The amber liquid in Nathan's glass catches the dim light of the bar as he swirls it, gathering courage with each hypnotic circle. Across from him, Jamal leans back in his chair, oblivious to the confession hanging on his friend's lips—a fantasy so forbidden that Nathan's pulse quickens just thinking about it. The two men have known each other for years, but tonight, Nathan plans to reveal a desire that will irrevocably alter their friendship, one that involves Megan—Nathan's wife and the object of Jamal's silent, burning desire since the day they met.

"You seem distracted," Jamal says, his dark eyes studying Nathan's face. "Work stuff?"

Nathan takes a long sip of his whiskey, letting the burn slide down his throat. "No, not work." His fingers tap against the glass, a nervous rhythm betraying his composed exterior. "It's about Megan."

Jamal's interest sharpens instantly, though he tries to mask it with casual concern. Inside his mind, images of Megan flash unbidden—her warm brown eyes, the gentle curve of her lips when she smiles, the way her conservative clothing still manages to hint at the body beneath. He's wanted her for years, stealing glances when Nathan isn't looking, fantasizing about her in his most private moments.

"Everything okay between you two?" Jamal asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." Nathan leans forward, dropping his voice. "Better than fine, actually. But there's something I've been thinking about. Something I want." He pauses, searching for words that won't come easily. "Fuck, this is harder to say than I thought."

Jamal waits, patient on the outside while his heart hammers against his ribs. Something about Nathan's tone makes his skin prickle with anticipation.

"I want to watch her," Nathan finally says, the words rushing out like water through a broken dam. "I want to watch Megan with another man."

The confession hangs in the air between them. Jamal's breath catches in his throat, his cock instantly hardening against his thigh. He shifts in his seat, mind racing to process what he's just heard.

"You mean like—" Jamal starts.

"I mean, I want to see my wife get fucked by someone else," Nathan interrupts, his blue eyes intense, almost feverish. "I've been fantasizing about it for months. Watching her face while another man makes her come. Seeing her take someone else's cock while knowing she's still mine." His voice drops even lower. "And I want that someone to be you."

The world seems to stop around them. The background chatter of the bar fades away as Jamal processes Nathan's words. His pulse thunders in his ears.

"Me?" Jamal manages, though his mouth has gone dry.

Nathan nods, studying his friend's face. "You're the only one I trust. And I've seen the way you look at her when you think I don't notice."

Jamal should feel caught, exposed, but instead, a rush of dark excitement floods through him. His mind instantly fills with images of Megan beneath him, her legs spread wide, her conservative facade crumbling as he pushes inside her.

"She'd never agree to it," Jamal says, though his mind is already racing ahead, calculating possibilities.

Nathan's lips curl into a small smile. "Not if we ask her directly, no. But there are ways." He takes another sip of his drink. "She's too proper, too concerned with doing the right thing. We need to create a situation where she won't realize what is happening until she is already too far gone to stop it."

A plan begins to form in Jamal's mind, one born from a chance comment Megan made weeks ago at a dinner party. "What if I tell you I'm taking massage therapy classes?" he says slowly, watching Nathan's expression. "And that I need someone to practice on?"

Nathan's eyes widen slightly as he catches on. "And you need a volunteer..."

"Exactly." Jamal leans forward, lowering his voice. "I could set up my spare bedroom. Tell her I need to practice full-body massage techniques. Once she's relaxed, comfortable..."

"She'd be vulnerable," Nathan finishes, excitement evident in his voice. "But how would I see it? I want to watch everything."

Jamal's mind is racing through the logistics. "Hidden cameras. I can set them up in the room and stream it to my TV in the living room. You can watch it all happening in real-time while sitting just a few rooms away."

The thought of it—Megan spread out on a massage table, unaware that her husband is watching as another man touches her—makes Nathan's cock throb painfully against his zipper. He imagines her gasps of surprise turning to moans of pleasure, her initial resistance melting away as Jamal's hands venture where they shouldn't.

"She trusts you," Nathan says, his voice thick with arousal. "If I encourage her to help you out, she'll do it. She's always trying to be supportive of our friends."

Jamal nods, already picturing it all. The dim lighting, the scented candles, and the soft music mask any sounds from the living room, where Nathan is watching. His hands on Megan's skin, moving from innocent to intimate in imperceptible increments.

"I'll make it so good for her that she won't be able to say no," Jamal promises, his voice dropping to a register that vibrates with intent. "I'll start slow, build her up until she's begging for it."

Nathan's pupils dilate at the thought. "And I'll be watching every second. Seeing my wife come apart under your hands."

"When do we do this?" Jamal asks, already mentally preparing his apartment, calculating what he'll need to buy.

"Soon," Nathan says, draining his glass and setting it down with purpose. "I'll talk to Megan tomorrow, plant the seed. Make her think it's her idea to help you."

The two men lock eyes across the table, a silent agreement passing between them. What they're planning crosses every line of friendship and marriage, but the transgression only makes it more intoxicating.

"To new experiences," Jamal says, raising his glass in a toast.

Nathan clinks his empty glass against Jamal's, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. "And to making fantasies a reality."

As they settle their tab and prepare to leave, both men are lost in their own visions of what's to come. Nathan imagines the voyeuristic thrill of watching his wife's infidelity, orchestrated by his own hand. Jamal pictures Megan's body beneath his, the years of wanting finally satisfied. Neither man spares a thought for Megan's feelings—she is simply the vessel for their desires, a pawn in their game of sexual chess.

The plan is set. The trap is baited. And Megan, still blissfully unaware, has already been claimed as their prize.

The kitchen countertop gleams under the soft pendant lights as Megan chops vegetables for dinner, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board filling the comfortable silence between her and Nathan. He watches her from his perch at the island, nursing a glass of red wine, his blue eyes tracking the precise movements of her hands. Inside his mind, the conversation from last night with Jamal plays on repeat, sending little jolts of anticipation through his body. She has no idea what he's about to propose—how he's about to offer her up to satisfy both men's darkest desires under the guise of friendship.

"Did I mention Jamal's taking massage therapy classes?" Nathan asks, his voice carefully casual. He takes another sip of wine, observing Megan over the rim of his glass.

She looks up, a strand of brown hair falling across her forehead. "No, that's new. Career change?"

