My Husband's Adventures

by Alex Hathaway

  “Well, with Brad, we don’t fuck that much anymore. His penis is just too small for me now. Damn, I’m spoiled, I guess! I can barely feel him anymore, and I get impatient when he’s inside me. But he can still eat me like a champ, and we have a lot of fun just, well, being close. We really don’t have any secrets between us, and that is an amazing feeling in its own right. I guess it’s like high school in that regard too—we got a bit of that ‘first love’ feeling back between us.”

  We both paused to let that revelation soak in. Then Alicia sat up in her chair and said, “But here’s the strange thing: I was submitting so completely to my lovers, but I also realized that I had a dominant side, and I unleashed it on Brad more in the bedroom. He opened up to a submissive side that shamed him but that he also craved to experience.”

  “Craved?” I asked.

  “Brad loves to be teased and humiliated for his sexual inadequacies,” said Alicia. “And to be honest, I love to do it. I think past experiences I had with arrogant, small-dicked men add to the intensity of what I dish out to him. It’s kind of cathartic to finally let a small-dicked guy know just how disappointing he is. But I do worry I am dumping my past frustrations on him.”

  “Like you’re getting revenge on other guys who couldn’t fuck you, and who tried to control you in other ways,” I theorized.

  “Yes, something like that,” Alicia said. “Looking back, I hate the time I wasted with overcompensating jerks. Maybe this gives me some outlet for that.” After a moment of thought, she said, “Fortunately, Brad’s little dick likes it.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked her.

  “Well, he gets so hard when I tease him about his inadequacy …. His little dick squirts in my hand and he’s like putty for the rest of the day.”

  I didn’t really understand but I laughed with Alicia anyway.

  “I never …” I began.

  “You never what?” asked Alicia.

  “I guess I never realized … that small guys would get off on that. I was usually too busy rejecting them—either in subtle ways or outright.” My mind flashed on Daniel—how kind he was. How angry he’d been on the phone the last time we talked. Ugh.

  I waited in silence while Alicia fetched ice and beverage refills. When she sat back down, she said, “The weird thing is, while I’m very dominant in bed with Brad, I’m totally submissive with my bulls.”

  “Bulls?” I asked.

  Alicia laughed. “Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you. In cuckolding circles, guys like Jackson are referred to as bulls.”

  My husband the bull? WTH?

  “And what defines a bull?”

  “Well, each women might think of it differently. But a bull is usually naturally dominant, used to taking control and easily making us submit to him. But I have my own view on that,” Alicia went on. “For me, a bull can simply fuck a lot better than Brad. Usually he has a much bigger cock, and he can literally rip the orgasms from my body, even if I’m initially not really in the mood for sex. Whereas with Brad, I have to be in a certain mood emotionally to even want to spread for him.” Her eyes widened. “A bull like Jackson, though, he can get me wet and make me cum no matter how pissed off I am, no matter how much I don’t want to submit to him in that moment.”

  The “bull” part of this language was super-weird, but I must admit I was very familiar with the bull part of things with men, and that feeling of surrendering to ecstasy. I guess I understood that more. But Brad?

  “Oh, and I’d say Brad and I are more like best friends than intense sexual partners.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Alicia paused, then continued, “Well, I can’t say that I ever get weak in the knees around him the way I did when we first met.” She shrugged. “I guess you could say I have a lot of power in the relationship. And that kind of changes my attraction to him.” She waggled her forefinger. “But not all the power, because I’m pretty sure he would leave me for good if I cheated on him. And … well, I think it’s good for me that I don’t have absolute power in this. I would not only run him into the ground; I’d lose myself.”

  I had to spit it out: “But … you’re still hurting other women—the wives and girlfriends of the other men you’ve fucked!” The time for reflection was over; I wanted my pound of flesh.

  Alicia looked like she’d been punched. Finally she said, “I know. Corrie, I’m really sorry. I won’t … fuck Jackson again. I promise.”

