The Adult Story Hub

The next day was benignly uneventful. We ate together, watched TV, and John and I played a round of golf. The night before never came up, although in hindsight I can't believe I didn't explode. I suppose I was in shock...not only at the event itself, but in the reactions of each of the participants. Who the hell was I, that I could be playing golf with a man who had felt up my wife?

On the thirteenth hole, teeing off, I thought for the trillionth time about his hand on her breast, and my vision went blurry. I shook my head and looked over at my buddy. He just smiled his yellow-tooth smile back at me. Crows feet and smile lines erupted on his face whenever it pulled itself into that self-satisfied grin. No person who ever lived could ever look so pleased, I thought. The man seemed to have enjoyment tattooed on his face...it was always there right behind the eyes. I hit a hole in one and wondered what look seemed most permanent to my face.

For her part, Brenda remained silent all day. She spoke only when asked a question, and seemed distracted. A look of confused melancholy occasionally crossed her face. She made us all eggs for breakfast, flawlessly disheveled from a full night's sleep and wrapped in faded purple pajamas. A pang of jealousy hit me when she shoveled more onto John's plate than mine, but I shrugged it off. He was fairly overweight, so she probably just assumed he'd eat more.

When we got home from golfing, she was still in her pajamas, still unshowered. She sat reading Joseph Heller's God Knows, a favorite she had read several times before. She acted casually enthralled by the novel and virtually ignored us, but quietly rubbed the two biggest toes on each foot together. Her eyes didn't follow the pattern of words on the page. Anxiety crawled through her like bees in their nest, covering every inch. My heart broke for her, but I fought it by reminding myself it was she who had made this bed.

By contrast, I found myself feeling some affection for John in that he had not made any lewd statements or jokes all day. On the golf course, he could have said anything he wished and I wouldn't have cared, but I was grateful he had spared Brenda. God that sounded stupid. He'd felt her fucking tit, and I was grateful.

"You know," he smiled as I handed him a beer and we sat on the couch across from her, "I haven't gone this long without fucking snatch in forever!"

I sighed and mentally scribbled out all the credit I'd given him. My wife looked up from her book for the first time since we'd entered the room, her brow furrowed.

"What about that big story you fed us about getting blown at the airport?" Undisguised curiosity dripped like honey off her tongue. He just looked confused.

"Well, yeah, that was more than two days ago!"

Brenda clicked her tongue. "You're used to getting laid every day?"

"More than once a day, usually." He shrugged, "like I told Tugs, here, for some reason women are just drawn to me."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"Is that how you felt when you let me roll your nipple between my fingers in the middle of the parking lot?"

She fell silent. She didn't take her eyes off him, and her eyebrows stayed together. It was like she was measuring him, the way a scientist measures new data which shows an impossible correlation.

I tried to intervene. "Look, let's just leave that out of things from now on, alright? Tomorrow's you go home, and then everything's back to normal. Last night was a stupid mistake, that's all."

John smiled and leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "You're right, man. Water under the fucking bridge. In fact, if it's all the same to you, I'd kinda like to make it up to the woman. I know a girl who owns a jewelry story in town. She... owes me a favor. Tomorrow, I want to take Brenda here and see what we can get for her."

"You don't have to do that," I said too quickly. "There's no need to spend that kind of money." Brenda nodded.

"You don't understand, gringo." He winked at me. "What I get her, I will be getting for free."

Brenda didn't look like she believed him. I knew better, by now.

"I'd still prefer not," I said.

"Why the fuck not? Don't want the little lady to get a taste for something that expensive?" He laughed.

"No, it's just..."

"Why don't we let Brenda decide. It's a gift from me to her, and if it makes her uncomfortable she can just say no."

We both watched her. She was still just looking at him with that same half-squint.

"You know," he said, "you can always just look. If you decide against it, that's fine, but at least come see what they have."

A moment passed. Brenda nodded. "I guess I don't see why not. It'll be fun." She went back to reading without saying anything more. Then she blinked and looked up. "Oh, honey, I almost forgot! Work called...they need you to stop in tomorrow and revise that contract before Monday."

Shit. That would take most of the day. I didn't know if I was more pissed to be missing down time with my friend, or scared to have to leave him with my wife.

"Don't worry," John finished his beer, "We'll be fine for a day. We'll go shopping."


Deep red lines crossed the horizon as I drove home from the office. Without the usual rush of traffic, I had just enough time to pick up John and take him to the airport. It couldn't happen soon enough, as far as I was concerned; I'd spent the entire day thinking about the two of them shopping together. It made me uneasy, to say the least.

Pulling into the garage, I discovered something equally unexpected and unnerving: Brenda's car was gone. I knew they had left to go shopping just before lunch, because she had called to find out how things were going at the office. Since there was no way they could still be trying on jewelry, I wondered if perhaps Brenda had decided to take him to the airport. Had she thought I wouldn't be back in time? She knew me better than that; regardless of my opinion of the man now, John was an old friend and I would have liked to say goodbye.

It made sense, though. She would probably have tried on some jewelry, not picked anything (so as not to have a constant reminder of the jerk), and then been in as big a hurry as possible to get rid of him. I decided to reward her patience in putting up with him by cooking a lovely dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs would be perfect. I worked hard at it, going the whole nine by setting candles up and using the best dishes. My wife was so understanding and kind, and I wanted her to know how much that meant to me. I made the best damned spaghetti that has ever been made, figuring that she would be back from dropping off John any second.

Time passed.

The meal was ready. No sign of Brenda.

The meal was lukewarm. All the pots and pans were in the dishwasher. No sign of Brenda.

