Japanese Slut Wife Must Save Husband’s Job

The CEO was already stripped to the waist. His chest was broader than Matthew’s, darker hair across it. He had lit a single candle. The oil bottle was open.

“Lie face down,” he said. “We’ll start with the shoulders. Tension lives there.”

She dropped the towel. The air felt cool on her skin. She climbed onto the table, face in the cradle, arms at her sides. She heard him move. Warm oil dripped between her shoulder blades. His hands were large, strong, and unhurried. He worked the oil into her muscles with long, firm strokes. For several minutes there was only the sound of skin against skin and her own breathing.

“Matthew mentioned you used to study traditional massage,” he said quietly.

“In Kyoto. Before we married. I stopped.”

“You still have good muscle tone.” His hands moved lower, over her ribs, the small of her back. Thumbs pressed into the dimples above her buttocks. She felt her body respond against her will—heat gathering low in her belly. He did not rush. He spent long minutes on her hips, then the backs of her thighs, then her calves. When his fingers brushed the crease where thigh met buttock, she did not pull away.

“Turn over.”

She did. The table was narrow. She kept her eyes closed. More oil. He began at her collarbones, thumbs circling slowly. Her nipples tightened under his palms when he reached her breasts. He did not avoid them. He worked the oil over the soft skin, then under them, then across the nipples themselves with deliberate, slow passes. Yoshiko’s breath caught.

“You’re very responsive,” he observed. “Does Matthew know that?”

“He knows I love him,” she said.

“That wasn’t the question.” His hands continued downward, over her stomach, circling her navel, then lower. He did not touch between her legs yet. Instead he massaged her inner thighs, spreading them slightly with each stroke so that cool air touched her. She was wet. She could feel it. The knowledge made her face burn.

He stepped away. She opened her eyes. He had removed the rest of his clothes. His cock was already half-hard, thick and long, the head broad. Larger than Matthew’s. She stared before she could stop herself.

“Shower first,” he said. “The oil will be easier to manage afterward.”

The glass shower was large enough for two. He turned the water on—hot, steamy—and stepped inside. Yoshiko followed. The water sluiced the oil from her skin. He soaped her back, then her front, hands sliding over her breasts, her belly, between her legs with clinical thoroughness. She soaped him in return because it seemed expected. His cock grew fully hard under her hands: long, heavy, the veins standing out, the head dark. She measured it almost without thinking—longer than her forearm from wrist to elbow, thicker than her wrist. She wrapped her fingers around it and stroked once, slowly, rinsing the soap away.

“Handjob,” he said. “Here. Then we go back.”

She nodded. The water ran over both of them. She faced him, one hand braced on his chest, the other working his cock in a steady rhythm. The heat and the steam and the size of him in her grip made her knees weak. He watched her face. After several minutes he reached down and covered her hand with his, guiding the pressure, the speed.

“Tighter at the base,” he instructed. “Slower when you reach the head.”

She obeyed. Precum mixed with the water. His breathing deepened. He did not come. He turned the water off, stepped out, and handed her a fresh towel. They dried quickly. Nude, he led her back into the massage room. The table had been cleared. A wide chaise sat against the wall instead.

“Sit,” he said.

She sat. He stood in front of her, cock still hard, level with her face. “Continue.”

Yoshiko leaned forward and took him in her hand again. The skin was hot and smooth. She stroked from base to tip, twisting slightly at the crown the way she had sometimes done for Matthew years ago when they were younger and more playful. The CEO’s hand settled on the back of her head, not forcing, only resting. She added her second hand. Both fists worked him, sliding in the remaining moisture. She felt the pulse under her palms, the way he thickened further.

“Look at me,” he said.

She looked up. His expression was intent, almost clinical, but his cock twitched in her grip.

“Your husband will keep his job,” he said. “The list will be revised tomorrow. In exchange, you will come here twice a month. Massage. Shower. This.” His hips moved slightly into her hands. “And whatever else I decide. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it clearly.”

“My husband will keep his job. I will come twice a month. I will… do this.”

He nodded. “Good. Now finish.”

She stroked faster. The head of his cock was dark and swollen. She focused on the ridge beneath it, the sensitive spot she knew from years of marriage. His thighs tensed. A low sound left his throat. She felt the first pulse and aimed him slightly downward so the first thick ropes landed across her breasts and stomach rather than her face. He came hard, more than she expected, hot streaks over her skin while she kept stroking through it. When he was finished he stepped back, breathing hard.

Yoshiko sat very still, cum cooling on her chest. The CEO picked up a towel and wiped her clean with impersonal efficiency. Then he handed her her clothes.

“Dress. We’ll confirm the next appointment before you leave. Matthew will receive an email in the morning confirming his position is secure.”

She dressed with shaking hands. When she emerged, he was behind his desk again, fully clothed, as if nothing had happened. He slid a card across the desk with a date and time.

“Same place. Same arrangement. Do not discuss the details with your husband. Tell him only that the conversation went well.”

Yoshiko took the card. “Thank you.”

“You did well,” he said. “Matthew is fortunate.”

She left the office. In the elevator she stared at her reflection in the polished doors. Her lipstick was gone. Her hair was still damp at the ends. Between her legs she was still wet. She thought of Matthew waiting at home, of the relief on his face when she told him the job was safe. She thought of the CEO’s cock in her hands, the weight of it, the way it had pulsed when he came on her skin.

Two weeks later she returned.

