tagExhibitionist & VoyeurWill They Cheat?

Will They Cheat?


Jim sat in front of a studio audience on a leather couch. He was a chubby fellow with a receding hairline. He dressed in a nice business suit, his fingers and wrist decorated with gold. He waved to the applause, showing a wide smile.

The host, an older gentleman with white hair, stood at the edge of the platform with a microphone in hand. "Welcome back toooo!"

The audience shouted in unison, "Will! They! Cheat!"

The host showed his million dollar smile. "I'm your host Bob Sayjack. This is the show that puts relationships at risk with an opportunity to earn an all-expense paid trip toooooo!"

The audience, again, on cue, shouted, "Hawaii!"

"That's right," Bob said. "The show where husbands and wives buy unsuspecting spouses a trip to the spa, in hopes they can refrain from cheating. Our therapists are trained in the art of seduction, our oil is an aphrodisiac. Can the spouse make it through the massage without giving in? Or, will they be wooed out of their towel on live TV? Stay tuned and find out."

A round of applause broke out.

"Our first couple hails from Denver, Colorado. They've been married five years," Bob said. "He is a real estate agent while his wife is a chef and teacher of the culinary arts." Bob turned to the husband. "Jim, why do you have so much faith in your wife?"

"She has a strong will," Jim said aloud before shyly admitting, "and she doesn't get, ummm, aroused very easy."

"Oh," Bob said, sadly looking back out into the crowd. "Is she asexual?"

Jim frustratingly nodded. He quickly perked up though, saying, "But, at least we'll get a free vacation out of it."

The crowd seconded him with roaring cheers.

Bob patted down the noise, quieting the crowd. He placed his hand to his ear, listening to the hearing device. "Okay. We are being told that Raechel has just arrived to the spa. Let's go there and check out what transpires."


Raechel swung open the acrylic doors and entered the spa. The brunette, hair cut just above her shoulders, had an apple shape, slim shoulders and ankles, wide hips but a firm body. She headed to the receptionist. "Hello," she said in a bright voice.

The golden-haired receptionist looked up. He had a bronze tan, his muscles bulging through his white work shirt. He had a square jaw that added to his fairytale-prince look. "Yes," he said.

"My, um, husband made an appointment for me."

The man typed into his computer before asking, "Raechel?"

Raechel nodded. "That's me."

"Alright." The man dug through his drawer and pulled out a pamphlet. "I'll need you to sign a few forms and we can get started."

"What's the forms for?"

"Just a formality. Make sure you're not allergic to the lotion," the man said, "anything like that."

"People will sue for anything these days," Raechel said as she signed off without reading.

"That's why we have to do it."


"What Raechel doesn't know is," Bob said to the audience, "she just gave her consent to be shown on live TV."

The crowd applauded.

"Jim," Bob spun to the husband, "how do you think your wife did so far?"

Jim nodded. "It was a breeze. This'll be easy."

"I thought I heard a little stutter from her." Bob looked to the rafters. "Can we play that again?"

("My, um, husband made an appointment for me," Raechel said.)

"One more time, please," Bob uttered.

("My, um, husband made an appointment for me.")

"You hear that 'um'?" Bob asked.

Jim folded his arms. "You're looking too far into it."

"Well..." Bob wheeled back to the audience. "Let's find out."


In the room, Raechel stood in front of a locker, removing her clothes and hanging them neatly on the hooks. She slipped out of her thong sandals, pushed down her form-fitting jeans, and pulled her blue tank top over her head. She hopped out of her undergarments as well. She had small, perky breasts and a nice plump backside. With everything stowed away, she wrapped a cool thin sheet around her, which felt smooth on her bare skin. She lay flat across the massage table, face down in the stirrup.

The room was serene, quiet. Candles filled the air with a clean vanilla aroma. The soothing sounds of a waterfall played from the speakers, mounted in the four corners of the room.

The door opened. Footsteps approached.

Raechel never once looked up. Her head remained down, her eyes closed.

"Where do you feel the most stiffness?" a man asked, his voice rough but silky.

"Everywhere," Raechel laughed.

"Well, alright," the man said. "Let's begin."

Raechel let out a relieved sigh as his strong hands massaged her shoulders. Her brain released chemicals, her pain diminishing. He groped her biceps, forearms, all the way down to her hands. She focused on her thoughts, but all she could think about was how great it felt, almost titillating. "Oh, that feels so good," she said in a moan, which surprised even her.