"Side hustle, I think. Something about wanting multiple income streams." Nathan shrugs, as if Jamal's motivations are of little interest. "He's pretty serious about it, though. Bought a professional table and everything."

Megan returns to her chopping, the knife slicing through a carrot with practiced efficiency. "Good for him. It's always smart to have options."

Nathan watches her a moment longer, strategizing his next move like a chess player considering all possible outcomes. "He's having trouble finding people to practice on, though. Apparently, you need a certain number of documented sessions to get certified."

"That's too bad," Megan says, scraping the vegetables into a waiting pan. The sizzle of oil fills the kitchen as she stirs them. Her response is polite but noncommittal—exactly what Nathan expects.

"Yeah, he was pretty frustrated when we talked last night." Nathan stands, moving to refill his wine glass. "Said most of his friends are too busy or too weirded out by the idea of him touching them."

Megan gives a small laugh, though there's a hint of discomfort in it. "I can understand that. It would be a bit awkward."

Nathan sees his opening and takes it. "Would it, though? I mean, it's professional. Like going to a spa, except you'd be helping a friend advance his career." He leans against the counter beside her, close enough that she can smell his cologne. "You get massages sometimes."

"From licensed therapists I don't know personally," Megan points out, though her voice has lost some of its certainty. In her mind, she's already weighing the request that hasn't quite been made yet. The thought of Jamal's hands on her back sends an unexpected shiver down her spine—one she quickly suppresses.

"Fair point," Nathan concedes. He falls silent, letting the idea percolate in her mind as she finishes cooking. He knows his wife—knows that her nurturing instinct and desire to help will begin to override her initial discomfort if he gives it time.

As they sit down to eat, Nathan casually returns to the subject. "I feel bad for Jamal, you know? He's really trying to better himself, and no one will help him."

Megan takes a bite of her food, chewing slowly. Her brow furrows slightly as she considers Jamal's predicament. "What kind of massage is he practicing? Just back and shoulders?"

"Full body, I think," Nathan says, observing her reaction. "But it's all very professional. Draping techniques and everything."

"Full body?" Megan's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "That seems... intimate."

"That's why he's having trouble finding volunteers," Nathan says, smoothly playing on her sympathy. "But it's no different than going to a spa. Plus, you'd get a free massage out of it." He smiles at her, projecting reassurance while his heart pounds with excitement. "I could even come with you if that would make you more comfortable."

Megan sets her fork down, her meal momentarily forgotten. Inside her mind, conflicting thoughts war for dominance. On one hand, the idea of Jamal—their friend, Nathan's friend—touching her body feels inappropriate, crossing a boundary she's not sure should be crossed. On the other hand, she hates the thought of someone struggling when she could easily help. And isn't her discomfort merely prudishness? If Nathan doesn't see an issue with it...

"You really think I should do this?" she asks, seeking validation for the decision she's already half-made.

Nathan reaches across the table, taking her hand in his. His touch is warm, comforting, and completely at odds with the selfish desire pulsing through him. "I think it would be a kind thing to do for a friend. But only if you're comfortable with it. No pressure."

The words "no pressure" work precisely as intended—making Megan feel that any hesitation on her part would be selfish. She prides herself on being supportive, on being the friend people can count on. And Nathan's right—it's just a massage. Professional. Clinical.

"I suppose I could help him out. Just once," she says, the words coming out more decisively than she feels. "When does he need to do this?"

Nathan's cock stiffens against his pants as victory floods through him. He keeps his expression neutral, concerned even, masking the triumph he feels. "I think he's free this weekend. I could text him?"

"Okay," Megan nods, returning to her meal. "Let him know I'm willing to help, but..." she pauses, looking up at Nathan, "you'll come with me, right?"

"Of course," Nathan says, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I'll be there the whole time."

The lie slides easily from his lips, sweet and poisonous. In his mind, he's already picturing her spread out on Jamal's massage table, her body exposed, unaware that her husband watches from another room as their friend's hands venture where they shouldn't.

They finish dinner with casual conversation, but Nathan's mind is elsewhere, playing out the fantasy that's about to become reality. As soon as Megan heads upstairs to shower, he pulls out his phone and steps onto the back porch, closing the door behind him.

Jamal answers on the second ring. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"It's a go," Nathan says, his voice low and intense despite being alone. "Megan has offered to help you with the practice massage."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, then Jamal's laugh—rich with anticipation. "Seriously? Just like that?"

"I told you she would," Nathan says, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. "She thinks she's doing you a favor. Being supportive."

"When?" Jamal asks, and Nathan can hear the barely contained excitement in his friend's voice.

"This weekend. Saturday afternoon work for you? That gives you time to set everything up."

"Perfect," Jamal confirms. "I'll get the cameras positioned tomorrow. High definition so that you won't miss a thing."

The casual way they discuss the deception should disturb Nathan, but it only heightens his arousal. He glances back at the house, making sure Megan isn't within earshot. "Remember, start slow. She needs to think it's legitimate until she's too turned on to care."

"Trust me," Jamal says, his voice dropping to a register that vibrates with dark promise. "By the time I'm done with her, she'll be begging for more than just a massage."

The image of his wife begging for another man's touch sends a jolt of electricity straight to Nathan's groin. "I can't wait to watch."

"And I can't wait to feel her under me," Jamal admits, no longer bothering to hide his intentions. "Been dreaming about it for years."

The confession should spark jealousy, but for Nathan, it only fuels his twisted fantasy. "Saturday then. Two o'clock."

"I'll be ready," Jamal promises before hanging up.

Nathan slips the phone back into his pocket, taking a moment to compose himself before returning inside. Upstairs, the shower runs as Megan washes away the day, blissfully unaware that her body is already promised to another man—by the husband she trusts completely.

Megan's knuckles turn white as she grips Nathan's hand, the two of them standing on Jamal's front porch in the golden afternoon light. Her heart flutters against her ribs like a trapped bird, anxiety making each breath shorter than the last. She's dressed conservatively in yoga pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt—practical for a massage, she'd thought—but now, standing at the threshold of what should be a simple favor for a friend, she can't shake the feeling that she's crossing a boundary she shouldn't. Nathan squeezes her hand reassuringly, though the pressure doesn't match the hungry anticipation churning in his gut as he reaches forward and rings the doorbell.

