Cuckolded by foot massages

Rebecca stretched out on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, a glass of red wine balanced delicately in her hand. The soft hum of jazz music played in the background, mingling with the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows. She glanced at Lance, who was seated in his recliner, scrolling through his phone, completely absorbed in whatever article had caught his eye. Her lips twitched in irritation—he hadn't even noticed her new pedicure, the one she'd spent an hour picking out the perfect shade for. "Blush Rose," the nail technician had called it. It was supposed to catch his attention. Instead, it seemed to blend into the background, just like everything else about her these days.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Brad emerged from the guest room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He flashed Rebecca a warm smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, gorgeous," he said casually, as if the words weren't loaded with a meaning neither of them wanted to acknowledge yet. "How's the wine treating you?"

Rebecca felt her cheeks flush, though she couldn't quite say why. Gorgeous. The word lingered in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. "It's good," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "Want some?"

Brad chuckled, running a hand through his dark, slightly unruly hair. "Nah, I'm good. But hey, you look... relaxed. Long day?"

Long life, she almost quipped, but bit her tongue. Instead, she shrugged, swirling the wine in her glass. "Just tired. My feet are killing me."

Before she could stop him, Brad was crouching beside the couch, his hands hovering over her bare feet. "Let me help with that," he said, his tone casual but his gaze anything but. "I've got skills."

Lance looked up briefly from his phone, his expression blank. "Oh, yeah, Brad's good at that," he mumbled, already turning back to his screen. Rebecca frowned. Couldn't he see what was happening? Or did he just not care?

She opened her mouth to protest, but Brad's hands were already on her feet, his fingers pressing into the arch with just the right amount of pressure. A small gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. "Oh." His touch was warm, deliberate, and entirely too intimate for something as innocent as a foot massage. She shot a glance at Lance, but he was still engrossed in his phone, oblivious.

Brad's thumbs circled the ball of her foot, his touch firm but not painful. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

Rebecca nodded weakly, her breath catching in her throat. This is fine, she told herself. It's just a massage. But as his fingers moved higher, tracing the curve of her ankle, she felt a tingling sensation shoot up her leg, spreading warmth through her entire body. She shifted uncomfortably, her thighs pressing together beneath her sundress.

"Relax," Brad murmured, his eyes locked on hers. His fingers slid back down to her toes, kneading gently. "You're so tense. Let go."

Let go. The words echoed in her mind, and before she knew it, her body was betraying her. A soft moan escaped her lips, barely audible over the jazz music. Her back arched slightly, her hips lifting off the cushion ever so slightly. "Brad..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

He smirked, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on her. "That's it," he coaxed, his hands moving to her other foot, his touch firmer now, more deliberate. "Just let me take care of you."

Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to feel this way—not here, not now, not with Brad. But god, his hands felt so good. Every stroke, every press of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, pooling low in her abdomen. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the growing heat between her legs, but it was no use. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body trembling under his touch.

And then, without warning, it happened. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. Her back arched, her hands gripping the edge of the couch as a strangled cry tore from her throat. "Oh my god!" she gasped, her body convulsing with pleasure.

Brad didn't stop. If anything, his touch grew more intense, his fingers working her with a practiced ease that left her dizzy. "Shh," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. "Easy, Rebecca. Just breathe."

Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and mortification. She stared at him, her cheeks burning, but he only grinned, his hands still moving. "Don't worry," he said softly. "It's our little secret."

Across the room, Lance finally looked up, his brow furrowed. "Everything okay?" he asked, his tone distracted.

Rebecca's heart skipped a beat. "Fine," she managed to ***** out, her voice shaking. "Just... tired."

Lance nodded absently, already returning to his phone. "Okay. Don't stay up too late."

As he disappeared down the hallway, Rebecca turned back to Brad, her chest heaving. "What the hell was that?" she hissed, her voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Brad leaned back on his heels, his grin widening. "That," he said slowly, "was just the beginning."