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."

Nice start! Looking forward to the next chapter
djacobs

Brad had been quiet today—almost too quiet. He'd made himself scarce after breakfast, retreating to the guest room with a vague excuse about work. But now, as the evening light filtered through the blinds, Rebecca felt that familiar itch creeping back into her thoughts. That itch. The one Brad had awakened with his hands on her feet just days before. She shivered *************, crossing her ankles and leaning back against the cushions.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway snapped her out of her reverie. Brad appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He grinned lazily, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. "Evening," he said, his voice smooth and low. He strode into the room, ignoring Lance completely, and dropped onto the couch beside Rebecca. Close. Too close.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn't move away. Instead, she found herself scooting ever so slightly closer, her thigh brushing against his. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lance glance up from his phone, his brow furrowing for a moment before he shrugged and went back to scrolling.

"You look tense, Rebecca," Brad murmured, his gaze dropping to her feet. He reached out, his fingers grazing the arch of her left foot, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle a gasp. His touch was electrifying, even more so than the first time. "Mind if I...?"

She hesitated, glancing quickly at Lance. He was still engrossed in his phone, oblivious to the simmering tension just inches away. Her throat felt dry, and she swallowed hard before nodding. "Sure," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Brad's smile widened, and he shifted closer, lifting her feet into his lap. His hands were warm and firm as they began to knead the balls of her feet, applying just the right amount of pressure. Rebecca's breath hitched, and she sank deeper into the couch, her body already responding to his touch. God, how does he do this? she thought, her mind scrambling to make sense of the sensations coursing through her.

Out of nowhere, Lance cleared his throat, and Rebecca froze. Her eyes darted to him, but he wasn't looking at her. No, his gaze was fixed firmly on her feet—her perfectly pedicured feet, which were now cradled in Brad's capable hands. For a moment, she thought he might say something, might finally acknowledge what was happening right under his nose. But instead, he just stared, his expression unreadable.

Brad noticed too, and his grin turned smug. "Everything okay, Lance?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with challenge.

Lance blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he'd been in. "Uh, yeah. Fine," he muttered, his voice tight. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat but didn't take his eyes off Rebecca's feet. It was almost like he couldn't help himself.

Rebecca's cheeks flushed, and she looked away, pretending to focus on the TV. But all she could think about was the way Brad's hands were moving, pressing and stroking in ways that sent little jolts of pleasure shooting up her legs. She bit her lip harder, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan escaped before she could stop it.

Brad chuckled under his breath, his fingers sliding between her toes now. "Relax, Rebecca," he said, his voice dripping with innuendo. "Just let me take care of you."

Her stomach flipped, and she nodded weakly, her body betraying her better judgment. She could feel the heat building inside her, pooling low in her belly as Brad worked his magic. She glanced at Lance again, half-expecting him to intervene, to demand that Brad stop. But he didn't. He just sat there, silent and wide-eyed, watching as Brad massaged her feet with increasing boldness.

The tension in the room was palpable, and Rebecca felt it swirling around her like a storm. She knew she should stop this, should pull her feet away and put an end to the madness. But she couldn't. Not when Brad's hands felt that good. Not when every touch seemed to unravel her bit by bit, leaving her trembling and desperate for more.

"That's it," Brad murmured, his voice husky as his thumbs pressed into the arches of her feet. "Just let go."

And she did. A shudder ran through her as the pleasure crested, wave after wave crashing over her until she was gasping for air. Her toes curled, her legs quivering uncontrollably, and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds escaping her lips.

When it was over, she slumped back against the cushions, utterly spent. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her ears. Brad leaned back, clearly pleased with himself, while Lance simply stared, his face a mixture of shock and something else Rebecca couldn't quite place—was it awe? Jealousy? Fear?

For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint buzz of the television and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, Brad broke the silence. "Feeling better?" he asked, his tone innocent but his eyes anything but.

Rebecca nodded, unable to trust her voice. She felt raw, exposed, and yet strangely exhilarated. This was dangerous territory, and she knew it. But as she caught Lance's stare—his eyes still locked on her feet—she realized something terrifying: he wasn't going to stop this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

And deep down, in a part of her she didn't want to acknowledge, she wasn't sure she wanted him to.

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her bare feet tucked under her as if hiding them might somehow erase what had just happened. But Brad wasn't having it. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, that same mischievous glint in his piercing blue eyes. "You know," he drawled, his voice low and teasing, "I could do that again. If you want."

Rebecca's breath hitched. Her heart raced, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. She glanced at Lance, who was sitting stiffly in his armchair, his phone now abandoned on the side table. His face was unreadable—his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he didn't say a word. He didn't move. It was as if he was frozen, caught between confusion and... something else. Something darker.

Brad noticed the hesitation, and his lips curled into a sly smile. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over Rebecca's ankle where it rested on the edge of the couch. The touch sent a shiver up her spine, and she twitched *************, her stomach tightening with anticipation. "Come on, Rebecca," he murmured, his voice dripping with suggestion. "Don't pretend you don't want it. I saw how much you enjoyed it last time."

