It's just a Massage

AN: READ THIS: Short version is this story contains some nasty cheating with no repercussions. If that's not your cup of tea, don't drink other people's tea!!! (Forgot where I stole that from.)

Anyway I couldn't seem to find a lot of stories about cheating that's not cuckolding, sharing, revenge, or some depressing feel-good drama with some moral at the end.

So I wrote one myself. A straight-forward cheating story.

If this sounds like something you'd be into. Enjoy!!

If not... Turn back NOW! Here there be degenerates!

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"Remember how far it went at our wedding? Now that was worth complaining about. Damn near had a heart attack when they—"

"It's not that I'm complaining." I interrupt Timothy. "It's just that it's quite sudden. We'll definitely be late."

My husband of ten years playfully flicks my forehead. "We won't be late, just unfashionably early."

"So, late?"

"Not late."

I sigh for the tenth time in the last hour. "Please honey... Can't you reschedule? Your sister already doesn't like me, and if we show up late to her wedding..."

"She'll understand. I promise." He kisses me on the cheek and buttons up his white dress shirt.

I follow him out of our bedroom. The modern furniture of glass and leather, along with the white walls and high ceiling still gives the place that office-y professional vibe.

"Clearly you don't know your sister." I say, pouring myself an espresso in the kitchen.

"Listen, hon. If I could reschedule I would." Tim says from the living room. " I've been trying to set up a meet with this guy's company for months. Now that he's free for a while, I probably won't get another shot."

"So, what? He snaps his fingers and you jump just like that?"

"That's the name of the game." He adjusts his tie and walks around the counter to stand in front of me. "If I can get him to agree to the merger, it would change everything."

The look in his brown eyes is like a kid's on Christmas morning. Obviously this means a great deal to him and yet...

"So this is more important than your sister's wedding? You know how much Regina looks up to you."

He frowns at that. "It's not like that."

"Than what is it like, Tim?"

"It's just..." He holds my hands gently. "Can we not get into it? It shouldn't take more than an hour or two and if we take the back streets, we'd be like... twenty minutes late, tops."

"I don't know..."

"Trust me, okay?" He breaks out the puppy dog look, my kryptonite.

"...No." I hastily look away.

"Please..." He grasps my chin and turns my head in his direction. I close my eyes.

"...No."

"I'll give you a present."

"Present?" I open my eyes and get a full dose of kryptonite to the face.

"Yes. Present." He continues quickly while my guard's down. "To make it up to you."

"I'm not the one...you have to make it up—"

"A nice present."

"What kind of present?" I'm so simple.

He smiles deviously, knowing he got me.

"You know Susan?"

Susan... Susan... I think it's his best friend's wife. That woman just oozes sex appeal. The few times we've met was enough to spark a rivalry. Granted it might be one-sided from me.

I've always been confident in my figure. A little short at 5'4 but thick and curvy to compensate. My ass has a little more weight then I'm comfortable with, but hubby loves it, so I'm not too worried. My chest also leans on the heavier side; a trait I inherited from my grandmother. The love handles are... under control for now, just barely though.

Susan however... That woman in contrast, is tall and slim with barely an ounce of fat on her. As expected from a model.

I suppress the green devil.

"Michael's wife." I say. "What about her?"

Tim clears his throat. "It just so happens that I spoke with her this morning."

My eyes narrow. "Oh... Is that right?"

"Nothing serious!" He waves his hands in a slight panic. "I just asked her for advice..."

"And...?" I raise a brow.

"And she recommended something. Something that's guaranteed to loosen you up and release all tension... A stress reliever of the highest quality if her words are to be believed."

Another sigh escapes me. "Yeah, that's a no from me."

Tim spins me around and my back presses against him.

"You don't even know what it is."

"Drugs. Or liquor. The last thing I want when we're about to—"

"A massage..." He says and gently rubs my shoulders. "All this stiffness..."

It takes me a few seconds to register his words. "You can't be serious."

"What? You hate massages?" He whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps running down my neck.

"Hate it... Not really, or particularly... It's just that..."

He nibbles on my ear and kisses my neck. "Just that...?"

He moves his hands down my arms, resting them on my hips. My heart starts racing and heat pools in my nether region.

"I've never had one before." I say.