The man chuckled. He lifted her ankle, bending her leg at the knee, and massaged her petite foot. He started at the top and rubbed down the sole before reversing the motion.

Raechel flinched her foot, giggled. "Hey! That tickles."

"Sorry," the man replied with a sly grin. With her head down, unable to see him, the man extracted his thick, semi-had cock. He looked to camera in the corner of the room, quietly laughed, and shushed those watching. He placed his cock sideways across the soles of her feet and rubbed it up and down. After stroking himself, he put his cock back in his elastic pants. He used his hands, once again, starting up her calves to the back of her thighs. He pushed up uncomfortably close to her posterior, which awoke Raechel from her pleasure.

"Hey!" Raechel said. "Watch them hands."

"I apologize," the man replied. "Can I get you to roll over?"

Raechel held the thin fabric over her breasts as she turned. She strangely eyed him, the blonde receptionist, with a heightened brow but finally rested back, looked to the ceiling.

The man casually went about his work. He made his way up her ankle, calf, and thigh. As he eased down her side, his strong bulge brushed past the top of her hand.

Raechel moved her hand away and gawked down. His erection poked through his thin pants. She leaned up on her elbows, holding the sheet above her breasts. She furrowed an angry brow, saying, "You want to calm yourself?"

"I'm sorry," the man's fingers slid underneath the bottom of her sheet, "I just enjoy my job."

Raechel flinched, his fingers tickled up her inner thigh. She snatched his wrist, holding it in place. "What are you doing?" She pointed to the big rock on her finger. "I'm married."

"Oh, so you're one of those types?" The man proceeded up her leg, her grip loosening.

Raechel stared directly into his eyes, reeled in. "What do you mean by those types?"

"The type that believes happiness comes from material things." The man's fingers tickled her tight slit. "The type that stays with men who can't satisfy them, ultimately forgetting what true bliss is."

"Yes?" Raechel panted. She slowly released the sheet and it crumpled to her waist. Her nipples stiffened by the moment.


"Yikes!" Bob comically exaggerated a worried expression and slowly rotated back to Jim. "Jim, it's not looking good for you."

Jim sat on the edge of the leather couch, his leg bobbing nervously. "No. No, I guess it's not."

"But, it's not quiet over yet, ladies and gentlemen," Bob reminded the crowd. "Now, Jim, I'm sure you've seen the show before, so you know where we're going, right?"

Jim nodded, wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks. "The 'O' round."

"That's right," Bob declared to the crowd. "The 'O' round!"

The attendance robotically applauded with freakishly wide smiles.

"For those home, or here tonight, watching for the first time," Bob began to explain. "The 'O' round, if Jim decides to do it, will play out until one of the participants has an orgasm. If our therapist cums first, the couple, Jim and Raechel, still get a new car. But, if Raechel has an orgasm—"

"Not happening," Jim confidently said.

"Then they win nothing." Bob revolved back to Jim. "Of course, you can always walk away now before the sex begins."

"Not a chance. I didn't come here to leave empty handed." Jim folded his arms. "We're going to the 'O' round."

"The 'O' round!" Bob declared merrily.

The crowd began chanting, "Oh! Oh! Oh!"


The man rubbed the top of Raechel's clit, gentle and slow. But, she squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand and restricting his movement. "I don't know..." she breathlessly uttered.

The man guided her back to the table, saying, "Its okay. You deserve this."

Raechel loosened her squeeze, allowing his hand to continue. He whipped the sheet completely from her body, leaving her bare to the room, which tickled her nether regions. She lay flat across the table, her head near the bulge in his pants. She eyed it before shakily sliding her fingers in the bands. As she pulled them down, his giant cock sprung out. She took a moment, admiring the girth. She handled him and slowly stroked, the size filling her small hands. She sent an astonished look up toward him before stretching her jaws and slipping it in her mouth.

The man softly thrust his hips, sliding his cock in and out of her tensed lips. He rambunctiously rubbed her clit, which gave life to her bobbing head.

Raechel finally withdrew, gasped for air.

The man grabbed her legs and twirled her around, taking her lower half in his arms while her back rested on the massage table. He stuck his thumbs in the creases of her knees, holding her legs in place. He eased inside of her.

