One Bull Over the Cuck's Nest

A Tale of Wife Sharing

Every wedding anniversary was surprisingly the same -- or equally surprising: an elegant cruise, a camping trip in the mountains, an unprecedented trip abroad, a diving course, a balloon ride or anything else that Eugene -- the couple's romantic pillar -- prepared for months to please Monica, a beautiful forty-something who (after many years of hard work) had become a stay at home mom. Naturally, the programming was subject to the economic fluctuations of the pair and therefore varied in cost and sophistication from year to year. Last year, one of those with a reduced budget, their union was celebrated with a massage section for both of them in a chic store in town.

At this time of year, a week or so before the much-celebrated date, she was already waiting for the announcement of the always romantic event, when her husband comes home with eyes shining with excitement. After a quick kiss, the news is trumpeted:

"Ta-daaah! Who's ready to celebrate?" saying with his arms open like a circus announcer.

"Me! Me! What has my adventurer prepared for this year?" with a wide smile.

"Quick tip: both of us, naked, covered in oil, another couple and several intrusive hands."

"It's not a swingers' club, right? You know I'm not into that stuff."

"Cold! Another try."

"I don't know. Tell me already!" already losing patience with the game.

"The Temple of the Hands! Extended one-hour session and premium package!"

"The massage parlor? Again?!" disappointed and completing, "but we're short on cash? And don't blame it on the tariffs."

Still maintaining the expression of excitement, after a few seconds, he says in an almost childish tone:

"But I liked it so much..." and resuming with enthusiasm, "but this time it's the premium package! Lots of extras and--"

"I know about the 'extras' you liked. That big-assed Latina, running her hands all over you."

"Of course not! It's because... because..." and assuming a more serious air, "it's because seeing that guy touching you made me so fucking horny! I wanted to do that again."

After more than twenty years together, Monica already knew well what excited her partner; his quirks, preferences and kinks. The woman, who was not normally demanding but was just a little surprised by the chosen program, calms down with a sweet smile and surrenders to the proposal, "okay, okay! Let's have some fun then. Me, you and the 'intrusive hands'," but deep down, thinking, "so the novelty this year is that there won't be any novelty."

On the day of the (not so exciting) event, the two dressed up like no one had ever dressed before -- only to be completely naked afterwards. The husband, in an expensive button-down shirt, adjusted his tie in front of the mirror while the wife, in a very "economical" dress, pulled the pantyhose down her recently waxed legs -- both regally fragrant. As they drove to the massage parlor, Eugene ran his fingers along Monica's silky thighs; talking dirty, reminiscing about past adventures, and mutually arousing each other like a teenage couple. On the car stereo, the playlist they jokingly called "lovemaking music" served as a soundtrack for the short journey between home and the parlor.

Arriving at the "Temple of the Hands", due to the premium package, a concierge service was waiting for them at the door. Two Latino guys (whose experience in the field seemed to be that of a weekend course) offered them a glass of white wine -- just bought at the convenience store on the corner -- and a bowl of chocolates. The couple was escorted to a VIP waiting room. The wife, who even seemed to be in good spirits, and her husband (with a smile that she identified as "bad intentions") sit on a red imitation leather sofa. While the woman, elegantly cross-legged, flips through a tacky celebrity magazine, the man remains staring anxiously at the door while swinging his legs.

Twenty-three minutes later, according to Eugene's meticulous counting, a girl wearing a dress as tacky as the ones in the magazine Monica was reading asks:

"Shall we go? Would you be so kind as to accompany us, please?"

The lady gets up from the sofa as nobly as she had sat down; her husband -- in one leap -- like a rabbit about to copulate. They walk hand in hand into the massage room. A sign above the door read "The Power of Hands". The package was VIP, but the room was the same one from last year. On a thick, plush pink carpet (yes, the same one as last time) a yellow massage bed awaited them for the celebration. The girl who guided them instructs:

"You can take off your shoes and clothes and put on your robe, the massage team will be right there."

With Monica having removed only her shoes and Eugene his tie, a tall, imposing figure passes through the traffic door. "Nice to meet you! Sebastian," announces a handsome and charming black man, typical of A-level porn films, smiling. He adds, "ready for some relaxation and pleasure?"

