I've been with my wife Marisa for eight years now; after the first few years, I discovered that I have a bit of a cuckold fetish. When we first started going out, I would get really jealous when she would talk about her past lovers. But as time passed, I discovered that there was a flip side to my jealousy. I obsessively made Marisa tell me the details of her past sexual experiences, and to my surprise, I found that I would get aroused by the stories. I even encouraged her to tell me sexual anecdotes as part of our foreplay, and to embellish the stories to make them as dirty as possible.
Marisa was willing to indulge me with this sort of fantasy talk, but she made it clear that she would never actually have sex with another guy. Over the past few years, I've had to content myself with getting her to talk about sucking other guys' cocks while we were having sex, watching her fuck herself with a big dildo, and acting out various role-playing scenarios. I had pretty much accepted that this would be the limit of my cuckold fetish.
Then about a month ago, Marisa invited me to an office party thrown in her honor, for her birthday. As the star of the show, she dressed a little sexier than usual. She wore a clingy leopard-print dress that really showed off her curves -- her small but shapely breasts, narrow waste, flaring hips, and full, round buttocks. I could tell that all the guys at the party were checking her out, trying not to stare too obviously at her. Once the party got going (that is, once people had enough alcohol to overcome their usual inhibitions in front of their co-workers), someone put on some dance music.
I danced a little with Marisa, but I'm not much of a dancer, especially when it comes to Latin dances like salsa. Marisa, on the other hand, is a really good dancer. Though I used to object to Marisa dancing with other guys, at this point in our relationship I really didn't mind at all. When a hot salsa song came on, a good-looking young black guy from Trinidad started dancing with Marisa, and they made quite a pair. As they danced, he placed his hand on her waste and on the small of her back, and sometimes I saw it drift a little lower, onto her butt. He twirled her around, running his hand across her flat belly as she turned. Once, I thought I saw his hand "accidentally" brush across her breasts as she spun. There was no doubt that the guy was attracted to Marisa, and she seemed to be getting off on the attention and physical contact.
As I watched them dance, with this guy practically man-handling my woman right in front of everyone, I felt the old pangs of jealousy rise up. But at the same time, I realized I was getting really turned on! I had to fold my hands over my lap to hide my obvious erection. When we got home after the party, the moment we walked in the door I peeled Marisa out of her clingy little dress and we had frantic, carnal sex right there on the floor in the hallway! I realized I had discovered a "legitimate" channel for my cuckold tendencies -- watching Marisa dance with other guys.
I wondered if there might be other ways to indulge my fantasy that fell short of Marisa actually having sex with another guy, and then it dawned on me -- massages! I remembered Marisa telling me that years ago while traveling in Italy, she and a friend had gone to a spa and she had gotten a massage from a very good-looking young Italian masseur. I had asked her if she had become aroused at all during the massage, but she had claimed that she "couldn't remember."
A few months later, when we went on our yearly Caribbean vacation, I asked Marisa if she'd like me to book a massage for her. Sure, she replied, that would be nice and relaxing. The first night at the resort, while we were fooling around on the bed, I asked her if she would indulge my cuckold fetish a little by fantasizing about sex during the massage.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well," I said, "while you're being massaged, you should imagine the masseur sensually touching you in intimate areas, imagine that you're becoming aroused, even imagine you're having an orgasm. Then afterwards, I wanted you to tell me all about it, tell me whether it made the massage an erotic experience for you."
Marissa said "Okay, I'll give it a try," and giggled a little. The sex that night was definitely hotter than usual!
I didn't tell Marisa the other half of my plan. The morning of the day she was booked for the massage, I went down to the health spa and asked to see the masseur. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Enrique was young, handsome and in great shape. I took him aside, and speaking conspiratorially, I told him that I wanted him to give Marisa a special "erotic" massage, and to push things as far as she would let him. He grinned knowingly as I pushed a C-note into his hand, and suddenly I felt flushed with embarrassment.
"You must think I'm pretty weird," I said in a slightly disheartened voice.
"Not at all," Enrique countered, "Believe me, you're not the first guy who's asked me to give an "erotic" massage to his wife or girlfriend!"
"Really?" I asked.
"Sure, it happens every month or so," he went on, "some guys even tell me to make sure I give their girl a Happy Ending!"
He could've just been trying to make me feel better; if so, it worked -- I was greatly relieved. Then he added, "In fact, if you want, you can hide in that closet over there and watch the massage." This was perfect! I agreed to arrive about five minutes before Marisa's appointment.
Back at our room, after taking a hot shower Marisa put on some light clothes and got ready to head to the spa. I embraced her and kissed her, reminding her that she should fantasize about getting aroused and even about having sex with the masseur during her massage.
"Don't worry," she said with a naughty little smile, "I'll be fantasizing up a storm!"
I told her I was going to go down and sit by the pool and read, and left the room before she did. I rushed over to the spa and met Enrique, who set me up in the closet on a comfortable stool. He left the door open just a crack, through which I had a full view of the massage table. So far, my little plan was working like a charm.
As I looked out at the dimly lit room, with scented candles burning and new age music playing softly in the background, I suddenly became anxious. It dawned on me that seeing Marisa dancing with another guy, fully clothed in a public place, might be very different from seeing another man actually touching her mostly unclothed body in her intimate areas. I wondered if I would freak out with jealousy instead of getting into it?
Before I had a chance to obsess further over this thought, the door opened and the masseur led Marisa into the room, wearing a fluffy white robe. Enrique handed her a large white towel and told her to take off the robe, wrap herself in the towel, and lie face down on the massage table. Then he left the room by another door to give her some privacy.
