My Wife's Massage Surrender

Mark sat rigidly in the low armchair at the edge of the private spa suite, his mild-mannered face flushed already, hands clenched on his knees. At thirty-two he still looked like the soft-spoken accountant he was—thin wrists, neat hair, eyes that darted away too quickly. Across the room his wife Lena stretched face-down on the padded massage table, her voluptuous twenty-nine-year-old body gleaming under the warm low lights. Full hips, heavy breasts that spilled sideways even against the face cradle, thick thighs that had always made his cock twitch. For months they had whispered cuckold fantasies into the dark of their bedroom: her taking a stronger man while he watched, powerless and hard. Tonight those whispers had become real.

Jax entered without knocking. Six-foot-two of corded muscle, dark hair pulled back, forearms thick from years of kneading bodies. He wore only black shorts that clung to powerful thighs. The air shifted when he shut the door. Lena lifted her head, dark eyes already glassy with anticipation.

“Rules are simple,” Jax said, voice low and certain. “I touch her however I want. You sit. You watch. You don’t interfere unless she or I say stop. Clear?”

Mark swallowed. “Clear.”

Lena’s smile was slow and filthy. “I’ve been thinking about those hands all week, baby. Look at him. He’s going to ruin me and you’re going to sit there and love it.”

Jax poured oil into his palms, the scent of sandalwood sharp. He started at her shoulders, thumbs digging deep, and Lena’s first moan rolled out unrestrained. Mark’s cock thickened helplessly against his trousers as those powerful hands glided lower, spreading oil across the wide flare of her back, then cupping and squeezing the heavy globes of her ass. Jax worked the muscle mercilessly, fingers dipping into the cleft, spreading her just enough for Mark to see the dark pink of her pussy already glistening.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Jax murmured. “Husband doesn’t fill you enough, does he?”