"Where's the other one?" asks the confused wife.

"What other one, madam?" the masseur asks back, even more confused.

"The Latina! Who will 'serve' my husband," and before Sebastian could articulate a syllable, she looks at her partner with eyes narrowed in anger, "Eugeneeee..."

"Ta-daaaa! Another surprise! Today is your day, my love," reveals the husband with a mischievous face.

"No fucking way! What kind of wedding anniversary is that?"

"But Mon--"

"Okay, okay," understanding the situation, the plans and the possible outcomes for the couple when they get home. And, to get into the vibe, "I really need a massage".

"The clothes, madam," reminds the ebony colossus; and addressing her husband, "are you going to stay in the room?"

"You bet!" replies a euphoric Eugene to which the masseur shakes his head in mockery.

Standing still, the aroused husband watches with glazed eyes as his wife undresses in front of the two men. With her shoes already removed, the beautiful middle-aged lady pulls the pantyhose down her smooth, shapely legs. Still feeling a bit embarrassed, she unbuttons the blouse without taking her eyes off the excited partner. An expensive pearly bra supports the generous breasts, which -- more than being fountains of pleasure for long years -- had fed the couple's two children. The skirt is pulled down with difficulty over hips widened by age. Being only in panties and bra, the curvy lady warns:

"This is not a striptease, understand?"

"You look delicious," replies the husband inaudibly, just moving his lips.

With the skill that only female anatomy and experience allows, she unbuttons her bra from behind in an almost contortionist movement. The breasts (which did not yet surrender to the invasion of silicone) descend gently a few inches below onto the smooth and perfumed abdomen. Still with circus-like balance, the MILF takes off her panties through her shapely ankles, revealing -- in addition to the C-section scar gently drawn below the waistline -- the most beautiful and rounded ass a woman of her age can have. No hair left on her fleshy intimacy, as usual in such celebrations. With one hand she was preparing to release her bun when Sebastian intervenes:

"Keep your hair up, madam," indicating the table on which she should climb.

While holding the wife's clothes like someone holding a sacred mantle in their hands, Eugene (a lost cause of romanticism) watches -- almost drooling -- his goddess going to the massage table that for him had become a holy altar. Her well-shaped feet climbed a few steps of a small staircase while her delicate manicured hands hold on to the edge of the massage table to support herself. The legs, dancing in a sensual movement, cause her ass sway, moving in perfect harmony until she finally lays down facing up.

"Oh, gosh!" the husband blurted out.

Out of sight of the wife, the attentive spectator, with a cell phone in hand, sneakily records a photo for future memories. Captured in the photo, the image could easily be a large poster on the wall of his home office: Monica lying on the yellow table in the supine position ended up forming an artsy Dutch angle shot. The face, beautifully made up, looking up with the nose (already more voluminous than when they met) erect like a tower between the eyes adorned with prolonged black eyelashes. Just below that tower, the half-open crimson lips -- thick and moist -- allows the perfect ivory-colored upper teeth to be discreetly seen. The long, slender neck, already showing its first wrinkles, connected the reposed head with the curvy body. With the intervention of gravity, the two large breasts resting on the fleshy chest formed the geometric shape that Eugene loved most in the entire world. The pink nipples, already moving apart from each other due to the passing of time, as two cherries (or ripe plums) on a wedding cake. Sprawling over the main altar of the "Temple of the Hands", the naked lady's abundant torso. Still for the husband's geometric pleasures, a well-shaped but deeply hyperbolic navel punctuated the slightly faded cesarean section mark that seemed to smile parabolically at the camera. The thick, shapely thighs -- already with some cellulite, although slightly separated, pressed the generous pussy like two slices of mango being held together. Painting the lower portion of the picture, the thick shins (separated by about twenty inches) supported the beautiful feet that, with their meaty toes and wrinkled salmon-colored soles, swayed a little with anxiety. Beside her, the ebony priest stood erect.

"Of course, I'm going to print this out and make a poster," thought Monica's life partner, having himself some geometric manifestation also visible under his pants.

"Shall we begin?" the masseur asks her, rubbing his giant hands together.

Having dipped his fingers in a basin of oil, the celebration begins with generous, delicate touches to the sides of her face. Having the cheeks gently manipulated, Monica closes her eyes in surrender.

