My Husband's Adventures

by Alex Hathaway

  One of the guys—he had a confident graduate student look, perfect for a certain “muscular professor” fantasy I have—cast an extra glance our way,

  “So this new guy—the one who can ‘love you a long time’—what’s his name?” I asked.

  “Oh. Nick …” Lisa said, then … “Nick …” and she heaved a sigh.

  “What’s the problem with Nick?”

  “That’s the problem,” Lisa said with some resignation. “There really is no problem. He’s cute, he’s a practicing lawyer, and he’s not a schmuck. He works for a legal defense fund for battered women. You know, he’s one of those guys, guys you can respect.”

  “Husband material,” I offered.

  “Yes! Exactly the kind of guy you and I talked about in college, one of the really decent ones who is so hard to come by. I’m not sure what my problem is. Maybe I’m just not ready for something serious, and that’s why we’re not clicking sexually. Or maybe I just need to tell him where my spots are.”

  Lisa and I exchanged a wicked smile. We had discussed our “spots” before.

  “Do you think he wants to date more seriously?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed again. “He doesn’t like it that I still see other people.” Lisa drew herself up in that arrogant way I loved. She rarely gave up sexual control to a man. Thinking about her matter-of-factly laying out the terms of her relationship to Nick—take it or leave it—made me tingle. Lisa could get away with stuff like that.

  “Except ….” Lisa looked at me, seeming to debate whether to continue. She took another swig from her drink as I nudged her leg under the table, encouraging her to dish. “Well, sometimes he does ask me about other guys. He even asked me about their cocks once, how they fucked.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him it didn’t matter because they were all quick cummers. He could fuck the longest.”

  “In other words, you took the path of least male ego damage,” I teased.

  Lisa sighed again. “Yeah, I guess so. Damn it! I think I’m back to the vibrator.”

  As I watched the laughter rippling through Lisa’s elegant body, I thought, God what a waste, a woman like that giving her orgasms to a machine.

  Right on cue, Muscular Librarian headed our way, staring right at her.

  “Oh god,” Lisa said, “you have to get him away. I think I’m too drunk for anything like this tonight.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Lisa, “I know how to handle this guy.”

  “Can I buy you ladies a drink?” he said, holding his Budweiser out, as if to remind us he wasn’t the kind of guy to get a pretentious mixed drink.

  “Why, does it look like we need one?” I asked him flirtingly, pointing to the dozen or so glasses on the table between us.

  “Ah, yes … maybe not,” he conceded.

  My moment had arrived. “Tell me something …” I looked up.

  “James,” he said.

  “James,” I said. “Did you come over here because you want to talk to us, or, because … you want to fuck?”

  Lisa’s eyes popped. James’ bottle of Bud almost flew out of his hands. He looked a little flushed, but give James-the-Aspiring-Stud credit, he didn’t skip many beats before looking boldly at Lisa.

  “I want to fuck.”

  “James, bravo for honesty!” I said. Lisa and I both clapped. But she was staring at me, dumbfounded. Back in the day, she’d always been the bold one.

  “James,” I grabbed his hand, “now that we’ve established that you want to fuck, tell us … how big is your cock?”

  Lisa gasped but quickly got herself under control, curious to hear his answer. James seemed taken aback. We looked up at him expectantly.

  “That’s a little too much information for you to handle,” he said, trying to dodge my thrust.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. “James, you said you want to fuck. How can we make an informed decision on whether or not to fuck you, if we don’t know what you’re working with?”

  I was smiling, but James seemed to sense I was serious.

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve never had any complaints,” he said.

  “Ah, but have you had any compliments?” I asked.

  “I can handle my business!” James said, indignant.

  “Oh, I see you can,” I retorted. I had to defuse the situation before it got too ridiculous. “James, here’s the deal, I went on. “I’m married, but my friend here, well, she’s not, and I’m currently reviewing applications for a guy to fuck the living hell out of her. If you don’t mind waiting with your friends, we’ll get back to you.”

  Lisa smiled at him reassuringly, kicking me under the table.

  James smiled a steely smile before heading down the bar to rejoin his posse.

