John resists

Rachel clapped her hands like a child. "That makes perfect sense! John, be a dear and move your things tonight." She swayed slightly, still dazed from her "treatment," as Rob's thick fingers traced circles on her bare hip.

I frowned, not knowing what to do. "Rachel, I don't think that's necessary. I can take care of you! Remember our vows!" I was getting flustered. Rob was practically moving in!

Rachel waved me off dismissively. "John, don't be silly! Rob's trained for this!" She leaned against Rob's shoulder, her breasts pressing into his arm. The top rode up higher, exposing more of her glistening skin. "He knows exactly where my fat deposits are."

Rob smirked, sliding a possessive arm around her waist. "Let me explain something to you, John," he said, his fingers digging into Rachel's bare hip. "Your wife's body is a temple... and right now, it's in **** need of a full-time caretaker." His other hand cupped her chin, tilting her face toward his. "See these dilated pupils? That's her nervous system responding to intensive treatment."

I didn't believe him. Not for a second. The way Rachel's lips parted slightly—her breath still coming in shallow gasps—the way her fingers trembled against Rob's forearm, clinging like a child to a parent... none of this was the result of "muscle release." The lingering musk in the air, the slow trickle of wetness down her inner thigh, the raw flush creeping up her chest—these weren't signs of physical therapy. My stomach twisted. "That's not true. Rachel, can't you see Rob for who he truly is?"

Rob sighed theatrically, shaking his head. "John, John, John..." He released Rachel's waist to spread his hands in mock innocence. "If I were some predator—some sick fuck—wouldn't I have done worse things by now?" His voice dripped with false sincerity. "Wouldn't I have bent her over the massage table and fucked her raw? Wouldn't I have pinned her wrists and made her scream my name?" Rachel blinked rapidly at the crude language, but Rob pressed on, his tone sickeningly reasonable. "If I were evil, wouldn't I have **** her to lick my cock clean while you watched? Or made her beg to swallow my cum, claiming it was 'protein'?"

"What's cum?" Rachel asked innocently.

"It's not important!" I yelled at her, incredulous with the lack of sexual education. Rob's hand ran up and down her bare back. "Rachel, it's clear that John's not adequate to protect you. You need a real man."

Rachel nodded emphatically, her hair bouncing. "John, I trust Rob," she chimed, her eyes wide with misplaced faith. Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her top, still hard from Rob's "treatment." She wrung her hands together, oblivious to the wetness still clinging to her thighs. "He freed so much fat today," she whispered reverently. "And I feel toxins leaking out—I can feel them."

My hands clenched into fists. "Why can’t I be a real man?" The words clawed at me like a rabid dog. I remembered high school—Rob shoving my face into a urinal, the laughter echoing. Rachel’s giggles now twisted that memory into a knife. I watched her lean into Rob’s touch, her body swaying like a sapling in a storm. ‘Because you’re weak,’ my mind hissed. ‘Because she chose him the moment he touched her. Because she’s dripping for him right now, and you’re just—’

"John?" Rachel’s voice snapped me back. She tilted her head, confused. "Why can’t you be a real man?" Her fingers traced the sweat-slicked valley between her breasts absently. "Rob explained it." She turned to Rob, seeking approval. He nodded, smug.

"Tell him," Rob urged, squeezing her hip.

Rachel blinked slowly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before speaking with devastating simplicity. "Because real men don't cry when their wives get massages," she recited, parroting Rob's earlier whispers. A drop of sweat rolled between her breasts. "And real men know how to... to lubricate fascia properly." Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember the script he'd fed her. "And—and they make women leak toxins like—" She gestured vaguely at her own glistening thighs.