It had been a week since I met Mason. I’d thought about him, sure, but I hadn’t touched my phone to text him. I was standing under the hot spray of our walk-in shower when the glass door slid open. This shower was a good size, a proper wet room we had installed last year. It used to be our playground. We must have fucked in there a hundred times, slippery and wild against the tiles, the water drowning out our noise. 

To my surprise, Ethan appeared and stepped inside. He was naked and looked vulnerable in the steam. He moved carefully, minding his footing on the wet floor, a stark difference from how he used to grab me and pin me to the wall. He picked up the sponge from the rack and squeezed some gel onto it. "Let me do that," he whispered, stepping behind me. He started scrubbing my back, his hand moving in slow, gentle circles.

I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. It felt nice, loving even, but it wasn't the raw passion we used to have. His soft cock brushed against my arse as he moved closer. I waited for him to harden, to press into me like he used to, but there was nothing, just the soft slide of his skin against mine. 

I turned in the shower to face him. I reached down, wanting to wrap my hand around him and try one last time, but he caught my wrist. He moved my hand away gently, but firmly, shaking his head. That was the final straw. I pulled my arm back and stepped away from him, the water crashing down between us. "For fucks sake, Ethan," I snapped, my voice echoing off the tiled walls. "You need to see that physio. The doctors said if you keep having physio, things could get better. ”

He looked hurt, but I didn't back down. "I am trying, Nat," he argued, wiping water from his eyes. 

I shook my head, feeling the frustration bubbling up in my chest. “You're not trying hard enough. Look at us, Ethan. We are standing in our shower, where we used to have amazing sex, and now we can't even touch each other without you panicking. You are miserable, and I am going out of my mind. Just let me call him!"

Ethan slumped against the wet wall, the fight draining out of him. "I hate this," he whispered, his voice cracking over the sound of the water. "I hate this. I look at you, and I want us to be passionate again, but my body is just dead. I want you to be happy, Nat." 

I stepped closer and put my hands on his wet shoulders. "I want you to be happy too, babe. That is all I want. And fixing this is the only way." 

He looked at me for a long second, defeated. "Okay," he said quietly. "Call him.”

The anger melted away as soon as he agreed. I stepped into him and wrapped my arms around his wet, slippery waist. He hugged me back, burying his face in my neck, and we just stood there under the hot water for a long time. It wasn't sexual, but it was close. We kissed, soft and slow, the water running over our faces and washing away the argument. I washed him properly then, taking my time to soap up his chest and arms, just enjoying the feel of him, without the pressure of trying to make something happen that wasn't there.

When I turned the water off, the sudden silence in the bathroom felt heavy. We grabbed our towels and started drying off. Ethan sat on the closed toilet seat, a towel draped over his lap, while I wrapped my hair in a turban. He looked up at me, his blue eyes serious and searching. "Nat, be honest with me," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "How bad is it for you? You know, bedroom activity. Don't sugarcoat it.”

I stopped drying my leg and looked at him. He had asked for the truth, but looking at his worried face, I couldn't bring myself to kick him while he was down. "It is not that bad, babe," I replied, forcing a reassuring smile. "Sex isn't the most important thing to me, you are. I am fine, honestly." It wasn't a lie. He was more important than sex, but my deprived pussy was screaming. I tried to push the feeling down.

“I know you," he continued, his voice rough and low. "I know how high your sex drive is. The same as mine before the accident." He got up and stood in front of me. His hand slid down my wet stomach and moved between my legs. He cupped me firmly, his fingers digging in to find the proof of my frustration. "Stop pretending," he growled, pressing his hand against my heat. "Admit it.”

My breath hitched as his fingers worked against me. "Fuck that feels good," I gasped, and the words slipped out. "I really need it, Ethan." 

He nodded against my neck, his grip on me tight and possessive. "Thought so," he said, finally pulling his hand away. "Then text the physio. Get him over here.”

His words hung in the humid air between us. "Get him over here." The way he said it sent a shiver straight down my spine. It didn't sound like he was just asking for a physio appointment to fix his back. It sounded like he was ordering a stud to come over and fuck my brains out because he couldn't do the job himself. He just stared back with a mix of deep sadness and hard determination.

He kissed my neck softly, sending a shiver down my spine as he disappointingly removed his hand and put his arms around me. "This guy had better not be good-looking," he murmured against my ear. "If some stud walks in here while you are climbing the walls for sex, I don't stand a chance”. He squeezed my waist, trying to keep the mood light, and gave me a coy smile.

I forced a laugh, burying my face in the towel to hide the flush rising in my cheeks as I dried my hair. "Don't be silly," I said, my voice muffled but hopefully steady enough to convince him. "He lives with his mum, for God's sake. He's just a professional who wants to help a neighbour." It was a bald-faced lie by omission, but I couldn't tell him that the man coming to fix his back was the same walking Adonis who had already had his heavy hand on my thigh in his kitchen. Ethan seemed satisfied with that, kissing my forehead before limping out of the bathroom to get dressed.

I picked up my phone and messaged him. Nothing sinister, no secret code, I just asked him if he was free to see Ethan. 

I reached for the bottle of coconut moisturiser on the vanity, pumping a generous amount into my palms. My skin felt tight after the hot shower, and the scent usually calmed me down, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. I started rubbing the cream into my legs, the smooth slide of my hands making me think of Ethan’s touch earlier—and then, inevitably, Mason's. Just as I was leaning over to get my ankles, my phone buzzed on the countertop. I snatched it up, my fingers a bit slippery from the lotion.