  Feeling a little bad, I waved and smiled so that his friends would think he’d made a lasting impression.

  “Corrie!” Lisa admonished, once he was out of earshot.

  “Well, you said you wanted me to get rid of him … so I did!”

  “Yeah but … he was really cute.” Lisa sighed, no doubt thinking of her vibrator.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” I told her. “I did you a favor.”

  “And how’s that?” Lisa asked, suspiciously.

  “A guy who is truly mind-blowing in bed would have answered those questions differently,” I assured her.

  “And how’s that?”

  My mind raced back to the first time I’d met Jackson. And suddenly, I had an idea. A very nasty, exciting idea.

  “Lisa, now’s our chance … let’s make a run for it!”

  James was about thirty feet away, his back turned. His pals were laughing it up, still glancing in our direction. Lisa caught her purse strap on the chair, but she managed to pull it free without a ruckus, and soon we were scrambling out the back, laughing and huffing and running the few blocks till we got to our cars.

  “Sorry we didn’t get you laid,” I told her.

  “Oh, you’re not sorry at all! The mouth on you …. I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

  “Sorry, sweetie, I’ll make it up to you. Promise!”

  “You’d better!” Lisa said.

  Lisa insisted we call a cab and leave the cars for tomorrow. I went along with it—no use denying all the gin and tonics. Besides, it gave me a chance to text Jackson and let him know exactly what I was bringing home with me. Once we sloshed into the cab, it wasn’t hard to convince Lisa to sleep over at my place.

  Chapter 12

  When we got to my house, Jackson opened the door. He was dressed casually in some baggy sweatpants and a tank top, but I could see Lisa’s eyes widen. Nothing is ever casual about Jackson; he looks like a leopard at rest. And nothing sobers a girl faster than being confronted with a man like that.

  I told Lisa to wait in the living room; then I pulled Jackson aside and told him my plan. After that it was only a matter of whipping up some guacamole, smoking a little herb, and we were in business. I went to rejoin Lisa.

  Lisa and I hung out in the living room, where there were two big couches, including Jackson’s couch of exile when the garage was too cold. There were even a few beanbag chairs I had kept around from college. I was glad Jackson had thought to shove the bedding he used behind the couch, so our domestic issues weren’t so obvious.

  I was also super glad Chelsea was on a sleepover again. I texted her to make sure she was okay and got the impatient Yes, Mom! response a few minutes later. She hadn’t learned to blow me off yet, though with her growing adolescent attitude, that might happen sooner than later. For now, we were good.

  I found myself staring at Lisa. Even with that baggy shirt concealing her unfairly large breasts, she looked like a catch. Her high heels contrasted with her casual top, but they also sealed the deal. Lisa seemed to be crossing her muscular legs a lot. She was restless, perhaps a bit agitated at seeing a hunky guy just when she thought the night’s adventures were behind us.

  “
Did Nick approve this outfit?” I asked her, jokingly. Her face flushed.

  “No, he’s out of town at a conference,” she said.

  I smiled at her teasingly.

  “What’s that look for?” she asked me. “I told you, I’ve been good lately!”

  “I would assume no less!” My chin jutted in the direction of my husband. “Speaking of which, would you like to see Jackson model some swimsuits for us?”

  “Swimsuit model?” Lisa asked me, somewhat disbelievingly. “I thought he was in construction.”

  “Jackson is part of a male swimsuit contest for charity next weekend. It’s an annual tradition. Bring home the prize and raise some money for breast cancer.”

  “Oh, really?” She wasn’t buying it.

  “Yeah, he used to be a stripper in college,” I said, trying not to show how proud I was. It was a stupid thing to be proud of.

  “But he won’t be stripping,” I paused, “at the event next week.” I waggled my eyebrows. “What do you say, Lisa? We could have Jackson show us his suits, and we can pick out a favorite.”

  “Yeah, sure!” Lisa said. “I’m not one to turn down a personal male revue.” She plopped from one of the couches into the bean bag after pulling it around. I did the same, but not before running to get Jackson away from his computer and into action. The plan was working perfectly.

