Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties-Chapter 953: Samantha’s Professional Wipe Down

She paused at the threshold—glancing back over her shoulder, tits swaying, one hand cupping her leaking cunt as if trying to hold my load inside.

"Don’t let her see too much... at first..." she whispered, voice husky and teasing. "Save some bullying for me... husband..."

Then she disappeared into the bathroom—leaving the door cracked just enough to hear the shower start.

I leaned back—cock throbbing under the gown—listening to the water run.

The suite was silent except for the faint drip of cum still leaking from the bed.

And Samantha was on her way up.

Any second now.

The knock came—soft, hesitant—exactly fourteen minutes later.

I called out—voice calm, warm, laced with just enough fatigue to sell the injured act.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly.

Samantha stepped inside—alone—wearing her hotel cleaner uniform: simple navy polo tucked into black pants, name tag pinned crookedly, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She carried a small cleaning caddy in one hand, clearly thinking this was a routine "guest needs help" call from the front desk. Her eyes widened the moment she saw me propped up in the massive bed, hospital gown loosely tied, bandages visible on my arms and side.

"OMG!!... Jack... that Sir... are you okay?" she blurted, voice cracking with genuine worry. She dropped the caddy with a clatter and hurried forward, hands fluttering like she wanted to check my injuries but didn’t know where to start.

I used telepathy—slipping effortlessly into her mind.

[OMG what happened to him... how did he get hurt... he was fine last time... looking at the bandages... he seems to be really hurt... oh god... is he in pain? Should I call someone? Why didn’t they tell me it was this bad...]

I pretended to blink in slow recognition, letting my eyes widen slightly.

"Oh... aren’t you Samantha...?"

She nodded frantically—eyes shiny with unshed tears, hands twisting together.

"Yes Sir... it’s me..."

I let my voice soften, sounding weak and grateful.

"It’s my wife who called you... She’s taking a shower right now. I didn’t know she asked for help. Sorry to bother you."

Samantha shook her head quickly—stepping closer, concern overriding her shyness.

"No—no bother at all, Sir... really. Is there anything you need? Water? Medicine? Anything?"

I shook my head slowly, letting a small wince cross my face for effect.

"No... I’m fine... it’s just... I feel a bit itchy... all over. All I want to do is take a bath."

Samantha’s eyes widened in alarm. She rushed forward—almost tripping over the caddy she’d dropped.

"No—Sir... you can’t take a bath!"

I pretended to look surprised—raising my eyebrows, tilting my head.

She realized how frantic she sounded—cheeks flaming instantly—and stammered.

"I-I mean... Sir... that... you’re covered in bandages... it’s best not to let water get in there... it could... could infect the wounds... or... or make it worse... if you’re worried about feeling dirty... I can help you wipe your body with a wet towel... just... just the parts that aren’t bandaged..."

I let silence hang for a heartbeat—then nodded slowly, pretending to be embarrassed.

"Ok... then... sorry to bother you..."

Samantha shook her head again—already moving toward the drawers near the minibar.

"No bother... really... it’s my job... I mean... not exactly this, but... I want to help..."

She rummaged quickly—pulling out a shallow bowl, a stack of fresh white hand towels, and a sealed bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

The bathroom door was closed—shower still running, steam drifting under the crack—so she couldn’t get hot water from there. She poured the bottled water into the bowl, dipped a towel, wrung it out until it was just damp, and walked back to the bed.

Her hands shook slightly as she approached—eyes flicking nervously to the bandages, then to my face, then away again.

I was still in the hospital gown—thin, open at the back—and she could see I was completely naked underneath. The outline of my cock—super hard now, thick and straining—was impossible to miss: a blatant tent lifting the thin blanket draped over my waist.

Samantha’s cheeks went from pink to scarlet.

I pretended to be embarrassed—rubbing the back of my neck.

"Can you... Put the blanket over my waist properly... so that I can remove the hospital gown? I’m not wearing anything beneath... just... just wipe my upper body, please..."

Samantha nodded jerkily—hands trembling as she adjusted the blanket, making sure it covered from waist down. Her fingers brushed the tented fabric for half a second—she froze, breath catching—then quickly looked away, focusing on my shoulders.

"Y-yes Sir... of course... just... upper body..."

I sat up slowly—letting her help untie the gown strings at the back. The fabric slipped off my shoulders, pooling around my waist under the blanket. My chest and abs were exposed—bandages wrapped around my ribs and one arm, but otherwise bare, skin still faintly flushed from earlier exertion.

Samantha’s eyes flicked down—then snapped back up—cheeks burning so hot I could feel the heat from where she stood.

She dipped the towel again—hands shaking—then began wiping my shoulders in slow, careful strokes.

The damp cloth glided over my skin—cool at first, then warming quickly from contact. She was gentle—almost reverent—wiping my collarbone, then down my chest, avoiding the bandages with meticulous care.

Her breathing grew shallower—chest rising and falling faster.

I let silence stretch—watching her work, feeling her tremble.

"You’re very kind, Samantha," I said softly. "Thank you... for helping."

She swallowed hard—voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s... It’s nothing, Sir... I just... want you to be comfortable... You look like you’ve been through a lot..."

The towel slipped lower, her movements growing bolder, more deliberate. Her breath hitched as her fingers grazed the blanket near my waist, her touch lingering just a second too long. The air between us was thick with something electric, something forbidden. She hesitated, her voice barely audible, her lips parting as if the words were being dragged out of her.

"Sir... I-I think I should... wipe your lower body too." Her voice trembled, her eyes darting between my face and the blanket draped over my waist. "Just to be thorough."

I let out a low, pained groan, my voice thick with faux reluctance, my cock already throbbing at the thought of her hands on me. "Are you sure?" I murmured, my voice rough, my hips shifting slightly beneath the fabric. "I don’t want to make you uncomfortable."