It was him. My pulse spiked as I read the screen: I can clear a gap at lunchtime if that works for you both? Just send over your address, and I’ll head over after my morning session.

He didn't add any emojis or flirty comments this time, but the directness of it felt just as heavy.

Lunchtime is perfect. See you then, I replied.

Ethan must have gone downstairs, as the bedroom was empty. I stood in front of the open wardrobe, chewing my bottom lip. The room was warm, the midday sun beating against the windows. My phone lay on the dresser, Mason's text still fresh in my mind. 'Those black leather leggings looked absolutely incredible on you.'

My hand hovered over the hanger holding the leather trousers. Part of me knew I shouldn’t put them on. But another part of me hesitated. If I walked down dressed in those on a hot Tuesday afternoon, it might be too obvious.

I pushed the hangers along the rail, the metal scraping softly. I had options. I could go for the innocent housewife look, the sporty gym girl look, or just brazen it out with the leather. My heart beat faster just thinking about him walking through the door in less than an hour. I grabbed a few items and threw them on the bed to decide.

I decided the leather was too much for the heatwave, so I went for something lighter but just as dangerous. I pulled on a white, high-waisted mini skirt with ruffles that flared out around my thighs. It was very short, finishing high up my legs, and felt incredibly airy. I tucked a tight pink vest top into the waistband to show off my shape. I checked the mirror and spun around. The skirt flew up easily, exposing the tops of my legs. It looked innocent and summery at a glance.

I walked downstairs, and Ethan was lying on the sofa with a pillow behind his head. As soon as I walked in, his eyes dropped to my legs and stayed there. He looked me up and down with a smirk. "Hello," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You look nice, Nat. Making a special effort for the physio, are we?"

I laughed and waved him off. "Don't be daft, honey," I said, keeping my voice light. "I just threw this on. It is absolutely boiling outside, and I couldn't face wearing jeans." I sat on the arm of the chair, knowing full well that the hem of my skirt was riding up dangerously high on my thighs.

"Come here," Ethan said, shifting awkwardly on the sofa to face me. He reached out and placed his hand firmly on my bare thigh, his fingers curling around the soft flesh just below the hem of the white skirt. "I like it when you get your legs out," he murmured, his eyes travelling up my legs, with a look of appreciation. "You have great legs, Nat. You shouldn't hide them away."

I smiled, playing the devoted wife perfectly. I leaned over, and I pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "I know you do," I whispered against his mouth. "That is the other reason why I put it on. I thought it might cheer you up a bit while you're feeling rubbish." It was a lie, of course—or at least, mostly a lie. The skirt was definitely for an audience, but which man was I trying to impress? 

I told Ethan I needed to burn off some energy, so I spent the next hour fluttering around the downstairs rooms. I straightened cushions that were already perfect and wiped down the coffee table three times, just trying to keep my hands busy. Finally, at just past one o'clock, the sharp chime of the doorbell echoed through the hallway. I took a deep breath, smoothed the ruffles of my short skirt, and walked to the front door with my heart hammering against my ribs.

I swung the door open, and the air left my lungs. He looked even bigger than I remembered. Mason filled the door frame, looking every inch the professional athlete. He was wearing navy blue tracksuit bottoms that hung low on his hips and a tight white Chelsea FC polo shirt that was struggling to contain his upper body. The fabric strained tight across his biceps, and the buttons looked like they were fighting a losing battle against his thick chest muscles. He held a black portable massage table in one hand, as if it were a briefcase, looking calm and completely in control.

His dark eyes met mine for a second, and then, quite deliberately, his eyes dropped. He raked his vision slowly down my body, lingering on my bare thighs exposed by the short white skirt. I saw his jaw tighten slightly as he took in the view of my legs. The air between us crackled with the same electric heat from his kitchen. He looked back up, his eyes dark with appreciation. "Hi Natalie," he rumbled, his voice deep and smooth. 

I stepped back, my skin prickling under his attention. "Hi, Mason," I managed to say, my voice a little breathless. "Come on in.”

He stepped over the threshold, and the hallway instantly felt claustrophobic. His shoulders seemed to brush both walls at once, and the scent of expensive, masculine cologne filled the small space, masking the smell of my cleaning products. He looked around, nodding his head slowly as he took in the decor. "You have got a lovely place here," he said, flashing me that brilliant white smile. "Very modern." 

I mumbled, quickly saying thank you, acutely aware of how close he was standing to me, and led him through the door into the lounge.

Ethan was still lying on the sofa, propped up on some cushions. He looked up as we walked in, and I saw his eyes actually widen in genuine shock. He had clearly been expecting someone else, not this six-foot-plus wall of muscle standing in his living room. Mason looked like he could snap a goalpost in half. The silence stretched for a second too long, as my husband just stared at the other man.

Mason broke the tension first, lifting the black massage case slightly. "Where is the best place to set this up, mate?" he asked, his voice easy and commanding. "I need a bit of room to work around you." 

Ethan pulled himself up a bit, his eyes flicking to the club crest on Mason's white polo shirt. He let out a dry, humourless laugh. "Chelsea, is it?" he scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed. "I suppose you're used to overpaid prima donnas falling over nothing?”