Her cheeks burned. She couldn't deny it, not after the way her body had reacted. The memory of that intense pleasure—the way his hands had worked magic on her feet, coaxing out sensations she hadn't even known were possible—was still fresh in her mind. And yet, the thought of giving in again felt like crossing a line she wouldn't be able to come back from.

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, her eyes flicked back to Lance, silently pleading for him to step in, to say something. But he just sat there, his gaze fixed on Brad's hand as it slid further up her calf. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of fabric rustling as Brad moved closer.

Brad's fingers tightened around her leg, and he gave her a little tug, pulling her foot back into his lap. "Relax," he said, his tone firm but soothing. "You're so tense. Let me take care of you."

Rebecca swallowed hard. She wanted to resist, to pull away and put an end to this madness. But her body betrayed her, melting under his touch as his thumbs began to knead the arch of her foot. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and she quickly clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed by how easily he could undo her.

"That's it," Brad cooed, his voice smooth as honey. "Just let go. You deserve this."

Her toes curled as his hands worked their magic, applying just the right amount of pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her whole body. It was impossible to think straight when he touched her like this—when every stroke seemed to light up nerves she didn't even know she had. Her head fell back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering closed as she tried to focus on anything other than the heat building between her legs.

But then Brad's voice cut through the haze, low and intimate. "Lance doesn't appreciate you the way he should," he said, his tone laced with disapproval. "He doesn't see how amazing you are. How beautiful. How strong."

Rebecca's eyes snapped open, and she looked at Lance, expecting him to defend himself—to argue or at least protest. But he just sat there, silent and motionless, his face pale and drawn. It was as if he had completely checked out, retreating into himself while Brad took control.

Brad chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the power dynamic. "See? He can't even look at you anymore. Too ashamed, maybe. Or too weak." His fingers trailed higher, massaging her ankle now, and Rebecca bit her lip to stifle a moan. "But I see you, Rebecca. I want you."

Her pulse quickened at his words, and she felt a dangerous thrill run through her. No one had ever spoken to her like this before—so boldly, so openly. It was intoxicating, the way he made her feel desired. Wanted. And despite the guilt gnawing at the edges of her mind, she couldn't help but lean into it.

Brad must have sensed her internal struggle because he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "It's okay to want this. To want me. You don't have to hide it anymore."

His words struck a chord deep within her, igniting a hunger she had been trying to suppress. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, locked in a charged, electric silence.

Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across Brad's face, and he shifted his position so that he was practically looming over her. One hand continued to massage her foot, while the other drifted up her thigh, his touch deliberate and unhurried. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice dark and filled with promise. "Now let me show you how a real man treats you."

Rebecca's breath came in shallow gasps as his fingers dipped under the hem of her sundress, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She could feel the warmth radiating from his palm, and it sent tiny sparks shooting through her core. Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more contact, more friction, but he held her firmly in place, teasing her with feather-light strokes that left her desperate and aching.

Through half-lidded eyes, she caught sight of Lance out of the corner of her vision. He was still sitting there, unmoving, but the look on his face was unmistakable—a mix of shock, anger, and something else. Something primal. She wondered briefly if he would finally say something, do something to stop this. But instead, he just stared, transfixed, as if he were a spectator in his own home.

Brad followed her gaze and smirked. "Don't worry about him," he said dismissively. "He's not going to interfere. Not when he knows what's good for him."

Rebecca wanted to protest, to insist that this was wrong, that they needed to stop before things went too far. But the words died on her lips as Brad's hand ventured higher, his fingers brushing against the lace edge of her panties. Her entire body trembled, her resolve crumbling under the weight of her desire.

"Tell me you want this," Brad urged, his voice rough with need. "Say it, Rebecca."

She hesitated, her mind racing, torn between loyalty and longing. But then his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, and all rational thought fled. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want it."

Brad grinned, victorious, and leaned down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a possessiveness that left no doubt about his intentions. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as the tension between them exploded into something raw and undeniable.

Somewhere in the background, she heard a faint rustling—Lance shifting in his chair, perhaps, or the creak of a floorboard. But she didn't care. Not now. Not when Brad's hands were everywhere, lighting fires along her skin and driving her closer to the edge with each passing second.

As he pulled away from the kiss, his lips traveled down her neck, nipping and sucking lightly at the sensitive spot where her pulse hammered. "You're mine now," he growled, his voice rough with hunger. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Rebecca's chest heaved, her body trembling with need as his fingers finally found their target, sliding effortlessly through her wetness. She gasped, arching into his touch, and—

An angry murmur interrupted them, so quiet it was almost inaudible. "Stop."

Both Brad and Rebecca froze, their heads snapping toward Lance. He was standing now, his fists clenched at his sides, his face red with indignation. For a moment, it seemed like he might finally intervene, like he might reclaim some shred of authority in his own home. But then Brad smirked, his hand still resting possessively on Rebecca's thigh, and Lance faltered.

"What's the matter, Lance?" Brad taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Jealous? Or just scared?"

Lance's jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. But he didn't answer. Didn't move. Just stood there, paralyzed by his own inadequacies.

Brad laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a chill down Rebecca's spine. Then he turned back to her, his eyes smoldering with intent. "Don't worry about him," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. "This is about us now."