  A few minutes went by as my feelings of deviousness mounted. Oh, Corrie, you’re about to do a very bad thing ….

  “Okay, Jackson, let’s get it going!” I said. I scrolled through our iPod, moving it off “jazz mix” and onto “disco classics.” Andy Gibb came on with “I Just Want to Be Your Everything.”

  “That’s the right groove,” I said. Lisa cracked up, starting to get into this.

  “Jackson, c’mon!” I yelled out.

  Jackson turned the hallway corner, wearing a V-neck and swim shorts.

  “Woohoo!” we both hollered. This first swimsuit was baggy and loose fitting.

  I thought I saw disappointment on Lisa’s face. “Take it off!” she said, pointing to Jackson’s shirt.

  Hips gyrating, Jackson took off his T-shirt. Unlike most of the male species, Jackson was never ashamed to move in front of the ladies. He wasn’t a six-pack abs kind of guy, but Jackson did have a powerful build that was pleasing to horny girls like us. “Oh, baby!” Lisa called out. She could see from my happy look I wasn’t offended at the fun she was having.

  Jackson grabbed a bean bag chair and started humping it a little bit as Lisa cackled.

  “Jackson,” I scolded, “no beanbag babies. Next outfit!”

  The next pair of shorts was even baggier, but at least Jackson kept his shirt off this time. By now, the song had changed. Jackson was swaying to “Funky Town,” doing his best to keep the beat. Jackson would never qualify for Dancing with the Stars, but he had a certain indefinable something. I could see a flicker of lust on Lisa’s face. For the first time, I felt a surge of possessiveness.

  “How about something a little snugger,” Lisa called out to him. “I wanna see … those glutes!”

  Jackson laughed. “I’ll see what I can find!” he said, hip thrusting his way out of the room to our catcalls.

  Jackson came out again, ass first, shakin’ his booty in a tighter getup as the next song kicked in: “I’m Your Boogie Man,” by KC and the Sunshine Band.

  “Work it, boogie man!” I called out while Lisa squealed happily. It was great to see her forgetting her troubles; she had helped me do the same on many occasions.

  As Jackson worked the beat, his shorts clung to his buns. Then he turned, gyrating his hips. These pants were also pretty baggy in front, but you could see his ropy penis flopping all over the place. I heard Lisa gasp a little bit, no doubt questioning what she was seeing.

  “Jackson, look for something tighter!” I said, as he backed out of the room. Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” kicked in.

  “Like a thong,” I thought I heard Lisa say under her breath.

  And that’s exactly what came next. This time, Jackson didn’t wear a swimsuit. He busted around the corner in a red thong we had special-ordered for him last Christmas from an online store for well-endowed men. It turned me on so much just to order from it.

  “Oh … my … god!” I heard Lisa call out. Jackson is probably about six inches soft, and he wasn’t totally soft anymore. He started vigorously humping to the music; you could see his big floppy cock swinging like a pendulum, ominously pushing in our direction.

  “Holy shit!” Lisa said, “What a—”

  “Work it baby! Show her what you can do!” I encouraged him. Jackson moved his hips sideways, gyrating his way toward us, his cock straining in the red pouch.

  “God, Corrie,” Lisa whispered, “I had no idea.”

  “Can he show you a little more?” I asked her, my gin and tonics giving me the boldness I needed.

  Lisa just said, “Okay …” as if in a daze, compulsively squeezing her thighs together.

  I shut off the disco and kneeled in front of Jackson. “Honey, I want to show my girl what you have to offer,” I said, gripping his thickness.

  “Sure, baby.” Jackson smiled down at me. I pulled his thong down to his ankles and his cock sprung out, almost whacking me in the face.

  “Now that’s what I call sprung!” I called out and smiled at Lisa. The always-verbal Lisa had nothing to say.

  I started jerking Jackson’s cock, as if I always did this kind of thing in front of my friends. He was two-thirds hard now, getting thicker and heavier with every stroke. Baam! For the first time in a long while, I felt some wetness between my own legs. With Lisa’s gaze upon us, I was rediscovering my own husband’s cock.