Mason didn't seem bothered by the dig at all. He just let out a deep, relaxed chuckle. "Something like that," he grinned, stepping forward to offer a hand. "I'm Mason. Good to meet you." Ethan shook his hand with a hard grip, obviously trying to express his masculinity. 

I quickly moved to drag the heavy oak coffee table out of the way to make space, but Mason was there in a flash. "Leave that, Natalie," he said softly. He reached out and grabbed the solid wood table. He slid it across the carpet with one hand as if it were made of cardboard. 

Mason unfolded the black massage bed in the centre of the room with a few clicks. "Do I really need to get on that?" Ethan asked, eyeing the narrow leather surface suspiciously. 

"Yeah, I need you completely flat," Mason replied, patting the table. "Top and trousers off, please, mate. Just down to your boxers." 

Ethan hesitated visibly. I knew he hated his current body, the new soft belly and the loss of definition. He looked at Mason's powerful frame, then down at himself. He sighed and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He looked vulnerable as he pushed his tracksuit bottoms down, revealing his grey boxers and his thin legs.

"Shall I go into the kitchen?" I asked, pointing to the door. "I can give you boys some privacy." 

Mason shook his head immediately. "No, stay here, Natalie," he commanded, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "I need you to watch this. If this works, you will need to learn how to do the basic massage techniques yourself to help him between sessions." 

He turned his attention to Ethan's back, tracing the spine with a large finger. "I am going to release the fascia around the lumbar vertebrae," he explained, his voice turning serious and professional. "It is going to be intense pressure. I need to force the muscles to let go of the trapped nerve.”

Ethan gripped the edge of the black table, trying to haul his weight up, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He grunted, his face flushing with embarrassment as he slipped back down. Mason didn't say a word. He just stepped in, wrapped his massive arms around Ethan’s waist, and lifted him onto the leather surface as if he were a feather. It was so effortless that it made my husband look like a child in his arms. Mason positioned him face down, his face resting in the cradle, leaving his pale back completely exposed.

Mason reached for the bottle of oil on the floor. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm and rubbed his hands together. The squelching sound was loud in the quiet room, and the smell of eucalyptus filled the air. He placed his large, oiled hands onto Ethan’s lower back. 

Ethan hissed through his teeth and flinched immediately at the contact. "Yeah, you are in a bad way, mate," Mason murmured, his fingers digging into the soft flesh around Ethan's spine. "I can feel the tension straight away. It is rock solid down here."

He didn't look up, but he beckoned me with a nod. "Come here, Natalie," he said, his voice low. "You can't learn anything standing over there." I walked over and stood right next to him. I was so close that his arm brushed against mine as he worked. The heat coming off his body was incredible, like standing next to a radiator. I looked down at his hands working on my husband, but it was hard to focus when the physio’s broad shoulder was practically touching my face.

Mason leaned his whole body weight into his hands, his triceps flexing hard under the tight white polo shirt. "Tell me if it gets too sharp, Ethan," he said calmly, digging his thumbs deep into the base of Ethan's spine. Ethan let out a loud, muffled groan into the face cradle that echoed in the living room. It sounded painful, but Mason didn't stop. He kept grinding his thumbs in, with ruthless efficiency. "Breathe through it, mate," Mason instructed, his voice steady and commanding while my husband writhed a little under the immense pressure.

Mason didn't look up, but he spoke to me while he worked. "Can you see what I am doing here, Natalie?" He slowed the movement down so I could track it. "I am using the heel of my hand to pin the muscle, then driving the thumb down the nerve line. You have to be aggressive with it. If you are too gentle, the muscle tightens up more to protect itself." I watched his large hands manipulating Ethan's pale skin. It looked brutal, but I could see the muscles actually twitching and releasing under his touch.

“Right, your turn," he said, his voice dropping a little lower. "You need to feel how much resistance there is so you know what we are dealing with." He grabbed the bottle of oil from the floor and held it up. "Hold your hands out." It was an order, not a request.

I held my palms out flat in front of him, feeling a bit like a schoolgirl. Mason squeezed the bottle, and a warm pool of oil spilt into my cupped hands. "Rub them together to warm them up," he instructed, watching me closely. I did as I was told, coating my skin until my hands were slick and shiny. I looked at Ethan's back, then up at Mason. He nodded towards my husband. "Go on then. Don't be shy.”

I placed my slick palms onto the base of Ethan’s spine and pushed down. I tried to copy exactly what Mason had just done, using the heels of my hands to dig into the tight muscles. Ethan let out a deep, long groan into the table, but it sounded like relief rather than pain. "That’s it," Mason said, his voice warm with approval. "You are a natural, Natalie. You have got the touch." Hearing him say my name like that made me stand a little taller, even though my hands were covered in grease.

"You are using too much arm strength, though," Mason critiqued. “You will get tired in two minutes like that. Lean right over him." I did as he asked, shifting my feet and leaning my upper body forward to drive my weight down through my straight arms.

As I leaned over the table, I felt the hem of my short white skirt slide up the back of my thighs. The ruffles caught on my arse, hitching the material up dangerously high. I felt a cool draft of air hit the top of my legs, leaving me completely exposed from behind.

He then reached out and placed his massive hands directly over mine. His palms were hot and rough, covering my skin completely. Then he did something that made my breath hitch. He slid his thick fingers between mine, interlacing them tightly. He locked our hands together on the small of Ethan’s back. "Like this," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating near my ear. 