"Relax," Nathan whispers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "It's just Jamal. You've known him for years."

"I know," Megan responds, trying to calm her nerves. "It just feels... strange."

Before Nathan can reply, the door swings open, and Jamal stands before them, a welcoming smile spreading across his face. He's dressed in a fitted black t-shirt and loose linen pants—casual yet somehow professional. His eyes lock onto Megan for just a moment too long, drinking in the sight of her before shifting to Nathan.

"Hey, you made it," Jamal says, stepping back to let them in. "Come on in."

As Megan passes him, Jamal inhales subtly, catching the light floral scent of her perfume. His cock stirs at her proximity, at the knowledge of what's to come. Inside his mind, he's already seeing her naked beneath his hands, imagining her moans as he touches her in ways Nathan never has.

"Nice place," Megan comments, her eyes taking in the tasteful décor of Jamal's living room. She notices the large flat-screen television mounted on the wall, currently turned off, and the plush sofa positioned directly across from it. The layout appears to be designed for viewing, although she doesn't dwell on this observation.

"Thanks," Jamal says, gesturing for them to sit. "Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Wine, maybe?"

"Water is fine," Megan answers quickly. The thought of alcohol loosening her already fraying inhibitions makes her nervous.

Nathan settles onto the couch, appearing perfectly at ease. "I'll take a beer if you've got one."

As Jamal disappears into the kitchen, Megan sits close to Nathan, her thigh pressed against his. "Are you sure this is okay?" she whispers. "It feels weird."

"It's fine," Nathan assures her, though his mind is racing ahead to what will unfold in the next room. "You're helping a friend advance his career. It's a good thing."

Jamal returns with their drinks, handing a cold water bottle to Megan and a beer to Nathan. For a moment, the three of them sit in awkward silence, the air thick with unspoken intentions.

"So," Jamal finally says, setting his own water down on the coffee table. "I've got everything set up in the spare bedroom. Professional massage table, oils, towels—the works. I really appreciate you doing this, Megan. It's not easy finding people willing to help with the practical portion of the training."

Megan nods, taking a sip of water to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. "Happy to help. Nathan says you need a certain number of documented sessions?"

"Exactly," Jamal confirms, the lie flowing smoothly. "Each session gets logged and evaluated. It's all very professional."

"Should we get started then?" Nathan asks, his eyes darting between Jamal and Megan with barely concealed excitement.

Jamal stands, extending a hand to Megan. "The room's just down the hall. I'll show you."

Megan rises but doesn't take his offered hand. Instead, she looks to Nathan expectantly. "Aren't you coming too?"

A moment of tension stretches between the three of them. Jamal's smile doesn't waver as he says, "The massage room is pretty small, actually. Just enough space for the table and me to move around. Three people would be pretty cramped."

Megan's brow furrows, uncertainty written across her face. "I thought Nathan would be with me the whole time," she says, her voice tinged with anxiety. She turns to her husband, seeking confirmation. "That's what you said, right?"

Nathan's heart races as he navigates this crucial moment. He stands, placing his hands gently on Megan's shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. "The room is probably too small, honey. And Jamal needs to focus on his technique." His voice drops to a reassuring murmur. "It's okay. I'll be right out here if you need anything."

Megan's mind whirls with conflicting emotions—her desire to be supportive warring with her discomfort at being alone with Jamal in such an intimate setting. She searches Nathan's face, finding nothing but encouragement there, no hint of the excitement pulsing through him at the thought of what's about to happen.

"I promise it'll be completely professional," Jamal adds, his voice calm and steady despite the arousal building inside him. "And if at any point you feel uncomfortable, we can stop. No questions asked."

Megan takes a deep breath, her inner struggle visible in the slight tremble of her hands and the way she bites her lower lip. Finally, she nods. "Okay. I guess that makes sense."

She turns to Nathan, stretching up to give him a quick kiss. "I won't be long," she says, as if reassuring herself more than him.

"Take your time," Nathan replies, his hand briefly squeezing hers. "This is important for Jamal."

With one last uncertain glance at her husband, Megan follows Jamal down the hallway. As soon as they round the corner, Nathan's demeanor transforms entirely. The supportive husband act falls away, replaced by raw anticipation. He waits until he hears the bedroom door close before springing into action.

He moves quickly to the large television mounted on the wall, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. His hands tremble slightly as he turns it on, navigating through the input settings to find the feed from the hidden cameras in Jamal's bedroom. His breath catches in his throat as the screen comes to life, showing a perfect view of the massage room from multiple angles.

The room appears dimly lit, with several candles creating a soft, golden glow. The professional massage table sits in the center, covered with clean white sheets. Soft instrumental music plays in the background, creating an atmosphere of relaxation and intimacy. Nathan can see Megan standing awkwardly near the door as Jamal explains something to her, gesturing toward the table.

Nathan settles onto the couch, his beer forgotten as he adjusts his position to accommodate his growing erection. He's close enough to hear if Megan calls out, maintaining the illusion that he's just waiting patiently in the living room, but far enough that any subtle sounds from the TV won't reach the massage room.

Inside the bedroom, unaware of the hidden cameras capturing her every move and expression, Megan listens as Jamal explains the massage process. The soft music and dim lighting are meant to relax her, but they only heighten her sense that this is more intimate than she anticipated. Still, she's committed now, and the door is closed, separating her from Nathan and any easy escape.

"You can lie face down on the table when you're ready," Jamal says, his voice professional despite the hunger in his eyes. "I'll step out while you get comfortable, and you can cover yourself with the towel."

As Jamal steps out to give her privacy, Megan takes another deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. This is just a massage, she tells herself. Professional. Clinical. Nothing to worry about.

In the living room, Nathan leans forward, eyes fixed on the screen, watching as his wife prepares to fulfill his darkest fantasy unwittingly. His hand drifts to the bulge in his pants, anticipation coursing through him like an electric current. The show is about to begin, and he has the best seat in the house.

The massage begins with Megan lying face down on the table, still fully clothed, her face resting in the cushioned cradle. Jamal's hands press against her shoulders, strong fingers working into the knots of tension with professional precision. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to release the tightness in her muscles but gentle enough not to cause pain. Despite her nervousness, Megan finds herself relaxing into his touch, her eyes drifting closed as the soft music washes over her. What she doesn't see is the hungry look in Jamal's eyes as he maps the contours of her body beneath the conservative clothing, planning each step of his seduction with meticulous care.