"Perfect." He abruptly kisses me on the temple and grabs his phone from the counter.

"Eh?"

"Let me just confirm. They should be here in a few minutes." He dials a number and starts speaking with someone.

I'm left dazed with a little whiplash.

"Yes.... No, that'll be perfect. Thank you." He hangs up and walks back to me. "Your present is on it's way, my sweet. They were waiting in the lobby."

I bite my lower lip. "No but... I thought that... you will..."

Tim laughs as I'm mumbling like an idiot. "Unfortunately there's no time. Plus I don't mean to brag but..." He winks. "Besides rubbing your shoulders a bit, I'm clueless when it comes to massages. I might just leave bruises and dislocated bones if I try."

"No need to sound so proud." I pout.

"Don't be like that. It's a professional, and don't you want to see first hand what type of service top models get?"

That grabs my attention. Tim doesn't miss that. "You can only hire them through others' recommendation. An exclusive service for the elites. They really do wonderful work."

"Since your singing their praises I assume you've—"

"No no. It's not really my thing, but trust me, you'll love it."

I'm a little reluctant to go through with this. It's something that I've been curious about, despite never really putting in much effort to make happen. I've heard about massages and seen some in movies but I'm not too sure what it entails. This might be the chance to finally experience it.

The woman would rub my shoulders and back... I'd close my eyes and drift off to daydreaming land...

But a house call though? I didn't know that's a thing. Shouldn't be that surprising I guess, 'service for the elites', and all.

As far as bribes go, it's not bad. However...

Redoing my hair and makeup for the wedding will take up more unnecessary time. I'll just have to try this massage thing another day.

The moment before I voice my objection, the doorbell sounds.

"Oops, time's up. They're here!" Tim looks visibly relieved and grateful not to deal with me making another issue out of this.

I click my tongue in irritation. It'll be difficult to refuse now.

"Okay, hon. Why don't you go get ready, while I set things up here."

"Fine." I roll eyes and head up the stairs.

"Love you!" Tim calls up after me.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

*****

In my bedroom I carefully peel off the yellow formal dress I spent half a fortune on and hang it on the closet door.

Now I'm left in my dark fuck-me lingerie I wear when I want hubby to—well—fuck me.

I'd thought we could have a little fun at the wedding, but now I'm almost certain it'll be an unpleasant experience. No doubt the catty comments and backhanded insults from the mother-in-law and bride-to-be will erode my psyche.

My body feels heavy, especially around my shoulders.

"Definitely you guys' fault." I say, looking at my breasts. If it wasn't for Tim, I'd have gone the reduction surgery route a while ago. But as it stands, he can't get enough of them. Licking, sucking, biting, and on more than a few occasions sliding his...

I moan and rub my thighs together.

Fuck it's been a while.

Work, clashing schedules, exhaustion. It's been weeks since we'd last had sex.

Even I can tell the stress has been building up lately with the way I've been short tempered and antsy. Some hot sex with hubby usually sorts that out in no time but...

It can't be helped.

I take off the lingerie and without thought, squeeze my tits.

"Oh fuck..." Pleasure rushes through my body and I reluctantly let go.

A droplet runs down my thigh.

"Hold it in, girl. Hold it in." Deep breaths.

I just have to endure until after the wedding. Maybe I'll go without any panties and relentlessly tease Tim.

Yes.

That tactic typically ends with a quickie on the side of the road to take the edge off, before a night full of rough and sweaty sex.

Shit, I can't wait.

I wipe my bare pussy with a towel and focus on calming down a little.

"Now what to wear..."

What does one wear to massages...? I forgot to ask. Heck, I didn't even meet the masseuse. Almost certainly some hot little thing that tempts husbands into paying more, or a bitter old lady that just wants to do her job.

Sigh.

Either way she'll probably do a 'wonderful' and 'professional' job according to Tim, despite the fact that he supposedly never used their services.

Well, just going with it might not be so bad. The number of times I've spoken with Susan, she'd always seemed so calm, chipper, and stress-free.

Like nothing can get her down.

How envious...

I've met two other models and they were both bogged down by work, wearing their stress on their sleeves, the complete opposite of Susan.

If a massage is responsible for that, than it's worth a shot.

"Still don't know what to wear though..."