He started to push down, using his strength to drive my hands deeper into the muscle. The feeling of his fingers grinding against mine sent a sharp, hot pulse straight between my thighs. It felt incredibly intimate, like we were holding hands in the dirtiest way possible, right on top of my unsuspecting husband.

"That is the spot," Mason whispered, guiding our locked hands in slow, deep circles. We were kneading the flesh together, his power flowing through my arms. 

Ethan let out a long, loud groan of relief into the face hole. "Yeah, that's it," Ethan mumbled, his voice muffled. "I can feel it right there." He had no idea it was mostly Mason doing the work. He had no idea his wife was biting her lip to stop herself from moaning, turned on just by the feeling of another man's grip on her fingers.

His grip tightened on my fingers, squeezing them hard. He wasn't just guiding me anymore. He was holding onto me. I turned my head slightly to look at him. He was staring right at my face. His eyes were dark and heavy. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He gave my hands another squeeze, sending another jolt of electricity through my body.

Mason slowly peeled his warm, heavy palms off mine, leaving my hands feeling suddenly cold and light. He stepped slightly to the side but stayed very much in my personal space. 

I pushed down on my own to maintain the force. My arms started to burn immediately. "Keep going, Natalie," Mason said casually. "Don't lose that pressure."

Before I could settle into a rhythm, I felt his heat return, and he placed his large hand firmly on the small of my back. "That’s it, remember to lean forward more and commit more weight," he instructed me, his voice low and commanding beneath the friendly conversation. "Lean right in so you are over him." He pushed against my spine, forcing my upper body down over the table. The movement tipped my hips up and pushed my bum out, making my short skirt ride up again.

I glanced up at him, and he held my gaze. From his position right beside me, towering over my shoulder, he looked down at my face. His dark eyes flicked from mine and deliberately dropped down to my lips. He watched my mouth for a long, heavy second before his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile that made my stomach flip. He was looking at me as if he was thinking about exactly what he wanted to do with my mouth.

He kept his large hand pressed firmly against the base of my spine, holding me locked in that bent-over position. As he shifted his weight slightly, the side of his hip brushed against mine. The friction of his rough tracksuit material against my bare skin sent a shiver right through me. I turned back to look at Ethan's spine, my heart thumping wildly, acutely aware of the giant physio standing so close beside me that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

I bit down on my bottom lip, holding his gaze. I couldn't help it. His eyes instantly locked onto my mouth, darkening as he watched my teeth sink into the soft, pink flesh. He was so close I could see the flex in his jaw.

Ethan mumbled into the table, "So, what is the next step then, Mason? More of this torture?"

Mason didn't blink. He kept his eyes fixed on my bitten lip as he answered my husband. "No, we are going to go deeper," he said, his voice smooth and incredibly calm. "I am going to use acupuncture. We need to penetrate the deep tissue to release the trigger points that your wife has just warmed up for me."

As he spoke, the words went deeper, and his large hand shifted. It slid down from the small of my back, moving deliberately over the waistband of my skirt until his heavy palm came to rest right on the top swell of my arse. I froze. I should have stood up, I should have pushed his hand away, but I just stayed bent over the table and let him claim me. The sheer audacity of it made my throat tighten, and I had to let out a small, sharp cough to clear it, terrified of making a sound I couldn't explain.

"Actually, we need another ten minutes of deep tissue work first to really prep the fascia," Mason said, his voice the picture of medical authority. "Then we will do the needles."

As he spoke, he turned his body slightly towards me. I expected him to show me a new technique on Ethan's back, but instead, I felt his hand move under the material of my top and onto my bare skin.

The shock of his touch was instant. My breath hitched. Why wasn't I moving? I could have just stood up straight and broken the contact. But I was frozen, completely overwhelmed by the sensation of his skin on mine.

This was dangerous.

"As you get older, Ethan, the connective tissue naturally loses its elasticity," Mason said smoothly, his voice carrying the perfect tone of a bored medical professional. He was deliberately talking shop, using the boring explanation to keep Ethan’s face buried in the cradle. "That is why Natalie has to work so hard right now. We are forcing blood flow into the fascia."

While he lectured my husband about tissue elasticity, his hand drifted down from my waist, leaving the warm, slick trail of massage oil on my skin. It moved past the waistband of my skirt and dropped lower, until his broad palm made contact with the bare skin of my upper thigh.

I gasped quietly, the sound lost under Ethan's muffled agreement to Mason's medical advice. Mason's hand was so hot, and the oil made his skin glide effortlessly over mine. But he didn't stop at my thigh. Before I could process what was happening, his hand reversed direction. He slid it straight up, disappearing underneath the hem of my short white skirt.

He bypassed my bare skin and cupped my arse cheek directly. His rough, oily fingers spread out over the delicate floral pattern of my white lace panties. For a second, he just held me there, letting the heat of his palm soak through the thin lace. Then, while telling Ethan to take a deep breath, Mason squeezed. He gripped my arse cheek hard, bunching the lace and my soft flesh in his massive fist. The sheer violation of it, happening just inches from my husband's head, sent a shockwave of pure adrenaline and arousal through my entire body.