  For a second, I thought I saw a tear in Alicia’s eye. She didn’t have to say anything more. I recognized it from that summer with Daniel and Jackson. I had felt conflicted, out of control, unable to get a handle on my own passions. Is that the way all women are? Or can be?

  No matter. I wasn’t giving Alicia that excuse. Or that comfort.

  I got up quickly, before my resolve faded.

  “Okay, Alicia,” I said, “I’m going to hold you to that.” And that was all the understanding I was ready to give her.

  I scooted off the chair, back through her house and out, before she could say anything more or even close the door behind me. I gave it a good slam.

  I made a point of pressing the accelerator in my Mustang, leaving Alicia some road burn.

  Chapter 8

  Once home, I was able to put the masturbation incident and its implications behind me. Alicia had agreed to never fuck Jackson again, and I believed her. If I asked Jackson, he would say the same. So … one problem solved. But what about other women?

  If I ask Jackson not to fuck any other women, will he agree?

  Deep down—and damn it, this is humiliating—I wasn’t sure if he was willing to stop. Not even for me—the queen, the damn princess, the girl with the most cake. A part of me wanted to force the matter to a head, compelling him to make a choice. But as much as I hated it—as much as it drove me bonkers—a primal part of me loved that he had the sexual upper hand. No other man could make that claim. Please don’t think less of me for this, but you could say it made my pussy sopping wet. And this:

  Daniel would never have given you that type of ultimatum.

  It was a terrible, horrible, no good thought—and one hundred percent true. If you think it made Daniel look good in my mind, actually, it was the opposite. It made me respect him less. No, not respect exactly … desire. It made me want Daniel less. Maybe that’s fucked up, I don’t know.

  And: Jackson is a perfect sex partner. Because you can’t control him. He won’t let you.

  But then, the burning question: how do you make a life with someone like that?

  At home in the shower, washing the cum Alicia had provoked off my thighs, I couldn’t stop the fierce debate between my own thought demons:

  Monogamy is easier for Daniel than Jackson. Women are throwing themselves at Jackson all the time. Asking a man who fucks that well to keep it in his pants, was that realistic?

  Well, I don’t give a fuck about realistic!

  And there, left leg propped up on a bath stool, I teased myself off again, imagining all the hot women Jackson had fucked. Alicia was the tip of that particular iceberg. I swear, women can sense how good Jackson can make them feel.

  Yikes.

  After that, I didn’t masturbate again. Not that week, not the next. Nor did I fuck Jackson again. He was around the house here and there, spending time with Chelsea, sleeping in the garage. Sometimes, after I fell asleep, he’d grab a blanket and head for the living room couch. That was all I let him get away with. A couple times, he made his moves on me, but I resisted. It was as if all the sex had been drained from my body.

  One night during that celibate period, I had a rough dream. After waking up with a start, I checked the couch, but Jackson was missing. I stormed out to the garage, sure he was gone, but no … he was curled up on the creaky fold-out, snoring on his back.

  I asked him to come back to bed. I just needed to feel his strong arms around me. I slept without worries.

  In the morning, I knew what I had to do.


  “Jackson!” I woke him rudely, tapping on his arm, a full hour before his alarm. He was going to have a sleepy day on the job.

  “Yeah?”

  He propped himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “You said that Alicia’s husband watched you fuck.”

  “Yeah. But why does that matter now?”

  “Because … if he watched, I want to watch too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to see what he saw. I want to see his reactions. I want to be there.”

  Jackson hesitated, confused. I think he’d expected me to discuss our future, not propose a sex tryst. And my proposal would hardly bring closure to our problems; it would open up another big-ass can of worms.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he protested.

  “I don’t care! Set it up.”

  And with that, I hit the shower.

  I knew that eventually they would all agree. Alicia and Jackson didn’t really have a choice. And as for Alicia’s husband … if what they said about him was true, well, he would welcome such a crazy situation.

  A week later, it was all set. Misgivings had been expressed on all sides, but I think Jackson understood what was at stake.