"Oh, fuck! I love it when I see her with her eyes closed," muttered Eugene to himself.

As the long fingers massaged the woman's jaw, the thumbs lightly touched the painted eyebrows. Two or three minutes later, the back of the neck (tense from the daily tribulations of a housewife) is manipulated with liberating movements. An expression that transits between relief and pleasure takes over the wife's face. With the head being manipulated like a basketball in the hands of a player about to make a shot, the first moans could be heard -- timidly. The bony shoulders receive extensive attention just as in last year's session. The skilled black man runs his hands down her arms, from shoulders to fingers, loosening every tense muscle. For a brief moment, the excited spectator almost let out a laugh as the already somewhat flaccid flesh of the arm swayed in a funny way. Running along the thick thighs in vigorous movements, the process made the lady's body shake in movements that were undeniably sexual in nature. Having her shins smoothed by Sebastian's oily claws, Monica couldn't help but let out a few laughs.

"Slow down, you hasty boy! You don't want me to piss myself laughing," she said for what her husband thought, "how I wish this would happen."

Each foot is meticulously manipulated, toe by toe. The soles and heels are squeezed by thumbs that seem to be trying to extract some confession from an interrogated person. Using the same basin of oil, the woman's entire torso is anointed in its entirety. Eugene wished the black priest would devour his wife with those "intrusive hands" but the massage service seemed to actually remain at a professional level.

"You can turn around now, madam," requiring a difficult movement from the oily client.

At that moment, with her skin sliding a little over the yellow table as her colossal ass turns upwards, her husband's legs almost weaken. Resting her head on the crossed arms, she turns the face to her partner with a look so naughty it makes his hormones boil. With the moist lips, a shy but sensual kiss from a distance is blown.

"I love you so much!" declares Eugene silently moving his lips.

With another stroke of oil over the smooth back, the massage continues. From between each rib, a little piece of pleasure was extracted by the determined fingers. Again, the aroused husband expected Sebastian to enjoy that ass like someone kneading bread dough; but the conduct was strictly professional. In what seemed like the grand finale, the strong man lifted Monica's leg, placing her ankle over his shoulder as he releases the muscle knots in her calf. Repeating the process on the other leg, the husband can't hold back and takes another photo; this time a closer shot showing his wife's pinkish, oily heel lightly touching the cheek of the powerful god of hands. One could have sworn that moans were escaping from the delicious lady while her husband smelled her pantyhose.

"And with that we conclude this part," the masseur declares, adding, "you may now prepare for the rose bath and--"

"No need for a bath! We have to go now," anticipating the husband that the continuation of the celebration should take place at home; and instructs his wife, "come on, dear! The party continues at home," to the laughter of both Sebastian and Monica.

Never had a naked woman dressed so quickly, and running to the car (while putting on her shoes along the way) they left hand in hand as if fleeing to paradise. Inside the vehicle, the playlist continued; new dirty things said, fingers running over thighs, kisses on the driver's neck and hands on the husband's materialized arousal. That night, two speeding tickets were recorded by the city's speed cameras.

Placing the car in the garage in the style of a racing driver making a pit stop, the ardent couple enters the house like two uncontrollable rabbits. Pieces of clothing were abandoned around the house like the trail of breadcrumbs left by Hansel and Gretel. A shoe by the door; a tie on the banister; underwear strewn across the hallway leading to the bedroom. Completely naked and hallucinated, they jump onto the still unmade bed -- love was urgent.

"Honey, you look so hot! Still wet with massage oil. You smell so good!"

"You had to see your face! You looked like you were going to explode right there. Ha-ha!"

"You're my delight! I love you so much!"

"I love you so much too! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

As they remembered and recreated the scenes they had experienced at the massage parlor, Monica and Eugene give themselves over to passion and fire. If it weren't for the vasectomy performed when their youngest son turned five, another baby would certainly have been ordered that night. Unlike the adult movies the couple usually watched, they soon explode into intense and satisfying orgasms just about fifteen minutes later. They spent another fifteen minutes cuddling in their nest, sharing good laughs, affection and their bodies wet with massage oil and sweat.

"Happy wedding anniversary, my dear! You are the best wife a man could ever dream of."

