at the blanket like it had personally betrayed me.

"I... I’m sorry... Samantha... I didn’t mean it..."

My voice came out low, shaky—perfectly pitched to sound like a guilty, embarrassed man who’d just been caught with an erection in front of the hotel maid.

Samantha’s eyes flicked down—then snapped back up to my face. For a split second, her expression flickered: something sharp, knowing, almost amused.

Then she rolled her eyes—subtle, but unmistakable—and the motion was so casual it almost looked involuntary.

Her thoughts rang clear in my head the moment I brushed against her mind with telepathy.

[Look how nervous he is...? Hm... he wasn’t nervous when he buried his cock in my virgin asshole... hmph... he’s still thinking it was Gabriela... but he didn’t know it was actually me... poor thing... acting all shy now when he fucked me raw and came buckets inside my tight little hole... pretending he doesn’t remember how I screamed his name...]

She schooled her face quickly—softening it into something gentle, almost pitying.

"It’s okay..." she said aloud, voice quiet but steady. "I know, Sir... you didn’t mean it... it was just an accident..."

She stepped closer—bowl still in one hand, fresh, damp towel in the other—and knelt beside the bed again. Her knees pressed into the mattress right next to my thigh, close enough that I could smell her faint floral shampoo mixed with the clean cotton of her uniform. Her eyes flicked down once more—lingering this time on the wet spot spreading across the blanket—then back to my face.

Her thoughts slipped through again, unfiltered:

[He’s so hard... still leaking... pretending it’s an accident... cute..., but I remember how he groaned when I clenched around him... how he called me "good girl" while he pumped me full... he thinks he’s fooling me... but I know... I know exactly what that cock feels like inside me...]

She dipped the towel again—water dripping softly into the bowl—then reached forward, dabbing carefully at my chest, slow circles over my pecs, avoiding the bandages.

Her voice stayed soft, almost soothing.

"You’re really tense, Sir... your muscles are all knotted up... let me help... just relax..."

Her towel drifted lower—across my abs—then paused at the blanket’s edge again.

She gasped—tiny, fake eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"S-Sir... it... it moved again... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to touch..."

Her thoughts flooded in—dark, amused, dripping with smug satisfaction:

[There it is... twitching for me... he can pretend all he wants... but this cock knows who it really wants... not Gabriela... me... the one who took him raw... the one who swallowed every drop... he’s going to break soon... I can feel it...]

She pressed the towel down firmer—now openly wiping along the length through the blanket—slow strokes from base to tip, feeling every ridge, every throb.

"It’s... really swollen, Sir..." she whispered, voice trembling just enough to sound shy. "Does it... hurt? Should I... be more gentle... or... harder...?"

Her eyes flicked up to mine—wide, innocent on the surface—but her mind screamed the truth:

[He’s so close... one more stroke and he’ll beg... I’ll make him admit it... make him say my name... make him remember who really took his virginity... who really drained him dry...]

The shower still ran in the bathroom.

Gabriela was still inside—washing, humming softly, oblivious.

Samantha—sweet, worried, secretly smug—was on her knees—towel in hand, palm pressing rhythmically over my cock through the blanket—waiting for me to crack.

I looked at her—eyes soft, voice low and hesitant, playing the part of the guilty, embarrassed patient to perfection.

"Samantha... it’s okay... I think you should leave... to avoid any misunderstanding with my wife... she could come out any time now..."

Her hand froze mid-stroke—towel still draped over the thick, throbbing outline. For a split second, she looked almost disappointed—then her lips curved into the tiniest, most wicked smile I’d ever seen on her usually innocent face.

We both heard it at the same time: the soft

click

of the bathroom doorknob turning, followed by the faint creak of hinges.

Samantha’s eyes flashed—pure, playful cunning.

Her thoughts rang clear in my mind the instant I brushed against them:

[Didn’t you tease me... by holding my moans back... even though you don’t know it was me... but still... I want revenge...]

Before I could react, she moved—quick, silent, childish in its audacity.

Samantha climbed onto the bed in one fluid motion—sliding under the blanket right next to me, pressing her small, warm body flush against my side.

She yanked the blanket up over both of us—tucking it under her chin so only my head and shoulders remained visible. From the doorway, it would look like I was simply lying there, covered and resting.

Her face buried itself against my chest—cheek pressed to my bare skin, breath hot and fast through the thin gown. Her breasts—soft, surprisingly full for her slender frame—squished against my ribs. Her thigh slid over mine—trapping my leg between hers—and my hard cock—still painfully erect—pressed insistently against the soft inside of her thigh, the head nudging right under the hem of her uniform skirt.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she shifted—deliberately—letting the thick shaft slide higher until it nestled snug against the warm crease where thigh met hip, the leaking tip smearing precum across her smooth skin.

I felt her smile against my chest—small, triumphant.

Then the bathroom door opened fully.

Gabriela stepped out—completely naked, skin still flushed and dewy from the shower, droplets clinging to her collarbone and rolling down the heavy undersides of her massive tits.

She was wiping herself lazily with a towel—first her neck, then her shoulders, then lower—making her breasts sway and jiggle with every pass. Cum still leaked slowly from her well-fucked pussy—thick white trails running down both inner thighs, dripping onto the carpet in soft

plips

.

She froze when she saw me—then her eyes flicked to the suspiciously lumpy blanket beside me.

One perfectly arched eyebrow rose.

She pointed at the blanket—silent, exaggerated—then tilted her head, mouthing the obvious question with wide, amused eyes:

Is she hiding there?

I gave the tiniest nod—barely perceptible—keeping my face neutral.