  “Oh that’s it, that’s it, Corrie,” Jackson said.

  “I want to get him nice and hard so you can see,” I told Lisa, turning sideways so I could stroke Jackson with both hands and get him to his hardest point. Jackson never got totally steel-hard, which might have been a problem with a small cock. With his size, it wasn’t an issue.

  I could tell he was turned on by how his cock was throbbing in my hands. That was another good thing about Jackson. He almost never spurted without a lot of effort on my part, so you could stroke him without losing the moment.

  “Wow, Jackson, that’s about as hard as I’ve seen you,” I said. It was true. He wasn’t sticking straight out, or higher as some of my other lovers had. But Jackson was hard, all right, sticking out at a mean-looking angle. I turned to show Lisa, but she had already moved to the edge of the beanbag for a better view.

  Her hand was on her hips; she was clearly fighting the urge to jam her fingers right up her skirt. This was going even better than I’d expected.

  “Oh, Lisa, I’m sorry, I’m being so selfish. Why don’t you come over here and play with Jackson too?” I said.

  Lisa looked at me and said nothing, as if to question my intentions.

  “It’s okay, I get to have him all the time,” I said, doing my utmost to pretend he and I weren’t in a rough patch. “C’mon, there’s plenty to share.” I held Jackson’s cock up toward her. Feeling the power it had on my old friend made me squirmier than I’d been in a while. Lisa obediently slid over, almost in a trance.

  She kneeled next to me, looking up at Jackson as if worshipping some dark god. I took her right hand and placed it on Jackson’s cock, next to mine.

  “Oh my god, it’s so big in my hand!” Lisa said, her little fingers barely encompassing him.

  She started stroking; I moved lower to massage his heavy balls.

  “Oh …. careful, Corrie,” Jackson moaned. The only time he cums too fast is when his cock and balls are massaged together.

  But I had other things in mind.

  “Lisa, you go ahead. I want to see how you stroke him.” Her eyes showed uncertainty as I fell back into a beanbag chair.

  But Lisa’s lust got the better of her and she went back to stroking. Soon she was working Jackson with both hands, looking up
at him to gauge his reaction to her grip and tempo.

  “Oh, Jackson,” Lisa said, her brain melting to servitude.

  And then, taking us both by surprise, Lisa leaned in and put the head of Jackson’s cock into her mouth.

  “That’s it, baby,” Jackson said. “Suck this dick.”

  Now it was my turn to be shocked, watching my friend Lisa go nuts on my husband right in front of me.

  Soon, Lisa was slobbering all over his cock, making crazy sucking sounds, slapping his dick on her face then going back to sucking and stroking.

  Falling back on her knees, she practically ripped her own shirt off and undid her bra, tossing it across the room before going back to sucking Jackson’s dick as if famished.

  Jackson laughed appreciatively. For the first time in months, I needed to get off, I had to get off. I feverishly lifted my red dress and stuck my hand down, plunging a couple of fingers into my wetness. Bang! Oh shit …. Jackson and I were on a moving train again.

  And that was when Jackson took control.

  He pushed Lisa off his cock, which she had not succeeded in sucking properly anyhow. He was too thick to deep-throat and she was too worked up to concentrate.

  With his most commanding tone, he told Lisa, “Get the rest of your clothes off, slut; you’re about to get fucked.”

  Another jolt surged through me. I figured Lisa would slap Jackson hard for calling her a slut out of nowhere like that. But she looked at me for permission instead. The look was not anger; it was more of a question. I guess seeing my hand frantically working my clit under my dress was all the permission Lisa needed.

  Lisa ripped off her skirt and panties with urgency, as if she only had seconds to do so.

  She was about to take off her red heels, but Jackson stopped her. “That’s it,” he said soothingly. “That’s a good little slut.” That only made Lisa moan and grunt loader. “Yeah, Lisa, let it out. I knew from the second you set foot in this house you’d be slobbering all over my cock.” He looked her up and down. “Look at your thighs, Lisa, you’re dripping horny!” Jackson said, and it was true. Her discarded red panties were soaked, and her juices were starting to leak down her legs.