In the living room, Nathan leans forward, his breath quickening as he watches his wife submit to another man's touch. The camera angle provides a perfect view of both Megan's face and Jamal's expressions—one lost in growing relaxation, the other in barely contained desire.

"You're very tense," Jamal comments, his voice professional despite the heat building inside him. "Carrying a lot of stress in your upper back."

"Work has been crazy lately," Megan murmurs, already feeling more at ease than she'd expected. Jamal's hands are skilled, finding pressure points she didn't know existed.

"I can tell," Jamal says, working his way down her spine. "This would be more effective without barriers, though. The clothing restricts movement and prevents proper technique."

Megan's eyes flutter open, her momentary comfort evaporating. "What do you mean?"

"In professional massage, clients typically undress to their comfort level," Jamal explains, his voice remaining steady and clinical. "Most people remove their tops at a minimum. I have proper draping techniques to maintain your privacy."

Megan hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. On the screen, Nathan can see the conflict play across her face—the war between propriety and the desire to be helpful. His cock throbs against his zipper as he watches her indecision.

"It's completely professional," Jamal reassures her, stepping back slightly. "I'll step out while you undress, and you can cover yourself with the towel. I'll only expose the area I'm working on."

After a moment of internal struggle, Megan nods. "Okay. If that's how it's normally done."

Jamal smiles, moving toward the door. "Take your time. I'll be right outside when you're ready."

As the door closes, Megan sits up, her heart racing as she contemplates what she's agreed to. In the living room, Nathan holds his breath, watching his wife's every move through the hidden camera. He sees her bite her lower lip, a habit she has when she's uncertain. Then, with a deep breath, she pulls her t-shirt over her head, revealing a simple white bra underneath.

She unhooks the bra, her breasts spilling free—small but perfectly shaped, with rosy nipples that tighten in the cool air of the room. Nathan groans softly, adjusting himself as he watches her quickly lie back down, pulling the large towel over her exposed back and sides.

"I'm ready," she calls, her voice slightly higher than usual.

Jamal returns, his eyes immediately taking in the sight of her bare shoulders and the gentle curve of her spine. He warms massage oil between his palms before placing them on her skin. The contact is electric—his warm hands against her naked flesh—and Megan gasps softly.

"Too hot?" Jamal asks, knowing full well it's not the temperature causing her reaction.

"No, it's fine," she murmurs, settling back into the cradle.

Jamal works the oil into her skin, his strokes becoming longer and more fluid. His hands move from her shoulders down her spine, occasionally brushing the sides of her breasts where they press against the table. Each "accidental" contact sends a jolt through Megan's body, confusion mingling with an unwelcome arousal.

In the living room, Nathan can see everything—the way Jamal's fingers linger longer than necessary, the subtle shifts in Megan's breathing when he touches her in certain places. His own breathing becomes ragged as he watches, one hand now firmly pressed against his erection.

"The lower back holds a lot of tension, too," Jamal says after several minutes of working on her upper body. "I should work on your legs and glutes. Would you be comfortable removing your pants? The towel will keep you covered."

Megan freezes, her mind racing. This has already gone further than she expects, and yet... Jamal's hands feel incredible on her skin. The massage is releasing tension she doesn't know she carries. And he's been nothing but professional, despite her fears.

"I... I guess that would be okay," she finally says, her voice small.

"Great. I'll step out again," Jamal says, already moving toward the door.

Once alone, Megan slips off the table, quickly removing her yoga pants and underwear before lying back down, making sure the towel covers her completely from shoulders to feet. Her heart hammers in her chest at the knowledge that she's now completely naked under the thin towel.

Nathan watches the screen intently, his mouth dry as he sees his wife strip down, catching glimpses of her bare bottom and the curve of her hips before she covers herself. His hand now openly rubs against his cock through his pants, the fantasy playing out better than he'd imagined.

When Jamal returns, he applies more oil to his hands before starting at Megan's feet, working his way up her calves with strong, deliberate strokes. As he reaches her thighs, he adjusts the towel, exposing one leg at a time while keeping her intimate areas covered—technically maintaining propriety while allowing his hands to venture dangerously close to forbidden territory.

"Your muscle tone is impressive," Jamal comments, his fingers working the tender flesh of her inner thigh, inches from her center. "Do you work out regularly?"

"Yoga," Megan manages to answer, her voice tight. Each press of his fingers sends waves of unwanted pleasure through her body. She's acutely aware of how close his hands are to her most intimate parts, and to her horror, she feels herself growing wet.

"It shows," Jamal murmurs, his hands moving higher, thumbs occasionally brushing against the crease where thigh meets buttock. "Your body responds very well to touch."

Megan bites her lip to keep from making any sounds that might betray her growing arousal. She shouldn't be reacting this way to another man's touch—especially not with Nathan just rooms away. And yet her body betrays her, growing warmer and more sensitive with each passing minute.

"I'd like you to turn over now," Jamal says after thoroughly working both legs. "I'll hold the towel up so you can turn while staying covered."

The request sends a spike of panic through Megan. Turning over means facing Jamal, which means her breasts will be barely concealed beneath the towel, and he might see the flush of arousal she can feel spreading across her skin.

"Is that necessary?" she asks, stalling.

"The front of the body holds tension too," Jamal explains patiently. "Especially the shoulders, neck, and abdomen. It's standard practice in a full-body massage."

After a moment's hesitation, Megan nods. Jamal holds the towel up like a screen, and she turns beneath it, settling onto her back. The towel is replaced over her body from collarbones to feet, but she feels more exposed than ever.

In the living room, Nathan nearly comes in his pants at the sight of his wife's face, flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and unwitting arousal. He can see the hard peaks of her nipples pressing against the towel, a clear sign of her body's response despite her hesitation.

Jamal begins working on her shoulders and neck, his position at the head of the table bringing his face close to hers. Their eyes meet occasionally, and each time, Megan quickly looks away, confused by the heat building low in her belly.

Gradually, his hands move down to her collarbones, then lower, adjusting the towel to expose her upper chest while keeping her breasts covered. With each passing minute, the towel is shifted lower, until finally, his hands brush against the upper swells of her breasts.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice lower than before.