This time the CEO did not offer conversation first. He simply opened the door to the private room. Yoshiko undressed without being asked. She lay on the table. His hands were firmer today, more possessive. When he turned her over he spent longer on her breasts, pinching her nipples until they ached, then soothing them with oil. He spread her legs and massaged her inner thighs until she was openly wet, then worked two fingers inside her while his other hand continued to stroke her clit. She came quickly, quietly, biting her lip, hips lifting off the table. He did not stop until the tremors faded.

In the shower he pressed her against the glass. His cock slid between her ass cheeks while he soaped her from behind. She reached back and stroked him. He turned her, lifted one of her legs, and rubbed the head of his cock against her entrance without entering. She was ready. He did not push inside. Instead he guided her hand back to him and let her finish him again, this time kneeling so that he came across her tongue and lips. She swallowed what she could. The rest she wiped away with her fingers.

On the chaise afterward he had her lie back with her legs open while he sat between them and simply looked. He touched her lightly—tracing the lips of her pussy, circling her clit, dipping inside—while she stroked his cock with both hands. He came a second time across her stomach. She watched the white streaks land on her skin and felt something shift inside her: not quite shame, not quite desire, but a strange, steady acceptance.

Matthew never asked for details. He only held her tightly the night she first returned and whispered that he did not know what she had said, but that he was grateful. She kissed him and said nothing about the taste still faint on her tongue or the appointment already marked on her private calendar.

By the third visit the routine had settled. She arrived at six. She undressed. He massaged her until she was pliant and flushed. They showered. She gave him a long, careful handjob, sometimes kneeling, sometimes standing, sometimes with him seated on the edge of the massage table while she stood between his knees and used both hands and her mouth in turns. He never fucked her. Not yet. He seemed content to watch her work his cock, to feel her fingers learn exactly how he liked to be touched, to come on her breasts or her stomach or, once, across her open mouth while she looked up at him.

On the fourth visit he asked her to remain nude after the shower. He led her back into the main office. The city lights were bright beyond the windows. He sat in his chair and had her stand in front of him. She stroked him slowly while he spoke on the phone to someone in another time zone, his voice perfectly steady even as his cock throbbed in her grip. When the call ended he pulled her onto his lap, her back to his chest, and guided her hand between her own legs while his cock rested against her ass. She rubbed herself to orgasm while he held her hips and occasionally thrust upward, sliding along the cleft of her buttocks. He came against her lower back.

Yoshiko began to anticipate the appointments. She chose underwear she knew would be removed quickly. She stopped wearing perfume so that the only scent on her skin would be the oil and his soap. At home she was gentler with Matthew, more attentive in small ways. She cooked his favorite meals. She let him hold her at night without pulling away. Sometimes, when he was asleep, she touched herself and thought of the weight of the CEO’s cock in her hands, the way his breath changed just before he came, the quiet authority in his voice when he told her to stroke faster or slower or to look at him while she did it.

On the sixth visit he finally spoke about the future.

They were in the shower. She was on her knees, water cascading over her shoulders, both hands working his cock while she licked the underside of the head. He rested one hand on the wall.

“Matthew’s department is stable now,” he said. “The restructuring is finished. He will not be on any further lists this year.”

She slowed her strokes but did not stop. “Thank you.”

“The arrangement continues. Twice a month. Unless you prefer more often.”

She looked up at him through the water. His cock filled her vision—thick, veined, the head glistening. She took it deeper into her mouth for a moment, then pulled back and resumed the handjob with both fists.

“I will come when you ask,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “Good girl.”

He came across her tongue and chin. She swallowed, rinsed her face under the spray, and stood. He washed her carefully, then dried her himself. In the main office he had her sit on the edge of his desk, legs open, while he stood between them and let her stroke him again until he was hard. He did not enter her. He simply watched her hands on him and occasionally reached down to circle her clit with his thumb until she came, shaking, against the polished wood.

When she dressed to leave he stopped her at the door.

“Next time,” he said, “I want you to stay longer. We will use the chaise. I want to see how you look when you come with my cock in your hands and my fingers inside you at the same time.”

Yoshiko nodded. “Yes.”

She rode the elevator down. In the lobby she passed two junior executives she recognized from company events. They nodded politely. She nodded back. Outside, the evening air was cool. She walked to the train station with her hands in her coat pockets, the appointment card already tucked into her wallet beside Matthew’s insurance cards and a photo of their daughter.

At home Matthew was reading. He looked up and smiled when she entered.

“How was the meeting?” he asked. He still believed she attended occasional “liaison dinners” with senior staff.

“Productive,” she said. She crossed the room and kissed him. “Your position is secure. They value your work.”

He pulled her into his lap, arms around her waist. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. Through the fabric of her blouse she could still feel the faint ache in her nipples from the CEO’s fingers. Between her legs she was sore in the pleasant way that came from being touched thoroughly and often. She thought of the next appointment, of the chaise, of the CEO’s huge cock filling her hands while he worked his fingers inside her until she came. She thought of Matthew’s arms around her now, solid and familiar.

“You work hard,” she said softly. “That is enough.”

He held her tighter. Outside, the city lights continued to burn. In two weeks she would return to the CEO’s office, undress, and lie down on the table again. She would let his hands move over her skin. She would step into the shower. She would wrap her fingers around him and stroke until he came. And Matthew would keep his job.

She closed her eyes and let her husband hold her, already counting the days until she would be naked in that office once more, doing exactly what was required to keep their life intact.