Raechel squeezed the cushiony massage table. She curled her toes as he filled her to the hilt. She was aroused, wet, and his glistening cock had the proof. "Mmmm..." she licked her lips. Her nipples were taut, breasts waffling with each thrust.

The man held one of Raechel's ankles up, giving him more leverage. Her other leg flailed at his side as he added more speed.

Raechel covered her red face, blood flushing from the enjoyment. She breathed heavily from behind her palms. She no longer thought of her husband, her adultery. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were drowned by an unfamiliar sensation, a tingling. Her body lit up like a floodlights, intense light which threatened to blow a fuse.

The man rapidly pounded. He released her ankle to his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her thigh, rubbing her clit once again. He massaged up and down, circular. He could feel her leg trembling against his shoulder.

An electric wave tickled through Raechel's body. She clenched her feet, wiggled her toes. She could feel something building up inside of her, like waters pushing against a dam. Her face flickered, brows scrunched before softening. She gulped down a moan but released a soft whine.

"Did you just cum?" the man asked. He pulled away, stroking his cock with a suspicious look.

Raechel breathlessly shook her head. "No..."


Bob spun on the heels of his shiny loafers and pointed at Jim. "What do you think, Jim?"

Jim slouched on the sofa, defeated. With little belief, he answered, "No. Of course not."

"Let's take a look at it, shall we?" Bob directed everyone's eyes back to a large screen. "If you see right here, curling the toes is a give-away for some."

(In the clip, Raechel had one leg splayed over the man's shoulder, the other leg dangling at his side. As she tossed her head back, she clenched both feet, pointing her big toes.)

"That's not always the case," Jim argued, lifelessly.

"Okay," Bob ceded before saying, "But, what about the twitching of the face, seen here?"

(Raechel dropped her head, watching as his cock plunged into her. Her breasts jiggled with excitement. She tensed her face, as though about to sneeze, but quickly released it and expelled a faint whine.)

"That is clearly a face you make when you're grossed out," Jim contested. "Play the clip again."

(As Raechel glanced down, her brows slanted inward, creasing her forehead.)

"See! Right there," Jim continued proving his point, "She looks down, sees his cock, and frowns. That's all it was. If anything, your guy pulled away because he felt the end coming."

Bob's smile never wavered. He looked back to the crowd, asking, "What do you think audience? Should we let it continue?"

There was a resounding "Yes!" from the crowd.

Bob motioned to the screen again. "The show must continue."


"What's wrong?" Raechel asked. She sat up on the edge of the table. "Do you not want me to cum?"

"Of course," the man replied. "But, I want to know your cumming."

Raechel flashed a smile. She gripped the nape of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. They locked lips, kissing intimately, before breaking apart. He guided her around, backwards on the massage table with her backside in the air. She looked at the far wall, anxiously anticipating his entrance.

The man wiggled his cock outside her pussy-lips, sending a shiver up her spine. He thrust forward, entering her with a strong heave.

Raechel huffed. She gripped the massage table in her hands and rocked with his rhythm. Her eyes stared straight ahead, heavy with passion. She gnawed on her bottom lip, in an attempt to remain hush.

Apparently seeing this, the man knotted her brunette hair in his hand and jerked her head back. His motion intensified, shaking not only her foundation but the table as well.

"Ah!" Raechel moaned. She closed her eyes, breath rattling. Her skin prickled. Her heart beat rapidly. She flexed her toes. She was losing control of her body and couldn't imagine what was coming next. She felt like exploding.

The man gripped her shoulders, holding her in place for each powerful impact.

Raechel's eyes watered. The tickle was too much to bear. She squinched, mouth hung open, and she hunched forward. She finally released herself, grunting and squirting all over his cock.

"How does that feel baby?"

Raechel didn't respond. She lurched lower and grunted again. "I'm, ah—" Another winded noise interrupted her sentenced. She was falling apart. "I'm cumming, ing, innnggg."

As her body violently quaked, the man smiled, and while continuing his assault, he flexed his biceps toward the camera.

"Okay... Okay..." Raechel squirmed to her belly, flat across the table.

The room became quiet once again, tranquil. Waterfall could still be heard. The smell of vanilla still filled the room. And, both shared a breather.

"Back to you, Bob," the man said.

Raechel leered over her shoulder, looking exerted: face red, hair frayed, with heavy breaths. "Who the fuck is Bob?"

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