Megan should say no. Every rational part of her mind screams that this has gone too far. But the sensation of his strong hands on her sensitive skin feels too good to stop. "Yes," she whispers, barely audible over the soft music.

Taking her consent, Jamal lowers the towel to her waist, fully exposing her breasts. His hands move over them with seeming professionalism, but his touch lingers, fingers occasionally brushing against her hardened nipples. Each contact sends electric shocks straight to her core.

"Oh," she gasps when his thumb deliberately circles one nipple.

"Tension can be held in breast tissue too," Jamal explains, the professional veneer growing thinner as his own arousal becomes harder to conceal. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes," Megan admits, shame coloring her cheeks even as pleasure courses through her body. "But I don't think this is standard massage practice."

Jamal's hands continue their exploration, one now openly massaging her breast while the other reaches for something on the side table. "I incorporate elements of tantric massage in my practice," he says, the lie flowing easily. "It releases different kinds of tension."

Before Megan can question this, she feels something vibrating against her thigh. Her eyes widen as she realizes what it is—a small, handheld vibrator.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice trembling.

"Enhancing the experience," Jamal says, moving the vibrator along her inner thigh while his other hand continues to caress her breast. "If you want me to stop, just say so."

In the living room, Nathan is practically panting as he watches his wife's expression shift from shock to curiosity to unmistakable pleasure as the vibrator moves higher. He's fully hard now, his hand working inside his pants as he witnesses exactly what he's fantasized about for months.

Megan knows she should stop this. It's gone far beyond a professional massage, far beyond what she agrees to. But the dual sensation of Jamal's hand on her breast and the vibrator sending waves of pleasure through her lower body is overwhelming. Her hips lift slightly from the table, unconsciously seeking more.

"That's it," Jamal encourages, his voice thick with desire. "Let yourself feel good."

The vibrator moves higher, finally making contact with her center. Megan gasps, her back arching as intense pleasure shoots through her. "Oh god," she moans, all thoughts of propriety evaporating in the face of raw sensation.

Jamal's control begins to slip as he watches her respond. In one swift movement, he pulls the towel completely away, leaving her fully exposed on the table. Before she can protest, he spreads her legs wider and replaces the vibrator with his mouth, his tongue finding her most sensitive spot with unerring accuracy.

"Jamal!" Megan cries out, shock mingling with incredible pleasure. "We shouldn't—Nathan—"

But her protests die on her lips as his tongue works magic against her flesh. Her hands find their way to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as her body betrays her completely.

"Oh god, oh god," she chants, her hips rising to meet his mouth.

In the living room, Nathan watches in fascinated arousal as his wife writhes under another man's touch, her inhibitions falling away completely. This is exactly what he wants—to see her lose control, to see her surrender to pleasure she never thought she'd accept.

Megan's mind splinters with conflicting emotions—shame at her betrayal, confusion at her response, and overwhelming pleasure unlike anything she's experienced before.

"I shouldn't be enjoying this so much," she thinks, even as her body climbs toward an inevitable peak.

Every rational thought in Megan's skull shrieks at her to stop this, but her body doesn't listen. The instant Jamal's tongue presses against her clit, a flood of wet heat pools at her core, her hips rolling involuntarily into his mouth. She tries to twist away, to shut her knees, but his grip is ironclad and her muscles betray her—she's never been this helplessly aroused, not even with Nathan, not even in her most unguarded nights alone.

The sting of shame is sharp, but pleasure drowns it, over and over, each lap of Jamal's tongue a fresh, raw shock that explodes her from within. Her thighs tremble against Jamal's cheeks as he laps and sucks, alternating ruthless flicks with torturous circles, and the muscles in her stomach pull taut like a live wire. She clutches the vinyl edge of the massage table, nails biting into the padding.

"Jamal, please—" but the words come out in a whimper, totally unconvincing.

Jamal doesn't answer. He knows exactly what he's doing—knows that every protest only heightens the charge in her nervous system, that her voice is only a thin membrane stretched over the animal urge beneath. His hand slips down and stealthfully lowers his sweat pants, freeing his aching cock.

The cool air prickles his skin, but he keeps his movements slow, controlled, drawing out the tension for both of them. He strokes himself in a steady rhythm, the slick sounds nearly drowned by Megan's desperate, rising moans. "Oh, Jamal," she moans. "I’m going too— Oh God!”

Jamal withdraws with a wet pop, the sudden absence of his tongue almost a physical ache, and before Megan can process the loss, something hot and impossibly hard presses slick and urgent against her entrance.

Megan looks down in shock as she sees the most enormous, hard cock resting over her mound.

She gasps, "Jamal! Oh God! What… What are you doing?” The sound is sharp and animal, twisting to look at him in alarm.

"What you really want me to do,” Jamal says, pushing forward slightly, dragging the crown slowly through her folds, collecting her wetness, nudging at the opening with a maddening patience. She feels her wetness, welcoming him. "I can feel your body is begging for it, Megan."

And he's right—despite her mental protests, her body shudders, not quite ready to accept the full truth of her surrender.

Jamal knows. He sees the way her legs tremble, the involuntary tilt of her hips, the way her hands reach back to clutch at him. He guides himself slowly, deliberately, teasing her opening with the head of his cock, letting the heat from her pull him in incrementally until the tip breaches her.

“That’s it, Meg,” he says. “Give in to what you want to happen.”

She sobs, "Please, please, this isn’t—" but Jamal slides forward, the thick length nudging into her only an inch, causing her to moan loudly, “Oh God! It’s so big!”

Jamal keeps her spread, his hand gripping her waist, not letting her hips squirm away.

“Christ,” he murmurs, his voice deep and slow, “You're so fucking tight, Megan...” His cock pushes forward again, stretching her, prying her open a little more with each slow thrust.

Oh God, please. You’re too big,” Megan shouts. Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps as Jamal’s cock pushes deeper inside her, stretching her wider than she’s ever felt before.

The burn and fullness ride over her nerves in a dizzying wave, and her hands clutch helplessly at the massage table, knuckles white, muscles taut as she screams, “Oh fuck, I don’t think I can take any more!”

“Oh, I think you can, Meg,” he huffs as he then pushes inside her with one long, smooth stroke, filling her completely.