  So we found ourselves once again sitting awkwardly on Alicia’s back porch, this time together. I was casually dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a blouse far too generic for such a taboo occasion. Alicia was wearing overalls under a bulky shirt, as if pretending this wasn’t happening. Jackson, busting out of his T-shirt and cargos, was the only one who looked the part.

  Brad, meanwhile, was the odd man out. He wore a T-shirt as well and Docker shorts, but his clothes fit awkwardly, as if hanging from a bent clothes hanger. Brad forced a smile, but he couldn’t carry us through our casual, forced conversation. I think we actually talked about the weather. Then, sports. Yawn.

  Brad seemed proud of having more stats at his mental disposal than Jackson. That’s about all I recall from that draggy conversation. I figured some loosening up might be in order, so in my purse I had compassionately stashed a small joint, procured for this occasion. Smoking helped a little. I suppose this was not like swinging, where two couples look forward to coming events with the same anticipation. This time, everyone was accommodating me.

  Alicia tried to break the tension. “Let me get us … another round of …” and she escaped to the kitchen.

  But somehow, I knew what to do.

  “Alicia, that won’t be necessary,” I called after her. “Why don’t you and Jackson head to the bedroom while Brad and I have a chat.”

  Alicia’s conflicted expression relaxed into relief. At least she knew how to play this particular part. She and Jackson headed inside after exchanging a knowing look that annoyed me no end. That left me to the awkwardness of Brad.

  Things got even more bizarre. Brad wasn’t what you would call a chillaxed stoner. He seemed twitchy. Settling into my chair, I sipped my cocktail as if Brad and I were old pals. I was starting to enjoy his predicament.

  Brad was fed up.

  “Why … w-why are you doing this?” he stammered.

  “Well, Brad, you like to watch. What gives you the right to watch and not me?”

  “But … this is what me and my wife do. You’re here … just because you’re mad.”

  “Well, yeah, I’m pissed!” I said. “You guys kept something pretty damn important from me.”

  “Jackson kept you out of this because he was afraid how you’d respond,” Brad blurted out. “Like this!” he added.

  I was kind of impressed by Brad. Yeah, his anger had a desperate quality, but he wasn’t the pushover I had expected.

  “Okay, Brad, let me explain. When my spouse does something I don’t approve of, there are consequences. Or does that word not have relevance for you?”

  Brad’s face flushed. Time for me to get my blows in.

  “I don’t let the men I fuck just put their dicks wherever they want, much less my husband,” I continued. “Not like Alicia, who spreads her legs whether you fucking like it or not.”

  Hurt flashed across Brad’s face. “I’m just … I’m just trying to keep my marriage alive. I don’t … I don’t want to lose Alicia. I’m … well, I’m afraid. Afraid of where this could lead. I’m not … comfortable with her feelings for Jackson.”

  “Well, that makes two of us!” I snapped.

  “And for what it’s worth,” he continued, “I’m sorry.”

  In spite of myself, I empathized with him. We were both trying to hang on to what was ours, or what we thought of as ours.

  Now I was distracted, but for a different reason. Something I had not expected.

  I clutched Brad’s hand. He did not pull away.

  “Brad, I’ll be dead honest with you,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m here either. Like you said, it was more … an emotional reaction. Like you, I’m trying to save my marriage, in my own fucked-up way.”

  We both chuckled at the absurdity of that.

  “But,” I paused, looking for words, “I’m starting to think there might be something here for me too. Something very, very bad.”

  I thought I saw a twitch in Brad’s pants. I flashed to my furious masturbation session after the last time at Alicia’s. But I didn’t tell him about that.

  “Brad, I think what we need to do is watch what is happening in that bedroom.”

  We locked eyes. I’m not sure if he was excited, or terrified, or both.

  “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen, Brad. I’ve never been down this road before. But I know I need to see this, and … I need you to be here too.”

  Brad seemed surprised.

  “Why … me?”

