My Husband's Masseuse

Kenzie Taylor's wrapping up her setup for the final massage slot of the day, all oiled up and ready to roll, when in storms Charlie Forde, eyes narrowed like she's about to throw down. Charlie's not backing off—'I've got an appointment, lady,' she snaps. Kenzie's thrown; her books say a regular guy should be sliding in soon. But nope, Charlie drops the bomb: she's the wife, swiping his spot to snoop on this 'massage parlor' her hubby's always raving about—and yeah, she smells infidelity in the air, fingers pointing straight at Kenzie's wandering hands. Kenzie swears up and down it's all legit, no funny business, but Charlie's not buying it without proof. She demands the full treatment. Kenzie shrugs, slots her right in, and tells her to strip down and hop on the table. As Kenzie's skilled fingers dig deep, kneading out every knot and tension, Charlie's walls crumble—judgments melting like butter under that magic touch. Damn, there's something electric in those hands, sparking a heat Charlie didn't expect. She's hooked now, whispering she'll push boundaries further, chase that naughty thrill with Kenzie... long as those lips stay sealed from hubby.