Megan's resistance crumbles entirely. A loud moan escapes her lips, her legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord.

"That's it," Jamal growls, beginning to thrust in earnest. "Take it all."

In the living room, Nathan is entirely consumed by the sight of his wife being taken by another man. Her expressions of pleasure, the way her body moves in rhythm with Jamal's thrusts, the sounds she makes—all of it feeds his voyeuristic desire. His fantasy made flesh is even better than he imagines.

On the massage table, Megan surrenders completely to Jamal’s massive cock. She’s never felt so utterly filled in her life. The stretch burns, but it’s a sharp, exquisite ache, and as Jamal sets a slow, relentless rhythm, her body’s resistance dissolves into raw, greedy need.

“Oh my god,” Megan’s head falls back, sweat beading along her hairline, her thighs jerking open wider to accommodate Jamal’s massive cock. He drives into her in long, grinding thrusts, bottoming out each time until she feels her whole body stretching to fit him.

Megan can’t help herself—her cries fill the room and her body shakes as wave after wave of pleasure crests through her.

Jamal's thrusts grow harder, deeper, hitting spots inside her that make her see stars. The wrongness of it all—cheating on Nathan, letting Jamal take her this way—only seems to heighten her pleasure, adding a forbidden thrill to each thrust.

"Fuck, Megan," he growls through clenched teeth, his fingers digging bruises into her hips, "your pussy's strangling my cock. Tell me how bad you need this."

The words make her flush, and she tries to bite back the words, but the feeling is too much—every thrust makes her nerves sing, every movement draws another needy moan from her throat.

“You bastard,” she gasps, unable to stop herself. “You’re making me like it!”

“Yes, I am,” Jamal croaks. “And now I’m going to make you love it,” letting his thrusts grow deeper and harder, his hips slapping against her bare ass as he drives every inch of himself inside her.

The massage table squeaks beneath them, the vinyl sticking to Megan’s slick skin. Her hands scrabble for purchase, nails claw at his back and shoulders while her body grinds greedily against every new inch. “Oh, fuck, Jamal!” Megan howls, her voice bouncing off the walls. She can’t believe how completely she’s given up—how much she wants this, needs this—her pussy clenching desperately around Jamal’s cock, the thick shaft pulsing as Jamal pistons it into her soaking wet pussy.

Nathan jerks himself off desperately as he watches, eyes glued to the screen. He can’t believe the woman writhing and moaning, begging for more, is his own wife. Every time Jamal’s hips slam into her, his own balls tighten, threatening to explode at any second.

He strokes himself furiously, as every wet slap and scream from Megan’s mouth drives him closer to the edge. Inside the bedroom, Jamal pounds into Megan mercilessly, each thrust slamming her hips against the vinyl, each thrust driving her higher and higher, shattering every last scrap of resistance.

"Oh god, Oh god, I'm going to, tooo—" she cries out as her orgasm builds, more potent than any she's experienced before.

"Come for me," Jamal demands, his pace increasing as he nears his own climax. "Come on my cock."

Megan shatters, her back arching off the table as waves of intense pleasure crash through her body. Her inner walls clench around Jamal's cock, drawing him deeper as she rides out her orgasm.

Jamal doesn’t slow up as he fucks her through her orgasm and says, fuck your pussy feels so good coming over my cock, but "I'm not finished with you yet, my dear. I’ve wanted to fuck you like this for way too long to let you only come once on my dick. By the time I’m done, you won’t want anybody else but me inside you." The threat in Jamal's voice stuns her body into stillness, her heartbeat hammering even faster.

He pounds into her, relentless now, picking up a tempo that feels almost punishing. The slap of their bodies echoes in the dim room, the smell of sweat and sex overpowering the faint lavender oil and candle wax. Every thrust jostles the table under her, her bare breasts and hair bouncing with each impact. She can hear herself—ragged, gasping, a high animal whimper that can't possibly be her own voice. It should appall her, but the shame only burrows deeper, twisting in her sex and threatening to make her come again, right on the heels of the last.

"You're going to make me come again," she gasps, voice thin and desperate and almost unrecognizable. "Jamal, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he grinds out, cock pistoning inside her, hands holding her hips so tight she's sure there will be bruises. "You can take it. You're a natural, Meg. This is what your body was made for."

The second orgasm hits her even harder, ripping a scream from her as her body convulses, slick and open and so sensitive she thinks she might pass out, unable to contain the wail that rips loose from her chest. It's more than just the orgasm—it's the release of guilt and fear and the delicious, monstrous wrongness of it all, battering her until her nerves go white-hot and then numb.

Jamal fucks her through it, his own control wavering as Megan's walls grip him tight. The last shreds of protocol and professional restraint vanish. He doesn't ask if she's on birth control, doesn't pull out, doesn't even slow down—the only thought left is to fill her, to claim her in a way that's messy and final.

Megan feels the sudden throb deep inside her and gasps, "Jamal—pull out—oh God!”

Jamal’s cock swells and pulses inside her, and Megan can feel the heat and pressure as he empties himself, deep, deeper than she thought possible.

The heat of his orgasm sets off a fresh round of spasms in Megan, who, impossibly, comes again as she feels him pulse and fill her. For a second, they are a single, shuddering mass of flesh, sweat, and shock, and then the world collapses into a haze of aftershocks and floating heat.

His fingers dig into her hips as he holds himself deep inside her, his body still quivering with release. Jamal's eyes drift upward to a spot on the ceiling where the hidden camera is, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he savors the moment, a secret satisfaction written across his face.

Nathan's shocked. He never expects his friend to come inside his wife, but it excites him, and he moans, his hand gripped tight around his cock as he jerks himself desperately, the image of Jamal’s thick shaft pumping in and out of Megan’s spasming pussy burned into his mind. He barely registers his own hoarse groans as his balls tighten and his cock pulses, ropes of cum shooting onto his chest and up his stomach, sticky and hot. He grunts, shudders, hand pumping hard, while on the screen, Jamal’s cock is still buried deep inside Megan, the creamy aftermath leaking out around the thick shaft.

Megan lies there, trembling, her mind shattered by pleasure and guilt.

“You… You came inside me,” Megan whispers.

