Wife's Secret Game 03
Rachel led me past the waiting room and down another corridor deeper inside the shop, guiding me into a room marked Couple Suite. Inside, two massage tables stood waiting, and the walls were lined with every kind of massage tool imaginable. When my eyes landed on one of those vibrating wands of the sort my wife had once used to torment my balls in a porn video, I flinched before I could stop myself.
Right. This is a massage parlor. Of course they'd have those. Damn it… have I been watching too much porn?
A moment later my wife came in as well. She was being escorted by a female attendant in a bikini just like mine, so apparently the skimpy outfits were simply part of the service.
"All right, would you both please lie face-down over here?"
The attendants steered us into place, and my wife and I each stretched out on our separate tables.
Whoosh—
The moment we settled onto the beds, our attendants stripped away our robes. Barely a meter apart, my wife and I found ourselves naked, each of us awkwardly taking in the other's body.
Rachel squeezed something slick and lukewarm onto my back, then worked it in from my shoulders downward, spreading it evenly over my hips and all the way down to my calves.
My wife had nothing to worry about—her attendant was a woman—but when Rachel's hands slipped deep between my buttocks, I tensed in spite of myself.
The attendants began the massage in earnest. They worked the base of our necks and our shoulders with careful, firm pressure, then moved along our flanks and down the line of our spines with surprising skill. And just as thoroughly as they had applied the gel, they massaged our asses with equal devotion.
Not bad, actually.
Honestly, the technique was about on the level of a niece rubbing her uncle's shoulders, but having a young woman's hands kneading into me felt pretty good all the same. Judging by my wife's expression, she seemed reasonably satisfied too. Once the massage was finished, though, the attendants drew a curtain between us.
Now my wife and I could see only each other's faces.
The attendants stepped out and returned a short while later leading two men in massage gowns. The men seemed unable to see; they came in guided by the attendants' hands, and Rachel steered one of them over to my side.
Ah. Blind masseurs.
Rough male hands settled onto my shoulders, which Rachel's touch had already left soft and pliant.
Crack!
"Gyaaah~~~!!!"
"Hwaaang~~~!!!"
Damn it! If Rachel had been heaven, the blind masseur's hands were pure hell. Every joint popped and cracked as he wrenched it, and every time those calloused palms pressed down it felt like I was locked in an armbar. I finally understood that the agonized reactions celebrities put on during massages on TV were not acting.
I glanced at my wife—she looked just as miserable. But her face was so funny that the two of us ended up staring at each other like idiots, laughing and crying by turns.
And when that long, endless session with the blind masseurs finally ended, our faces had melted into expressions of pure bliss.
The attendants led the masseurs back out, then returned and helped us into our robes again.
"Please follow us."
They took us to the showers, which, like the changing rooms, were divided into men's and women's sides. Rachel naturally escorted me into the men's shower, while my wife followed her attendant into the women's.
Surely… it isn't that kind of place, right?
But my instincts proved right once again. Rachel led me into the shower stall, tested the water temperature with her palm, then stepped close and stripped off my robe.
"I'll wash you."
The bright little smile in her eyes was so pure and cute. Here was a girl young enough to make a man wish he had a niece just like her, soaking my body with the showerhead and telling me she was going to scrub me clean.
What is this? This service isn't any different from a full-service parlor.
Now I understood why she'd been wearing a bikini. Rachel washed me meticulously from head to toe. Of course she slipped her hands between my cheeks again to soap me up, and she cleaned my balls and cock with both hands as carefully as if she were massaging them.
With those soapy, slippery palms sliding up and down my shaft, it would have been stranger not to get hard.
"Sorry."
"Not at all. It's only natural. You don't need to feel embarrassed."
When I apologized awkwardly, Rachel only beamed and told me it was fine. I'd had my share of hand jobs from parlor girls before, but Rachel's touch was on another level entirely. I had to summon superhuman willpower to keep from blowing my load all over her face.
"All done."
Having scrubbed every last inch of me, Rachel towel-dried me thoroughly, led me back outside, and helped me into a fresh robe.
"This way, please."
There's still more? I followed Rachel out of the room again, and this time she took me somewhere that looked like a bathhouse.
My wife and I soaked in chocolate baths, aroma baths, even a mud bath. Something about minerals leaching out of the mud… anyway, up to that point I genuinely thought we were getting excellent service, and I almost wanted to thank Hyejeong for recommending the place.
The attendants announced that this was the final course and brought us back to a massage room like the one before. Two tables stood ready again, one for men and one for women. The women's table had openings at the chest; the men's had a hole in the center. Just as before, the attendants had us lie face-down, drew a curtain between my wife and me, and pressed a small bell.
"Excuse me."
Rachel smiled sweetly and slipped underneath the table I was lying on. The instant I wondered what she was doing, a dizzying sensation slammed into my core. Those same hands I'd felt earlier had closed around my cock once more.
