A strong shudder surged through the innocent blonde wife at the unexpected titillation of her ultra-sensitive nipples. Her hands shot down from Larry's strong-muscled back to cover her naked breasts with the orange lace nightgown, which somehow had crept up around her neck without her noticing it. What on earth was her husband's manager doing to her? Surely he wasn't trying to… but no, that was completely impossible.

"Wh-what are you d-doing, Larry?" she stammered, her whole body tensing as if she were about to jump to her feet and run from the room. "D-don't do that, please!"

"Calm down," Larry said in the smooth voice he usually reserved for selling impossible schemes or unusable objects to recalcitrant clients. It was a tone of unquestionable honesty and sincerity which, along with his driving ambition, was largely responsible for his financial success. Never lost a deal or a woman yet! he often boasted to his friends.

"A massage is mental as well as physical, and if it's going to do any good at all you have to feel my energy vibrating on your bare skin. Now what I want you to do is think about Verne, pretend he's here with you now. That's what he'd want you to do! And you'll be sound asleep in no time at all!"

Sandi's shock-widened amber eyes stared back at him in confusion, and she continued her feeble effort to push away Larry's relentlessly kneading hands. Her mind was whirling so wildly that she just didn't know what to think, and all she could do was slowly shake her head at the handsome older man bending over her.

"Didn't anyone ever give you a massage before?" the sly manager inquired. "You're acting like I'm trying to do something wrong – do you really think I'd do anything to my best friend's wife that he didn't want me to do? And I know what he'd want is for me to relax you, honey. You're being silly – childish."