"It is all about releasing the deep-seated tension in the lower back," Mason continued, his voice droning on in that steady, hypnotic professional tone. Ethan grunted in agreement, totally unaware of what the physio was actually releasing. Mason kept his hand on my arse for what felt like an eternity, kneading my cheek through the lace in a slow, possessive rhythm that matched the cadence of his voice.

Then, his hand began to travel. His oily fingers slid down from my bum, caressing the sensitive bare skin of my upper thigh. He traced a line down the back of my leg, sending goosebumps erupting across my flesh, before his hand hooked around to my inner thigh. He didn't hesitate. His large hand slid straight between my legs.

I felt the intense heat of his palm against my inner thighs, and then the ultimate shock: his finger coming to rest directly on my swollen pussy lips. He pressed the soaked lace right into my folds. The sensation of his hot, slick finger on my most sensitive spot was so overwhelming that my body acted before my brain could stop it. My legs parted slightly of their own accord, widening my stance to give him better access. As he pressed his finger firmly against my wet heat, a small, high-pitched whimper escaped my throat.

"You alright, Nat? You sound knackered," Ethan mumbled, his voice shifting with concern. I saw his shoulders tense as he lifted his head from the cradle to check on me.

Panic and pure adrenaline surged through my veins. Without thinking, I took my right hand off his spine, placed it firmly on the back of his head, and pushed his face straight back down into the padding. "I'm fine, babe," I gasped out, my voice breathless. "Just relax. I'm focusing."

Mason seamlessly picked up the cue. His voice boomed louder, filling the room to mask my heavy, ragged breathing. "That is exactly it, Ethan. The buildup of lactic acid can be tough work for the practitioner. You need to breathe through the discomfort, just like your wife is doing."

While he lectured the room, his finger moved. He rubbed the seam of my lace panties right against my soaking wet labia. The friction was maddening, but he wasn't satisfied with the fabric. He hooked his thick, oily finger under the wet lace, and his hot, bare finger slid directly between my slick pussy lips. He found my clit instantly, pressing right onto the ultra-sensitive, swollen nub. My vision blurred. Having a giant stranger's oily finger directly on my clit, while my own hands were massaging my husband, was the most intensely taboo thing I had ever experienced. I was so fucking turned on by the danger of it all. I was way past the point of caring that I was parried; I just wanted him to touch me.

Mason didn't rush. With my husband pinned under my hand just inches away, he started to rub my clit in slow, agonisingly precise circles. He was working me up into a complete frenzy, sending shockwaves of pleasure right through my core. My breath was coming in short, silent pants as I fought to keep my face completely neutral for Ethan.

Then, he shifted his hand. His thick finger slid down from my clit, tracing my slick folds until he found my opening. He didn't hesitate. With one smooth, deliberate motion, he pushed inside me.

The violation felt absolute. I couldn't just stand there and take it anymore; instinct completely took over. I tilted my pelvis and ground my hips back against his hand, pushing myself onto him, swallowing his finger right down to the base. I was actively fucking his hand right over my husband's head, completely lost in the dirty, forbidden thrill of it.

He established a rhythm, slow and deliberate, sliding his slick finger all the way out before plunging it deep back inside my dripping wet core. I forced my shaking hand to keep kneading Ethan's oily spine, my brain completely short-circuiting. I was desperately trying to play the part of the focused wife, but all I could feel was the dirty, thick friction of another man's finger fucking me right over my husband's head.

With every thrust of his hand, Mason pressed his hip closer into mine. I felt a solid, burning heat press firmly against my side. I risked a glance down.

The navy fabric of his tracksuit bottoms was pulled completely taut, tented out by his erection that was desperately straining to get free. I let out a sharp, audible gasp. I could see the outline of his cock clearly through the cotton. The sight, along with his finger fucking me, made my stomach flip with a dizzying mix of fear and overwhelming lust.

Just as I was completely losing myself in the deep, heavy rhythm, the pressure vanished. Mason pulled his finger out, leaving me suddenly empty and aching. My breath hitched in protest, but before I could make a sound, I looked up and saw his hand. His thick index finger was glistening, coated in my wetness. He held my gaze with dark, hungry eyes and deliberately brought his finger to his mouth, licking my juices right off his skin.

It was the dirtiest thing I had ever seen. My heart hammered against my ribs. Then, leaning down so fast I barely had time to blink, he pressed his lips against mine. It was a brief, possessive kiss, but I instantly tasted the sweet, musky flavour of my own arousal on his tongue.

Fuck. I wanted this man so much it physically hurt. I wanted him to throw Ethan off the table and fuck me until I couldn't walk, and looking at the wicked, triumphant smirk on his face as he pulled back, he knew exactly how desperate I was.

He cleared his throat, the smirk vanishing behind a mask of total professionalism. "Right," he announced, his voice booming in the quiet room. "The fascia is sufficiently primed. It is time for acupuncture."

"Brilliant," Ethan said into the table, sounding genuinely enthusiastic despite having his face squashed. He lifted his head slightly, completely oblivious to the fact that his wife's juices were still wet on the physio's lips. "I have never actually had this done before. Do you think it will hurt?"

Mason turned to his kit and began pulling out the sterile, silver needles. His face shifted into absolute concentration as he located the trigger points along Ethan's spine. With expert precision, he started tapping the thin needles into my husband's skin.

He was in complete control of the room, but my body was still vibrating from the taste of my own arousal on his lips. Now it's my turn, I thought, a sudden wave of reckless confidence washing over me.