Startled, I lifted my hips a little without thinking, but Rachel didn't let go. And this time it wasn't washing—it was unmistakably a caress—so my cock shot to full hardness in a heartbeat.
Slip—
A slick, wet sensation brushed the tip of my cockhead. That was definitely a woman's tongue flicking against my urethra, and sure enough, a moment later my cockhead was swallowed into Rachel's small mouth.
Things had spun so far beyond anything I'd expected that I could only lie there in shock. And with my wife stretched out right beside me, the panic only doubled.
Wait—then is my wife also…?!
I turned my head. Her expression looked anything but ordinary. The table had openings at the chest, so her attendant must have been fondling her breasts right now.
My wife and I were close enough that we could have touched if we'd reached out, each of us being pleasured by our own attendant. And her attendant was a woman—meaning my wife was being caressed by another woman.
Hyejeong, you clever little bitch… I should have been suspicious the second she said she'd recommended this place… damn it!!
Rachel's attentions never stopped. She licked from my cockhead down to my balls with the tip of her tongue, sucked my balls into her mouth and tugged, gripped my shaft in both hands and milked it from base to tip while pressing her tongue against my urethra.
Rachel was working with the unmistakable skill of a professional… there was no longer any doubt. This was no ordinary massage parlor—it was a full-service sex shop.
"Nnngh…"
A moan drifted over from the next table. It sounded like a sound my wife had tried to hold back and failed.
I turned to look. She was biting down hard on her lower lip, fighting to keep quiet. The curtain hid most of her, but the faint shadow made it clear that the attendant beneath the table was stroking her breasts.
"Hhk—"
A sound escaped me before I could stop it. Rachel's hands were speeding up, riding me right to the edge of climax and back again.
My wife looked at me too. But all we could do was lock eyes and wear the same twisted, straining expressions as we fought to endure the rush of pleasure.
And a moment later, under the combined assault of Rachel's hands and mouth, I came hard—and with uncanny timing, two new people walked in right then.
Of the two figures in white massage gowns, one was a man and one a woman. Both had the plain, rough-hewn looks of ordinary people in their forties who might live next door. The man had a bit of a gut; the woman was a soft, slightly plump ajumma type.
"Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Manager Han Miok."
"Ah… yes."
The woman whose name tag read Therapist Han Miok greeted me, but I'd just finished coming and barely had the presence of mind to answer properly.
Just as Manager Han Miok had come to me, a male therapist went to my wife.
"Is everything ready?"
Han Miok spoke again—but not to me.
Rustle—
Rachel crawled out from under the table, grabbed a tissue, and spat a thick mouthful of semen into it.
"Heehee~ Quite a lot, isn't there? Rachel, the tools?"
"All ready, Manager."
Just as Han Miok said, Rachel had spat out a considerable amount. Between the surprise attack and how lethal her technique was, I'd clearly unloaded more than usual.
"All right, please roll onto your back."
Roll onto my back? Meaning put my dick on full display? Rachel had already seen everything, but I wasn't exactly eager to flash some ajumma too… wait. Then Yeonju—my wife—right now…?
I turned my head. My wife had already rolled over, and through the gap in the curtain I could see the man from earlier sweeping his hands up her body as if he were planing wood. His palms started roughly at her hips, pushed straight up, seized her full breasts, kneaded them in slow circles a few times, coasted over her collarbones, then slid back down the slopes of her chest all the way to her pelvis—over and over.
"Nnngh~"
My wife lay with her eyes closed, feeling a stranger's hands on her body, tipping her head back and letting out soft little gasps every time her breasts were crushed and circled in his grip.
Somehow she seemed to be enjoying herself without any thought of me at all… and the second the thought hit me—Did she know this was a full-service place from the start and bring me here on purpose?—my own hesitation vanished.
I rolled over boldly and put my naked front on full display for cute little Rachel and Manager Han Miok, who looked like the kindly neighborhood auntie.
"Rachel, the tools."
"Yes, here."
Rachel fetched a box from the side shelf—thin rods and several bottles that looked like shampoo containers—and set it down in front of Han Miok.
"Sir, would you spread your legs for me?"
Manager Han Miok pulled on rubber gloves like a surgeon and told me to open my legs. I did as I was told, lifting them wide.
"Heehee~ That'll get tiring. Spread them comfortably."
"Uh, how…?"
She told me to spread them, so I did—what more does she want? The thought had barely formed when Rachel stepped in, arranged my legs into an M-shape like a woman waiting to be fucked, slid a thin cushion under my hips, and made me hold my own legs open with both hands.
With my hips tilted up like that, even my asshole was exposed. I felt like a woman lying there waiting for sex.
"Rachel. Scissors."
"Yes, Manager. Here."
Rachel handed Han Miok something that looked like surgical scissors, then took hold of my cock—still limp from coming—and pulled it straight down.
"W-wait, what are you—!!!"
Snip-snip—
Before I knew it the scissors in Manager Han Miok's hand had descended on my cock, and everything that had been clinging stubbornly to my body began to be snipped away without mercy.