After a few more seconds I just throw on a sports bra and dark tights.

My hair...

Maybe I don't have to completely redo it for the wedding...

I tie the dark curls into a loose ponytail and commit to going with the wavy look when it's time.

Make-up...

It's not like I'm doing physical exercise. It's a massage!

I'll just lay there and... get massaged. My make-up should be fine.

"Okay, then."

*****

Going downstairs, I'm met with white curtains in the middle of the living room. A square that cordons off prying eyes.

I'd understand if it was somewhere else but this is my home. What prying eyes could there be? Also, there's some kind of beige carpet rolled under it on top of the wooden floorboards.

That better not leave any scratches...

The masseuse must be waiting inside.

My husband's voice comes from his office. The door is open, and he's pacing around talking on the phone.

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. Time to meet this lady.

The curtains slide open easily and the first thing I see is a narrow table with soft looking, cushion-y padding. There's a small table next to it with an assortment of little bottles on it.

"Ah, you must be Mrs. Carter." A deep voice behind me.

"H-hi!" I quickly suppress my urge to scream and turn around.

Three or four heads taller than me. Bronze tanned skin, short cropped hair, tight black collared shirt that's a few muscle flexes away from tearing, and another tight blue—is that spandex?—yes, spandex that does nothing to hide sculpted thighs and a certain package that hangs halfway down those thighs.

Fuck, that's huge!

"I'm Carlos. A pleasure to meet you." He reaches for my hand and grasps it in both of his larger ones. "I'll be your therapist for today. Your husband tells me it's your first time?"

"I... yes, that's right."

"That 's no problem at all." He smiles casually and lets go of my hand. "I would've wanted to start out with a standard massage but your friend, Mrs. Taylor, recommended the deluxe experience. She insisted you would enjoy it and at a later time share your thoughts over drinks."

Mrs. Taylor...? Susan? Since when were we friends? She was always nice enough, but with the number of times we've interacted we barely pass off as acquaintances... Perhaps she thinks differently?

And deluxe experience... What the fuck...

My eyes unconsciously drift towards his groin and I hastily turn my gaze elsewhere.

Carlos gives me a knowing look. "I see. Mrs. Taylor did say you were kindred spirits after all."

"We were what now?"

Carlos ignores my question and walks towards the comfy looking table. He places a bag he brought with him on the ground and takes out a large towel.

"Take this." He says, handing me the towel. He turns his back on me to sort out those bottles on the table.

"Sorry, I'm just a little... confused." I say.

He turns around and looks at me patiently. "Your clothes are in the way, Mrs. Carter. We wouldn't want to ruin them with the oils now, would we? You have to cover yourself with that towel."

"Excuse me?"

"You'd also find it more pleasant that way, I assure you. Now, I shall wait outside while you get ready."

"No wait you—"

Gone.

I'm left in a daze. What the hell is this?

A massage... I was under the impression it would be a woman. Does Tim know? No... Carlos clearly alluded to the fact that he spoke with him.

No, but... That can't be right. Not my darling ever-jealous husband.

I draw back the curtains just in time to see the door to the outer hallway close.

Okay, calm down girl. You know you get reckless when you get emotional...

Deep breathes.

"Fuck that."

I storm towards my husbands office and throw open the door.

Tim looks toward me, irritated while setting up a webcam and talking on the phone.

"Just a moment, Clark. I'll call you back." He hangs up and puts on a clearly forced smile.

"Honey?"

"Did you know it's a man? What's up with that? I wasn't expecting that. You could've given me a heads-up or something, but... Yes, you probably didn't know right? You spoke to—" I rattle off.

"Wait, wait, wait, slow down a second, babe." He walks toward me and caresses my shoulders. "Now, tell me what's wrong?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong! The masseuse is a man."

He stares at me blankly. "It's masseur, actually. And yes he is. What of it?"

"Eh? I mean..." The wind out of my sails.

"Men also do massages, honey. It's normal."

"...Okay, I guess. But he asked me to get naked!"

Tim frowns. "That's how massages work. You have to get—"

His cell vibrates on top of his desk. He breaks away from me and glances at the phone.

"Okay, it's almost time, hon." He gestures for me to leave his office. "Like I was saying. It's normal to get naked for massages. You just cover yourself with the towel, and let him work out all those knots."

