My Boss Wants My Wife!

The doorbell buzzes, and Marcus London swings the door open to spot Silvia Saige and her hubby Billy grinning like kids on their way in. He waves them inside, Billy all eager as he pipes up, 'This is my wife, Silvia.' Marcus grabs her hand and plants a smooth kiss on it. 'Charmed,' he drawls with that cocky grin. Billy's fumbling with his windbreaker on the hook, totally oblivious, while Marcus hangs onto Silvia's hand a beat too long—way past polite. She tugs it free slow, and he flashes this sleazy smile that screams trouble. Billy's clueless, gushing thanks for the invite and tacking on a respectful 'Mr. London.' Marcus herds them to the dining table, and boom, no chit-chat. He dives right in: 'I know you've been busting your ass for that promotion, Billy, but I'm not sold on making it happen.' He lets it hang, then smirks. 'Unless...' His eyes lock on Silvia. 'You're a masseuse, yeah?' Billy glances at her; she eyes Marcus like he's poison. 'Yeah... why?' she snaps. Marcus leans in. 'How about we blow off the main course and dive straight into dessert?' 'What the fuck does that mean?' she fires back. Billy jumps in, 'Babe, easy on my boss—he's got us in his house.' Silvia shoots her husband a death glare and shakes her head. Marcus plays innocent. 'Sorry for the mix-up. Look, Billy, you want that promotion? It's yours. I just had a killer day, back's screaming. If your wife hooks me up with a quick massage, we fast-track it and toss in a salary bump.' They blurt at once—Billy's 'Yes, she'll do it!' crashing into her 'Absolutely not!' Billy hisses in her ear, 'This is our shot, hon.' She clamps her hand over her mouth to block lip-reading and mutters, 'I'm not rubbing down this creep.' 'Please, babe... it's my big break. You gotta,' he begs. 'Fine,' she sighs, stunned she's even thinking it. She glares at Marcus. 'Let's knock this out.' They head to the back room, and she spots no fancy table—just a rubber mat slapped on the floor. 'I massage you where? On the damn floor?' She snorts, pissed. Marcus grins. 'Ever try that Nuru thing I've heard about?' 'You want a Nuru massage?' Silvia asks, eyebrow arched. 'Hell yeah. You do those, right?' 'Sure, at the salon—not crashing dinner at my hubby's boss's pad,' she snarks. 'But you want him promoted?' Marcus prods. She cuts him. 'Alright, hotshot, let's roll. Don't wanna leave Billy hanging.' 'Perfect,' he purrs. 'Strip down. Shower first.' She pumps soap into her palms and works it over his skin, suds sliding everywhere. 'That hits the spot,' he groans. 'You always strong-arm your guys like this?' she jabs. 'Nah, just trading favors,' he shoots back. She argues Billy earned that spot with sweat. Marcus chuckles. 'He thinks he did, but the guy's a bit dim—no real grind there.' Silvia cracks up. 'Can't fight you on that.' He adds, 'One rubdown for a fat raise? Sweet deal.' She thaws quick, hands wandering till she grips his rock-hard cock, unable to hold back. They crash into a kiss, his fingers tweaking her perky pink nipples. She strokes his dick steady while he dips a finger into her soaking pussy. She gasps, panting hard. But she reins it in—gotta pace for the main event. 'Rinse off, stud. Mat time.' She drizzles oil down his back; he moans how slick and warm it feels. She kneads him deep, then oils up her own curves, flips him, and glides her lush tits over his chest in a slippery slide. Up and down she goes, eyes devouring his throbbing dick like it's her next meal. 'Fuck, I need this in my mouth,' she admits, then swallows him whole, throat working him good. But Silvia's ramping up for Billy's boss, hell-bent on pulling out every trick to lock in that promotion.