While Mason’s eyes were locked on Ethan’s lower back, I reached out. I pressed my palm right against the tent in his navy joggers and grabbed him.

A sharp intake of breath hissed through Mason’s teeth. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I slowly began to stroke him, sliding my hand up and down the length of his semi-erect shaft.

Mason froze, the next needle hovering just millimetres above Ethan’s skin. His dark eyes snapped to mine, completely blown with lust. I could see his jaw clenching as he fought a desperate internal battle. He was trying his hardest to keep his hand steady and his concentration on my husband's spine, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward into my hand with every stroke.

"Just a little pinch here, Ethan," Mason managed to grate out, his voice a full octave lower than before, sounding tight and strained as I squeezed the base of his shaft.

"All done for now," Mason announced, inserting the final needle with a steady hand despite what I had just done to him. "You need to lie completely still for about fifteen minutes, Ethan. Let the needles do their work." He stepped back from the table, taking a deep, shaky breath to compose himself. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom to wash up?"

My heart somersaulted in my chest. Fifteen minutes. It was a countdown clock, and it was the absolute perfect opportunity.

"I'll show you where it is," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. I looked down at Ethan, who had his eyes closed and looked completely blissed out. "Babe, I am just going to put the kettle on and make us all some drinks while you relax, okay?"

"Sounds good, love," Ethan mumbled into the cradle.

I walked out of the living room with Mason following close behind. I led him straight down the hallway and into the kitchen, my mind racing with a mix of terror and absolute thrill. The moment we crossed the threshold, I moved fast. I clicked the kettle on, the water immediately starting to rumble, and then reached for the smart speaker on the counter. "Alexa, play Capital Radio," I commanded. Upbeat music instantly filled the room. The combination of the boiling water and the loud music would easily drown out any noise we made. We were completely covered.

The second the music started, the professional facade vanished. As I turned away from the counter, Mason was right there. He reached out, and his massive, warm hand clamped firmly onto my arse cheek once again. He squeezed my flesh hard through the white skirt, lifting me slightly onto my toes as he pulled my body flush against his, staking his claim the moment we were finally alone.

With the radio blaring and the kettle rumbling, Mason didn't waste a single second of our fifteen minutes. He gripped my waist and lifted me effortlessly off the floor, depositing me onto the kitchen counter. The shock of the cold worktop against the back of my bare thighs was instantly forgotten as his hands shot right under my skirt.

He hooked his thick fingers into the waistband of my soaking wet lace panties and pulled them down my thighs. I lifted my hips instinctively, helping him shimmy the wet fabric all the way down my legs until they dropped to my ankles, and I kicked them away onto the kitchen floor.

He immediately stepped between my parted thighs, invading my space completely. His hands cupped my face, tilting my head back as he crashed his lips onto mine. The kiss was ravenous and aggressive. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming me with the same dominant authority he used on the massage table. I moaned into his mouth, my hands flying down to the waistband of his joggers. I was desperate to touch him. I tugged the fabric down, and he broke the kiss just long enough to help me shove both his joggers and boxers down to his knees.

His erection sprang free, which made me gasp. Then, he stepped right in. I felt his shaft press directly against my dripping wet pussy lips. Skin on skin, finally. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and began to grind his hips forward. The sensation of his massive, rock-hard shaft sliding through my own slick juices as we devoured each other's mouths was absolutely mind-blowing. 

I finally reached down between our bodies, wrapping my fingers around his bare, rock-hard cock. It was pulsing with heat against my palm. I tightened my grip and pushed his shaft down, guiding his helmet right to my slick entrance. He knew what I needed, and he thrust his hips forward; my pussy yielded to him instantly. My flesh stretched, slicking his skin as his thick helmet breached my opening and sank into my heat.

Mason didn't hesitate. With a low growl, he snapped his hips forward, driving his length into me in one smooth, powerful motion. I gasped into his shoulder, my nails digging into the fabric of his polo shirt. He was bigger than Ethan, and my eyes rolled back in my head as he bottomed out deep inside me, his pubic bone pressing firmly against mine.

The sensation of having a rock-hard cock inside me again was euphoric. For four agonising months, I had been living with softness and disappointment, trying to make do with memories. This was real. Mason felt heavier and thicker than Ethan ever was, even before the accident. I wrapped my legs around his waist, desperate to keep him exactly where he was, terrified that the feeling of being properly full again might vanish if I let go.

Mason leaned his forehead against mine, his sweat-slicked brow pressing into my skin as he caught his breath. "You needed this, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated straight through my chest. He didn't say it like a question; he said it like a fact, confirming he knew exactly how starved I had been. 

Cruelly, he pulled his hips back, withdrawing almost every inch of his length until he was just teasing my entrance with the head of his cock. I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders to pull him back, but he made me wait a heartbeat longer before he slammed his hips forward. He buried himself to the hilt again, stretching me open and hitting that deep spot inside me that had been ignored for months, forcing a silent scream of pleasure to trap itself in my throat.

Just as he began to build a rhythm, the upbeat pop song faded out, replaced by a slow, quiet acoustic track. The sudden drop in volume was terrifying. The only sounds in the room were our heavy breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin. Mason adjusted instantly, his eyes narrowing as he slowed his pace to a deep, silent grinding motion to keep us quiet. 