With his semi-hard cock buried deep inside her, Jamal repositions himself, roughly grabbing her ankles and draping her trembling legs over his broad shoulders. He leans forward, the new angle forcing him impossibly deeper into her dripping sex. His hot breath tickles her ear as he whispers,

"I did pump you full of my cum, and when your pussy stops quivering around my dick, I'm going to flood your womb again."

Megan's thighs tremble on Jamal's shoulders, the massage table groaning beneath them. Each withdrawal sends shocks through her hypersensitive body. Pleasure and shame war inside her as she feels him hardening again.

"Jamal—my husband!" she gasps.

"What about him, Meg?" Jamal's teeth graze her earlobe as he pins her wrists above her head. "Can your husband ever fuck you this good, huh? Or do you need more of this big cock?”

Megan’s head thrashes side to side, mind on fire—her pussy milking Jamal’s cock even as her lips form protests:

Please, Jamal. Nathan’s right in the other room—”

Jamal plunges into her with a reckless force that makes Megan scream out in shock and ecstasy. The table shudders with every pounding thrust, her breasts bouncing wildly as his cock stretches her to the limit. He fucks her hard, not giving her a moment to catch her breath, or even think—just using her, pounding her, stretching her open for his cock and filling her over and over. Every time Jamal slams into her, Megan’s pussy clutches desperately at his cock, milking him, begging for more. He feels her pussy clamp down on him, and it drives him wild.

"God, you're squeezing me so tight," he growls, slamming into her with animal force. "You want me to fill you again, don't you, Megan? Want me to breed you right here while your husband waits in the next room, don’t you, slut?”

Megan’s mind is a whiteout, blank except for the wild need to keep Jamal’s cock inside her. The shame, the guilt of cheating on her husband with his best friend, becomes a burning fuel—she can’t stop moaning, can’t stop lifting her hips.

She’s moaning so loud now that Nathan is honestly shocked Jamal hasn’t clamped a hand over her mouth. He can’t stand it anymore. The sounds coming from the TV—the slap of flesh, the filthy taunts, Megan’s wild, animal moans—push him past the thin veneer of polite waiting. He needs to see it, to smell it, to witness his wife’s surrender in the flesh, not through a TV screen.

Nathan’s steps are unsteady as he stumbles down the hallway, cock still slick with his own cum, his shirt half untucked, breath coming in ragged bursts. He can hear them—Megan’s frantic, pleading cries, the slap of Jamal’s hips against her soaked pussy—and his legs nearly buckle from the shock and the heat in his groin. He’s at the door—hears Megan’s voice begging, the slap of Jamal’s hips, the creak of the massage table. It’s a furnace in there, the scent of sex and sweat and candle wax so thick he can taste it.

Nathan’s hand shakes as he curls his fingers around the door handle, his heart pounding, mouth dry. The noises from inside—the grunts, the slap of flesh, Megan’s hoarse, desperate moans—fuel the beast inside him. He pushes the door open, and what he sees makes him nearly collapse.

Megan is splayed open on the table—her legs straining over Jamal’s broad shoulders, his cock buried to the hilt in her slick, used pussy.

The towel is gone. The sheet is tangled under her. Jamal’s hands are locked tight around her wrists, pinning them above her head, his hips pistoning into her. It's so raw, so filthy, so fucking real, Nathan almost loses it again just from the sight.

Jamal's back is slick with sweat, muscles rippling as he pistons in and out of Megan's battered pussy, her whole body jerking on every savage thrust.

"Nathan—" Megan gasps, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening with shock that quickly dissolves into something darker—a mixture of humiliation and unmistakable arousal.

Jamal doesn't slow his rhythm for a second, his powerful hips continuing their relentless assault. His eyes find Nathan's across the room, and his mouth twists into a predatory grin.

"Just give us a minute, man," he pants between thrusts. "Your wife's about to explode all over me one more time."

“I’m so sorry,” Megan begs, her voice breaking as she writhes under Jamal, and her eyes, wide and wet, lock on her husband. “Nathan— Please don’t look.”

“It’s okay, Meg,” Nathan says. “I’ve wanted to see you like this. I’ve wanted to see you let go for someone else for a while now.”

No… This can’t be true, she thinks, “He… he couldn’t want to see this happen.

But the look in Nathan’s eyes is all hunger and awe—no disgust, no betrayal. His cock is out, hard again, glistening with his own cum. He strokes it as he steps inside, his gaze never leaving the scene on the table.

Megan’s face crumples, her body and mind fracture wide open, shame and lust collide, a wild pulse of heat shoots through her as she stares up at Nathan—her husband, her partner, watching her get fucked, wanting her like this, wanting to see Jamal conquer her. Her pussy clamps even tighter around Jamal’s cock as she locks eyes with Nathan. The humiliation is so thick it chokes her, yet it’s nothing compared to the wild pulse of need that explodes inside her when she sees her husband’s hand stroking his own cock, eyes glued to where Jamal is fucking her.

“Oh god. Oh god. Nathan, please!” Megan’s cries fill the room, the shame of her husband watching her get pounded only making her body yield even more. Jamal’s cock pistons in and out of her, savagely stretching her battered pussy, making the massage table creak and jerk against the massage table, and Megan’s mind is a blank, reeling with the shock of her own depravity.

Jamal’s hands grip Megan’s hips, hauling her to the very edge of the table so he can fuck her with long, brutal strokes.

“You hear how wet you are, Megan?” he snarls, not breaking rhythm for a second as his cock hammers into Megan’s sopping cunt. "You’re fucking soaking me, Meg. You love getting fucked while your husband watches, don’t you?"

The words explode in her head, each one a whip across her raw nerves. Her cheeks are burning, tears streaking down the sides of her face, but her hips won’t stop moving, chasing every savage thrust.

“Yes! Yes, I love it! Oh fuck, Jamal, don’t stop, please, I need it! Don’t stop, keep fucking me! I need you to fill me up again, please—oh god, please!”

Jamal’s sweat drips onto Megan’s shuddering belly as he fucks her with brutal, steady strokes. Her legs are wide open, spread so far they tremble, her pussy quivering and dripping wet, so open and used she can barely keep her hips on the table.