"This is the best wedding anniversary I've ever had! Love you!"

Every year, after such celebrations, the mature duo enjoyed a sort of renewed honeymoon that lasted for a few days. She cooked special recipes for dinner; he played the songs of their youth. The children, now adults, knew that they should not visit their parents for a few days (not that they were opposed to it). All household chores were done without complaint: the car was washed; fences were repaired; the plumbing was fixed. Even the budget bills were evaluated with more optimism. One of those days -- before the tide of good spirits passed, while Monica was preparing dinner, Eugene appeared leaning against the kitchen door.

"Honey..."

"I'm almost done, hun. Hungry?"

"Yes, I'm hungry. But another hunger..."

"Ha-ha! But we can't do it anymore," thinking, in fact, about her husband's physical vigor.

"Tah-daaaah! Surprise, part two!"

"But what are you up to now?" turning off the sink tap.

"I enjoyed that day so much..."

"Another massage?!"

"Not exactly--"

The doorbell rings.

"Are we waiting for someone?" looking confused at her partner.

Without answering, he goes to open the door followed by his curious wife. Sebastian, the god with ebony hands, enters, to the woman's complete shock.

"But a massage... now?!" asks Monica.

"Not precisely a massage, honey," Eugene replies with a solemn face.

Without saying a single word, the black man kisses the woman's hand and, holding that same hand, leads the astonished housewife to the stairs towards the bedroom accompanied by her husband. While the lady's face showed bewilderment, her body seemed to understand -- and want -- what was obviously about to happen.

"But... but..." Monica said as she walked up the steps.

"I love you so much!" mumbled Eugene in response.

As the trio enters the bedroom, the husband calmly settles into an armchair with a bottle of whiskey. The visitor, in a totally affectionate manner, sits the woman on the edge of the bed while he caresses her face tenderly. With the same strong hands with which he had turned her body over days before, the love masseur takes off her slippers and t-shirt, leaving the MILF only in her underwear. With the husband nodding his approval, her panties and bra were removed with the speed and elegance that only a truly experienced lover could do. This time, no massage oil was needed as the sweat (from anxiety) ran down the lady's entire body. While Eugene lets his excitement visibly erect through the open fly of his pants, Sebastian travels Monica's body -- from head to toe -- with hot, wet kisses. As the bull squeezes her breasts, thighs and ass, pushing his heavy body against hers, the cuck touches himself vigorously -- almost in synchrony. In contrast to the black man's solemn silence, the woman's moans filled the bedroom. With a member that looked more like a mule's, he penetrates the same beautiful, mature body he had massaged days before. Following the loving husband's instructions, the black giant does not immolate the wife from behind so as not to hurt her. As the vigorous movements increased in intensity, the sweet moans (that Eugene loved so much) became almost screams; screams of pleasure, surprise and fulfillment.

"The leg! Do that leg thing!" recommends the only spectator at the scene.

Recreating what happened in the massage parlor, Sebastian turns the woman face down, places her ankle over his shoulder and -- like a matador in a bullfight -- brings the performance to its end. Monica and Eugene, the loving couple, hold each other's hands and gaze at each other passionately, waiting for the climax. This time, as in a typical porn film, the three were simultaneously graced by an orgasm so intense that (they swore) it made the house shake.

The cuck, in an explosion of pleasure, dropped the drink on the bedroom carpet; the bull, like a true gentleman, says goodbye to the body of the "client" with a delicate kiss on the same heel that touched his cheek in that final position; the wife, almost as if she were fainting, lets her face sink into the bed sheets with closed eyes.

As silent as he entered, Sebastian leaves the scene and the story. The couple, with a love they had never felt before in their entire marriage, remained embraced in the messy bed for long minutes -- equally silent, as words were already unnecessary at that point.

The next day, Eugene brings his beloved (and shared) wife breakfast in bed.

"Good morning, love of my life!" to the sleeping beauty.

"Mmmm... morning, hun!"

While they eat, Monica asks:

"Honey... last year--"

"Say, my delight."

"The Latina... why didn't you want to involve her in the game?"

A few seconds of silence later -- with the face of a child who has just done something naughty, he replies, "there was no Latina, honey... I made that up."