I stop walking and Tim rubs his hands together impatiently.

"Let's just cancel." I say. "I'll wait till your done, watch t.v, or something."

"We can't cancel, babe. I already hired their services." He says through clenched teeth, frequently checking his phone.

"Than you hired a male prostitute. Did you even see what he's wearing?"

"Jennifer!" I jump at his loud voice. "Now you're just being disrespectful."

"Disrespectful?" I scoff. "So your fine with another man seeing your wife naked? Is that what you're saying?"

He squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, Jen. The man is a professional. It's not like your going to have sex with him!"

"How would you know? You said you've never gone to a massage either! And the way he's dressed..."

"I said massages aren't my thing! Not that I've never been to one."

"What? When was this?"

"Relax. It was another massage parlor a couple months back, and both times I'd went, they were guys. And yes, they were dressed the same way."

I pause to think for a moment. He could just be telling me bullshit to get me out of his way...

Tim crosses his arms and taps a finger on his elbow, looking restless. Maybe he's not thinking straight cause he wants to get to work? In that case I'll try another angle.

"A man, other than my husband, will be touching me while I'm naked." I say clearly, to get it through his thick skull. "Surely you can't be okay with that."

He gives an exasperated sigh and rubs his temples.

"You're purposefully making it sound so inappropriate." He looks me in the eyes. "It's just a fucking massage, not something erotic or sexual."

I look up at him, refusing to back down. "It may be just a fucking massage, but that doesn't change the fact that some man I don't even know will be seeing me naked as well as touching me."

His phone vibrates for maybe the tenth time since I've entered his office. Actually, I don't think it ever stopped. He looks restlessly between the phone and me, like he's considering picking me up and tossing me outside.

I dare him to try.

A second before it looks like he'd have exploded, he lets out a tired sigh, lifting his hands up in a show of surrender.

"Okay, listen hon." He says in a more relaxed tone. "Let's not fight, please?"

I calm down a little, feeling like a kid that's blown things way out of proportion. But surely I'm in the right here?

It's the hands. I hate it when he uses that calm-down-surrender gesture.

"Let's do this. Why don't you give this massage thing a shot, and the second he does something you don't like, we call it off. Then you could at least say that you've tried it and it's also not your thing. See whether your into it or not. A new experience."

I contemplate his words.

It would be a new experience...

How do you know it's bad, when you've never even tried it.

Someone told me that once.

But still...

I don't feel like giving in so easily... It's like those days in high school when my friends tried to get me to go out with them, when all I wanted to do was stay home and read my trashy novels.

"...Okay."

"Okay...?" He has a look like he just survived a brutal war and can't believe he's still alive.

"...Yes. I'll try it." I say with a tired voice. Just give it a few minutes and call it off. That's the plan.

"You sure?"

"...Not really."

"Okay, that's good enough." He says with a relieved expression and hurriedly checks his phone. "Go enjoy yourself, and I'll be in here if you need anything."

"I won't particularly—"

"And try not to interrupt me for at least two hours. Afterwards, there should still be barely enough time to get ready for the wedding."

He shoos me out of his office almost like a dog.

"What about—"

"Go have fun!"

He closes the door and I hear the lock turning.

"Fine!" I shout after him.

"Yeah, Clark. Sorry, sorry... No he hasn't called or emailed yet. I'm just about done setting up from my side, now we just need to hope Reese has..." His voice grows muffled as he presumably walks further from the door.

I resist the urge to start something and begrudgingly choose to let it go.

Only because I gave it more thought, realizing my apprehensions were just... a little bit childish...

Okay, very childish.

Like saying only women can be nurses...

Yeah, Tim won't ever let me live this one down...

Guess I still have a ways to go.

*****

I stand naked in the bedroom, my clothes in the hamper. Well, I'm in a towel, so not completely naked.

After a few more fights with myself, I meet Carlos downstairs. He's adjusting the length of the narrow massage table.

Must've thought I'd be taller.

"Ah, Mrs. Carter. Are we ready to begin?" He asks in that smooth voice that I'm sure causes other women to fall to their knees.

For some reason I find it frustrating that he still keeps a blank face with a courteous smile, even with a woman in nothing but a towel standing in front of him.