  “Brad, I’m not sure. I really need to find out.”

  Then I stood up, still holding his hand. I was almost towering over him now. Then I went for the jugular, “Brad, don’t you need to know too?”

  He didn’t have to say anything. His face was a yes.

  I took Brad’s hand and led him toward the bedroom.

  “Wow, just follow the moans,” I laughed as we got near.

  When I opened the door, it was just about the perfect moment.

  Alicia, already buck naked, was kneeling on the floor. She was cautiously pulling Jackson’s boxers down, as if afraid of what she might find there.

  Jackson’s cock popped out, just as it had for me so many times, maybe two thirds hard, bonking Alicia in the face before landing proudly in her hands.

  Slutty hands, I thought to myself.

  Alicia and Jackson looked over at us, but I didn’t want them to stop.

  “Keep going, Alicia!” I said. “I want to see how you work it.”

  Alicia blushed, but she was too far gone to stop.

  Letting go of my hand, Brad went into the walk-in closet and dragged out a large sofa chair.

  “I see you prepared for this, Brad,” I whispered into his ear. Blushing, he asked me if I wanted a folding chair.

  “No, Brad, I think we can share this one.”

  Brad had set up the chair about eight feet from the bed, and he sat down to watch the action. I stood behind him, leaning over as Alicia starting working Jackson’s penis.

  The sight made me a little sick. But it also sent a jolt down my body and between my legs. I braced the chair for support.

  Here we go. I thought. Here we go.

  I leaned over and whispered into Brad’s ear, possessed by some strange new purpose.

  “Look at her, Brad. She’s already lost it.”

  Brad moaned and started rubbing himself through his shorts.

  Alicia was just devouring Jackson’s cock, or as much of it as she could get into her mouth. She was slobbering all over him and carrying on. She had one hand between her own legs, working her own pussy, which made her blowjob mission tougher.

  Without giving it a second thought, I reached down and started rubbing Brad’s dick through his shorts. He whipped his head around in shoc
k, but offered no resistance.

  “Brad, look at her,” I whispered. “There’s no way to stop her from fucking him now.”

  Alicia had given up on touching herself in favor of bucking her hips all over the place while sucking on Jackson. “God, I missed this cock!” she said, as she stroked it with both hands, getting it nice and hard for what she needed.

  It did look awesome. I forgot my jealousy as I started lusting over Jackson’s dick myself. Now that it was hard, it was jutting out so strong and thick. It really looked formidable.

  As I worked my hand into Brad’s zipper, Jackson had the good sense not to tell Alicia he had missed her pussy. But he clearly wanted her. I know that, because he was paying very little attention to me.

  “He’s going to fuck her, Brad … he’s going to fuck her so well,” I cooed as I stroked.

  Alicia was stroking Jackson’s cock furiously, as if daring him to cum. But it takes a lot of work to make Jackson cum—something that made him annoyingly proud.

  As I casually stroked Brad, eager to see what Jackson and Alicia would do next, I sensed an escalation of breathing and spasms from Brad. Then I felt some unmistakable wet stuff on my hands.

  “Oh Brad, you came already?” I said out loud without thinking.

  Alicia and Jackson looked over and spontaneously laughed. Perhaps it was a pathetic sight, Brad still fully clothed with cum all over his shorts.

  “That’s my Brad,” Alicia said laughing, returning back to a vigorous jerk and suck on Jackson, as if to show Brad how much friction he could take.

  Not wanting Brad to perish from embarrassment, I whispered in his ear, “Go take off your clothes, Brad. You don’t want to miss this.”

  At my command, Brad obediently headed to the closet, which for some reason made my pussy twinge. I peeled my own clothes off until I was down to a bra and panties. The crotch of my white panties was already completely soaked. Self-conscious, I quickly pulled them off as well. Brad was back too, naked and awkward.

  “Brad,” I turned to him. “Help me with my bra,”

  I turned my back to Brad as he fumbled with the clasp like a schoolboy. I giggled but then it was done.