Over his broad shoulder, I caught our reflection in the dark glass of the oven door. It was a distorted, shadowy image, but the sight of a stranger's massive frame dominating me, filling the void my husband left behind, sent a jolt of depraved arousal straight to my core. I was letting this man use me in my own kitchen while Ethan lay helpless in the next room, and the guilt only made me wetter.

"Nat? Everything alright? Any chance of a sandwich while you're in there?" Ethan’s voice drifted down the hallway, slicing through the tension in the kitchen. Mason slowed his movements right down, dragging his thick length out until he was almost gone, then gliding back in with a torturously slow, heavy thrust. He buried himself deep inside me, swirling his hips so his ridge scraped against my most sensitive walls just as I opened my mouth to answer. 

"Yeah! Coming right up, babe!" I called back, but my voice betrayed me. As Mason bottomed out, my words came out in a breathless, high-pitched stutter. "Just... getting the bread... now!" I gasped, my voice hitching wildly as I tried to sound domestic while being filled by another man. Mason smirked, clearly enjoying the fact that he was fucking his wife in the room nextdoor.

The quiet acoustic track on the radio was useless; it wasn't hiding the wet, slapping sounds of our bodies or the moan frantically building in my throat. I couldn't take the slow torture anymore. I needed him to pound me, and I needed the noise to do it. Desperate for cover, I reached over Mason’s broad shoulder, my fingers trembling as I grabbed my phone off the counter. I swiped open Spotify and hit the first heavy track on my gym playlist. The iconic, punchy string intro of “Galvanize” by The Chemical Brothers blasted through the smart speaker, the heavy bass instantly vibrating through the marble worktop. Mason took the cue immediately. 

The slow, teasing torture vanished instantly. He tightened his grip on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, and slammed into me with a force that knocked the wind out of me. He matched the aggressive rhythm perfectly, his massive body working like a piston. Every thrust was violent and animalistic, driving his thick length deep into me. He was a machine, his brow slick with sweat, his eyes dark and focused solely on wrecking me in the time we had left.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his skin to stifle the screams tearing at my throat. "Oh god... fuck... Mason!" I gasped into his shoulder, my voice muffled by his t-shirt but desperate. "Yes... don't stop!" The friction was incredible, but I needed everything to push me over the edge before the song ended. I reached down between our sweating bodies, my fingers frantic as I found my swollen clit. I started to rub in small, desperate circles, syncing my movements with his punishing thrusts. The combination of his rock-hard cock stretching me open and my own fingers working my sensitive nub was overwhelming, keeping me teetering right on the brink of sanity.

Mason’s mouth crashed down on mine, sealing my lips before I could make a sound that would give us away. He kissed me with a raw, bruising hunger, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to tangle with mine, effectively swallowing the desperate groans rising from my throat. Below the waist, he didn't let up for a second. He kept slamming his hips into me, driving his thick length deep into my core with a relentless, punishing rhythm that had my head banging softly against the cabinet door. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heavy weight of his chest crushing my breasts as he claimed me completely. 

He broke the kiss for a split second, his lips hovering right against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Fuck, your pussy feels so good, Natalie," he rasped, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So tight. I'm glad I could come over and help... both of you out today." 

The arrogance of it. The way he acknowledged he was fixing my husband's back while simultaneously fixing my sex life, sent a fresh wave of dirty heat straight to my groin. I dug my nails sharply into his biceps, pulling his face back to mine. "Shut up," I hissed, breathless and desperate, staring right into his dark eyes. "Just shut up and fuck me."

Mason smirked at my demand, his eyes flashing with a dark, predatory light. He didn't say another word. Instead, his large hand shot to the back of my head, tangling his fingers violently into my hair. He yanked my head back hard, exposing the pale column of my throat to the kitchen ceiling lights, and drove his hips into me with brutal, rhythmic force. I was pinned against the cold marble, helpless and wide open, as he pounded his thick length into me, hitting that deep, sweet spot with every single thrust. The heavy bass of the song thumped through the room, vibrating through the counter and into my bones, masking the wet slap of our skin and the desperate, muffled noises tearing from my throat.

I was close. I was so fucking close. My hand worked furiously between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit in time with his punishing strokes. I could feel the orgasm coiling tight in my belly, a desperate, burning pressure that needed to break. The song was reaching its crescendo, getting faster and more chaotic. "I'm close... oh god, Mason, I'm gonna scream!" I gasped, the pleasure turning into a desperate, rising wail in my throat that I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back.

He saw it coming. Just as my body seized up, ready to shatter, Mason lunged forward. He released my hair and crashed his mouth down on mine, sealing my lips instantly. The scream that tore from my throat was smothered against his tongue, coming out as a frantic, muffled "Mmph! Oh... mmmph!" vibrating against his lips. I clamped my legs around his waist, my entire body convulsing violently as the orgasm ripped through me. He didn't stop thrusting; he rode out my climax, grinding deep into my shuddering walls while swallowing every desperate noise I made. It was suffocating and overwhelming, the most intense release of my life, silenced by the very man who was wrecking me.

My internal muscles clamped down hard around him, milking him with every spasm of my climax. Mason let out a muffled, guttural groan against my lips, the vibration rattling through my teeth as his control finally snapped. He drove into me with three final, punishing thrusts, burying himself to the hilt and holding himself there as he emptied himself deep inside me. I felt the hot, rapid pulses of his release flooding my pussy, a scalding, heavy claiming that marked me as his in the most primal way possible. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, riding out the aftershocks as he filled me up.