"That's it, Megan! Take my cock! Take every fucking inch!" Jamal grabs her ass and pounds her so hard the table rattles across the floor, every thrust sending a spray of wetness out around her clit and thighs. The sound of bodies colliding, wet and primal, fills the room, and Megan’s mind shatters again at the debauched pleasure of being taken so utterly—before her husband, by his best friend, her own body the battlefield of their wildest, most forbidden fantasy.

Nathan’s hand moves faster on his cock, the sight of Jamal pounding Megan making his whole body tense and shudder. He’s never seen anything like it—his wife, reduced to a helpless mess, her face smeared with tears and sweat, her body used, stretched, and conquered by another man, all because he orchestrated it all, gave her up to this absolute, merciless pleasure.

Megan’s body jerks and quakes with every savage slam of Jamal’s hips. She can feel her orgasm clawing up from her core, like a wild animal desperate to tear itself loose. Her toes curl, her back arches, her hips grind up to meet Jamal’s battering cock, every nerve-ending in her body electrified. The shame of Nathan watching only twists the pleasure tighter—she teeters right on the edge, her eyes locked on Nathan’s, her body no longer hers at all, but a vessel for their filthy, unstoppable need.

“Fffuck!” she yells as her whole body goes rigid as her orgasm tears through her, her mouth wide open, her eyes rolling, every muscle straining and locked. Her voice cracks on a scream, higher and rawer than she’s ever heard from herself, the sound echoing in the small room. Her pussy clamps down on Jamal’s massive cock, squeezing and milking him, and the sensation rips the last control from Jamal’s body.

He slams into her with a final, brutal thrust, and cums hard, pumping thick, hot jets deep into her clenching pussy.

Megan's scream is wild, raw, her entire body arching as she cums, Jamal’s cock buried inside her, her pussy sucking every last drop from his balls.

Jamal holds her tight, pinning her to the edge of the table, his own growl joining her wild scream as he pumps her full a second time, the thick rush of cum so hot and deep the heat of the load flooding her insides.

He strokes himself furiously, his eyes fixated on the filthy sight of his wife’s pussy stretched wide, gaping around Jamal’s thick shaft, his creamy cum leaking from around that dark shaft, splattering down Megan’s ass and pooling under her. The sight pushes Nathan past the edge a second time.

Behind slit eyes, Megan sees Nathan feverishly jerking off, his cock visibly twitching and leaking pre-cum as his breathing grows wild and hectic.

The sight—her husband, staring with open hunger, hand wrapped tight around his own cock, desperate to come from the sight of her being fucked raw—does something to Megan that even Jamal’s relentless assault can’t do.

Her pussy squirms, needy, on Jamal's still-throbbing cock, but her eyes are for Nathan now—his obscene arousal, the way he's biting his lip and jerking faster, lost in the sight of her being ruined by another man. A strange, ferocious pride blooms inside her: she wants to show Nathan, right here and now, that she can be even filthier than he ever dreamed.

His legs buckle on the table as Jamal pulls out, his cock still wet and twitching, cum oozing from her battered, gaping sex. Megan’s head spins as she looks at Nathan and then, in a move that surprises all three of them—her most of all—she’s off the table, stumbling to her feet with shaky, cum-dripping thighs, and crawling to Nathan on her hands and knees like a woman possessed.

Nathan is stunned, frozen, as his wife kneels before him, her face tilted up, hair in her mouth, and Jamal’s cum streaming down her shaking thighs.

She doesn’t ask for permission. She takes Nathan’s cock in her fist and buries it between her lips, sucking him deep, never looking away from his eyes, her face smeared with lust and sweat.

Nathan’s moans echo off the hallway as Megan gags herself on his cock, raw and hungry, desperate to taste her own final humiliation.

“Oh God! Fuck! Honey— I’m—” Nathan can't even finish the warning—his cock jerks and explodes, blasting hot cum in thick pulses onto Megan's tongue and lips, the taste of him mixing with the tang of Jamal's still-pooling seed.

Megan swallows hungrily, moaning as she devours every drop, then pulls off with a filthy, satisfied moan and collapses against Nathan’s sticky thigh.

Nathan, dazed and trembling, looks down at his wife—his beautiful, used, ruined wife—and feels a surge of pride and possession unlike anything he’s ever known. Slowly, he lifts her to her feet and holds her tightly as Megan’s breathing slows, the aftershocks of the most intense experience of her life still shuddering through her body.

She’s never felt like this—so broken open, so helplessly raw, so dizzy and delirious with satisfaction and shame.

Nathan cradles her, his own hands trembling as they run along her back, cupping her shoulders as if she might come apart.

“Let’s go home,” Nathan says softly, helping her gather her clothes with trembling hands. She glances back at Jamal, who’s sprawled on the massage table, cock half-hard and glistening in the aftermath, eyes closed in exhausted satisfaction. The glance is quick, nervous—a little hungry, too.

Nathan notes it with a thrill as he whispers, "How about tomorrow we invite him over for dinner?"

Megan's lips twitch in exhausted disbelief as she leans into her husband, still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure and humiliation, and says, “Only if he brings his own dessert.” Her tone is tart, but her eyes are dancing.

Nathan grins, sweat and afterglow making his face look years younger. “That can be arranged.”

—————————————————————-

Night falls around their home like a curtain closing on the day's performance. Clean and spent, Nathan lies beside Megan, his arm a gentle weight across her bare skin. The afternoon's events play behind his closed eyes—a reel of images that have already altered the landscape of their marriage, transforming them both into people they hadn't known existed beneath their ordinary lives.

Megan is quiet for a long time, her body curled into Nathan’s, hair fanned across his chest. She stares at the ceiling, fingers tracing random patterns on his skin, her mind an exhausted blank. But as her eyelids droop, Nathan feels her hand on his chest, a gentle pressure that is apologetic and grateful and something else—almost possessive.

“I love you,” he says. “More than anything in this world.”

Megan murmurs. “Even when you’re a pervert.”

Nathan laughs softly against her hair. "That's when I love you most." His voice wraps around her like another blanket, and as he draws her against his chest, she melts into him. Under his palm, her skin still hums with aftershocks, tiny electrical currents that pulse beneath his fingertips.

In the shadowed room, their breathing syncs, each inhalation and exhalation is a benediction that seals the night’s wild pact—some new covenant between them, born not of words but of mutual, unfiltered, animal need and a secret trust.