Latina Milf Massage: Taboo Cheating Wife Erotica

By Suzy Bright

Valery Lopez’s hands are magic—but not just for massages. A Colombian-born therapist in Miami, she’s spent years kneading tension from clients’ bodies while her own simmered, neglected by a husband who’d rather work late than worship her curves. But when his latest excuse crackles through the phone, Valery snaps. Enough.

Dressed in lace that clings like a second skin, she storms into the neon-lit Miami night, hunting for a man who’ll match her fire. The first stranger doesn’t stand a chance. Valery pounces, her Spanish curses melting into moans as she rides him raw, “¡Más duro!” tearing through the air. It’s a revelation: her hunger isn’t a flaw—it’s a superpower.

The next day, her massage studio becomes a den of sin. A client’s “deep tissue” appointment spirals into a feverish tango of suction, sweat, and screams. Valery’s lips, once reserved for soothing oils, now devour cocks with ruthless precision. Her table? A launchpad for conquests. From bar hookups to alleyway trysts, she chases release with the fury of a hurricane, each encounter louder, bolder, wilder.

But Valery’s true climax comes when she corrals a pack of eager men, testing limits she never knew she had. “¡Dos a la vez!” she demands, her body a battlefield of pleasure, their stamina no match for her wrathful need. By dawn, Miami pulses with her legend—a scorned wife turned reina, ruling a kingdom of sweat-soaked sheets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzy Bright
• Release date: Apr 5, 2025

Suzy Bright

Suzy Bright is a provocateur with a pen, crafting stories that peel back the velvet curtain on desire, power, and the messy magic of human connection. With a wink and a whip-smart voice, she explores the intersections of lust and liberation, giving readers permission to indulge their darkest curiosities—no judgment, just juice.

Book preview

Latina MILF Massage

Taboo Cheating Wife Erotica

Suzy Bright

Copyright © 2025 by Suzy Bright

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All characters depicted in this book are 18 years or older. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

1.Chapter 1

2.Chapter 2

3.Chapter 3

4.Chapter 4

5.Chapter 5

6.Chapter 6

7.Chapter 7

8.Chapter 8

9.Chapter 9

10.Chapter 10

11.Chapter 11

12.Chapter 12

13.Chapter 13

Chapter one

The Miami sun kisses Valery's skin as she stands on her balcony, the morning light turning her coffee into liquid gold. At thirty-five, her body has ripened into something more luscious than her twenty-year-old self could have imagined – curves that speak in tongues, hips that write poetry with each sway. She runs her fingers through her dark hair, feeling the humidity already beginning to curl it into subtle rebellion, and sighs. Another day of touching bodies that aren't her husband's, of feeling the pull of desire with no release in sight.

Ten years ago, she'd left Colombia with dreams as vast as the Caribbean that washes Miami's shores. Now, she owns those dreams – a successful massage therapy practice, a sleek condo with ocean views, and a husband who once devoured her like she was the last meal on earth. The last part makes her mouth twist into a bitter line. Miguel hasn't touched her properly in months.

Valery sets down her coffee cup with more force than necessary. The sound splinters the morning quiet, startling a seagull from its perch on her railing. She watches it soar away, envying its freedom. Her reflection in the sliding glass door catches her attention – the silhouette of her body in her thin nightgown, the outline of her full breasts, the curve of her waist flaring into generous hips. She doesn't look like a woman who should be starving for touch.

Mierda, she mutters, turning away from her reflection. Time to prepare for work.

In her bathroom, Valery sheds her nightgown, the silk slithering down her body like a lover's caress. She steps into the shower, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, between her breasts, down the slight swell of her stomach to the apex of her thighs. Her fingers follow the water's path, lingering where she aches most. She closes her eyes, imagining what could be, what should be, what isn't. After a moment of indulgence, she pulls her hand away with a frustrated groan. She wants more than her own fingers. She wants to be claimed, possessed, fulfilled.

The image of her first client of the day flashes in her mind – a middle-aged stockbroker with tight shoulders and wandering eyes. She pushes the thought away. She's nothing if not professional.

---

Just a little deeper, yes, right there, the client moans as Valery's strong fingers work the knot in his upper back. His sounds of relief are almost erotic, but Valery maintains her professional distance, the way she always does. Her practice, Healing Hands, has a spotless reputation, and she intends to keep it that way.

Your muscles are speaking to me, she says, her Colombian accent wrapping around the words like silk. They're telling me you carry too much tension.

The client chuckles. My wife says the same thing.

Valery's hands don't falter, though her mind sputters at the mention of wives. Lucky woman, she thinks, to have a husband who comes home at reasonable hours, who might reach for her in the night instead of his phone.

Your wife is wise, she says instead, pressing firmly into a trigger point that makes him gasp. Listen to her.

Throughout the day, bodies come and go beneath her hands – men, women, young, old. Valery reads them all, finding the story in their sinews, the chapters hidden in the curve of their spines. A young dancer with overtaxed calves. An elderly woman with arthritis blooming in her fingers like unwelcome flowers. A construction worker whose lower back screams sonnets of strain.

And through it all, Valery's own body hums with neglected need, a persistent bass note beneath the melody of her workday. When she adjusts a client's position, the brush of skin against skin sends electric currents through her fingertips. When she applies pressure to release tension, her own tension coils tighter.

By the time she locks up the studio at six, the space between her thighs is slick with want, her nipples sensitive against the fabric of her bra. She's wound tight, a spring compressed beyond its capacity.

---

Home is a battleground of memories. The kitchen where Miguel bent her over the counter the weekend after they moved in. The couch where they once spent an entire Sunday exploring each other's bodies. The shower where his hands used to slip between her thighs while whispering filthy promises in Spanish against her neck.

Now, it's just Valery and the echo of her heels on the hardwood floor. She checks her phone – no messages from Miguel. She already knows he'll be late; he always is these days. His real estate business has taken off in the last year, which means more clients, more showings, more late nights finalizing deals.

More excuses not to come home to his wife.

Valery pours herself a glass of red wine, the liquid dark and seductive in the crystal. It stains her lips when she sips, leaving them looking bruised, kissed, claimed – everything they aren't anymore. She leans against the counter, the same counter where Miguel once made her scream so loud the neighbors knocked on the wall. The memory makes her thighs clench.

The front door opens just as Valery finishes her second glass. Miguel appears, his tie loosened, his eyes tired but triumphant. I closed the Hamilton deal, he announces, setting his briefcase down with a thud.

Congratulations, Valery says, and she means it. She's proud of his success, even as it steals him from her.

He crosses to her, places a quick, perfunctory kiss on her lips. No tongue, no heat, no hunger – just habit. Valery wants to grab him by the lapels, wants to sink her teeth into his lower lip, wants to climb him like he's the last tree in a forest fire.

Instead, she asks, Are you hungry?

Starving, he says, but he's already reaching for his