Then, the music cut out. The heavy bass vanished instantly as the track ended, plunging the kitchen into a sudden, terrifying silence. The only sound left in the room was our ragged, desperate panting and the wet, slick noise of our bodies separating slightly. We froze, hearts hammering against our ribs like trapped birds, our eyes locked in panic. The silence felt heavy and accusing. I held my breath, my chest heaving, absolutely terrified that the final, loud slap of his hips against mine had echoed down the hallway to where my husband lay waiting for his sandwich.

Just as the silence threatened to suffocate us, the opening beat of a high-tempo dance track blasted from the speaker, shattering the tension and providing the cover we desperately needed. He pulled back, his softening cock felt from my cum filled pussy. I got up, but my knees buckled instantly; my legs were shaking so violently from the intensity of the climax that I had to grip the cold edge of the marble counter to stay upright. 

Mason, however, was already moving. He pulled up his navy joggers with calm efficiency, hiding the evidence of what he’d just done to me. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear, and whispered, "I'll go back first." With a final, possessive squeeze of my hip, he turned and strode out of the kitchen, switching seamlessly back into his professional persona before he even hit the hallway.

Left alone in the vibrating kitchen, I took a jagged breath and scrambled to make myself presentable. I spotted my lace panties on the floor where I’d kicked them and snatched them up with trembling hands. I stepped into them and shimmied the wet lace up my shaking legs, the cold, damp fabric clinging to my sensitive skin as a dirty reminder of the last fifteen minutes. I smoothed down the front of my skirt, frantically patting down the rumpled fabric, and splashed some cold water on my flushed cheeks, praying the redness would fade before I had to face my husband.

I forced my trembling legs to carry the tray back into the living room, my heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. To my disbelief, Mason was already the picture of professional calm. He was standing over the massage table, deftly plucking the silver needles from Ethan’s back with steady hands, chatting casually about Chelsea’s defensive lineup for the weekend. 

Ethan looked completely blissed out, his face resting on his arms, totally oblivious to the fact that the man curing his back had just ravaged his wife in the next room. "You were gone a while, Nat," Ethan mumbled into his forearm, sounding sleepy and relaxed. "I was starting to think you'd got lost."

"Sorry, babe," I stammered, setting the tray down on the coffee table with a clatter I couldn't quite prevent. "The ring pull on the tuna tin snapped off. I had to attack it with the can opener." It was such a mundane, pathetic lie, but Ethan just nodded, accepting it without a second thought. He looked up at me with such genuine gratitude in his eyes, happy that his wife was taking care of him, and a wave of nausea-inducing guilt crashed over me. I felt like the worst person in the world. But as I stood there hating myself, I felt a warm, sticky trickle of Mason’s cum leak out of me and slide down into the gusset of my lace panties. The visceral sensation of being filled with another man's seed while looking at my husband's trusting face was a confusing, dirty mix of shame and lingering, electric arousal.

Mason clicked the legs of the massage table back into place with a series of sharp, efficient snaps, his movements brisk and professional. "Right, mate, that is you done for today," he said, zipping the black case shut and lifting it easily. "You need to take it strictly easy for the next twenty-four hours. No heavy lifting, no straining, just rest and let the muscles settle." 

He stood up, towering over the coffee table, and shifted his gaze directly to me. "We should definitely look at getting another session booked in for next week. We need to keep the momentum going." His eyes held mine for a fraction of a second too long, dark and knowing. The promise of 'next week' didn't make me think of medical progress; it made my thighs clench together instinctively against the damp, sticky lace of my panties, a jolt of anticipation cutting through my guilt.

Ethan reached for his wallet on the side table, his movements loose and relaxed from the treatment. "How much do I owe you then, Mason?" he asked, fumbling to pull out a few notes. Mason raised a large hand to stop him, a small, unreadable smile, as he glanced at me. 

"Don't worry about it, mate. Natalie has already sorted me out," he lied smoothly, his deep voice devoid of any shame. The double meaning hit me like a physical blow to the chest. Ethan, completely oblivious to the dirty exchange, just smiled at me with pure love and relief.

"Oh, thanks, babe," he said softly, sinking back into the cushions. "You're amazing, taking care of everything." The praise twisted in my gut like a knife, but the lingering throb between my legs and the secret I was now keeping made it impossible to feel entirely regretful.

Mason winked at me one last time as he hauled his black massage table out the front door, the heavy thud of the latch clicking shut echoing like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. I leaned back against the wall for a second, as my knees threatened to give way again. My heart was still racing, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs, and I could feel the sticky, cooling evidence of our encounter, soaking into the lace of my panties. 

Ethan was lying back on the cushions, looking more relaxed than I had seen him in months. He let out a contented sigh and stretched his arms overhead. "Babe, honestly, that guy is a miracle worker," he beamed, his eyes bright with relief. "I can already feel the pressure easing off my spine. It’s like he unlocked something deep inside that had been stuck for ages." He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated when he first walked in. I wasn't expecting him to be so big. A proper unit." 

I felt a flush burn my cheeks, the irony of his words almost making me choke. I swallowed hard, thinking of exactly how big Mason was where it counted, and forced a shaky smile. "Yeah," I managed to say, my voice thick with a mix of guilt and lingering lust. "He is... definitely on the large side.”