The meal was cool. I had to relight two of the candles. I would reheat the meal the moment she walked through the door. No sign of Brenda.

The meal was cold. The candles were dead. The moon was out. No sign of Brenda.

What had been an intensely refreshed love had turned into impatience, then irritation, and finally curved into a growing fear. The clock ticked past midnight. Where was she? Had there been an accident? What had happened? I had never once known Brenda to disappear for such a long period of time without at least a courtesy call. I paced for half an hour, watching the window and telling myself I was paranoid.

Finally I gave in and took out the phonebook. First I would call her closer friends, then family, and finally hospitals. A picture of her, smiling and hopeful, watched me from atop a bookshelf. She had called at 11:14 to see how I was doing. Had that been the last time I would hear her voice?

Headlights in the driveway. It was her car! I allowed myself a relieved chuckle, and went to meet her at the door. It swung open. I was almost euphoric as I swung in to hug her. I froze.

Smiling at me in the doorway, fat and disheveled, was John.


It took three hours for the gravity of the situation to apply its full pressure upon me. It amounted to this: John and Brenda had had finally come to accept one another in an adventure which had involved jewelry shopping, light drinking, games of darts and mini golf, and an arm-wrestling contest. They had both had tremendous amounts of fun, and John had suggested that this newfound friendship was reason enough to stay. Brenda, once she had been convinced that John would not risk being fired or evicted, agreed. They lost track of time as they hopped all over town laughing and drinking. It was no big deal. I should relax.

Maybe I could have, if the person my wife had spent the day partying like a college kid with wasn't the same fuckhead who had gotten her shirt completely off in a public parking lot. Or if I hadn't seen the gifts.

A large diamond bracelet adorned my wife's tiny wrist, complements of John.

An overweight Victoria's Secret bag sat in the bedroom, thanks to John's insistence that I would love to see Brenda be a little sexier. They hadn't paid a dime. The girl at costumer service had taken care of it.

I couldn't tell if the overriding emotion was jealousy, anger, or fear. Finally, around 3:00 AM, the stories ended. I sat at one end of the table, nursing a beer and trying to act at least semi-pleased. John and my wife sat at the other end, sipping harder drinks. My wife was still giggling a little at the last of John's elaborately spun tales of their exciting day. He lay one arm across the back of her chair and rubbed her shoulder affectionately.

"So, how long will you be staying?" I asked, glaring at his hand. Brenda had her eyes closed, as though dreaming. John was watching me.

"Oh," he sighed, removing the hand and sipping his drink, "I don't know. Truth be told, I'd like it if you could consider letting me stay here for a while."

My wife's eyes opened wide, and she smiled. "Oh, yes! That'd be awesome!"

"How long, John?"

"Until I'm ready to leave." He shrugged. I was about to tell him to fuck off, but Brenda apparently hadn't gotten the hinted message.

"Really?" She turned to me. "C'mon, Bob, it'd be great! You always say we don't socialize enough, and I just know it'd be so much fun!"

"What about your apartment? Your job?" I asked.

"Hell, I haven't had a job in years. In case you haven't noticed, I have better ways of getting what I want. As for my place, let's just say there's a fine young thing who'll be keeping it up until I choose to return."

Brenda was still smiling. "Whadd'ya say, hon?" She asked excitedly.

With nowhere left to go, I sighed. "Yeah, that'd be alright."

Brenda squealed, jumped up and hugged John. Then she ran over and hugged me. "This is going to be so much fun, I just know it!"

I looked at John. "Just don't forget you're a guest here, friend."

He smiled. "Relax." Then, he appeared to sober up. His face became very serious. "Brenda, honey."

"Yes?"

"Could you come over here for a moment?" He patted the chair she had vacated moments before.

She scurried over, sitting down, watching him intently.

"I want you to do me a favor," he told her.

She frowned. "You want me to refresh your drink?"

"No, no," he laughed, before looking at her intensely again. "I don't want to do anything that will interfere with your marriage. Remember how we talked about Bob's needs? About some of the ways that you could spice up your love life?"

"You mean the clothes we bought today, and the makeup?"

"Yeah. I don't want my staying to interfere with that. I want you to promise me that you'll still dress up for Bob, even if I stay. I would hate to feel like I was preventing you two from being husband and wife, and I promise that it won't bother me at all."

She smiled, a warm, innocent smile, and nodded. "Ok, John! I definitely will." Her smile faltered for a moment, and then she pointed her finger at him. "But if at any point it becomes a distraction or embarrassment for you, you better tell me, mister."

John laughed. "Deal."


The next day I called in sick to work, both because I was terribly exhausted and because I didn't trust John. We watched TV and talked sports, but often when Brenda was in the room I was the third man out. The two of them seemed to have developed quite the collection of inside jokes in the short time they'd been friends.

It probably didn't hurt that Brenda was wearing a lowrise, light blue thong which held her hips like a lover, and a matching bra. At no point during the day was she more dressed than that, nor did she display any shyness about her appearance. John may have proposed the idea of being virtually nude as a way to help improve our sex life (which needed no help, before he arrived), but it was obvious who it was really for. Brenda never even kissed me all day.

Her erotic display was an amazing sight, regardless, and it was only heightened whenever she would dash into the kitchen to make food or retrieve drinks for John. Once, she even remembered to ask me if I needed anything.

Finally, when she was in the bathroom, I drew up the epitomy of my fear and courage and started asking questions I didn't want to know the answer to.

"John, just what do you have planned here?"

He didn't even turn away from the T.V. "No plans, man. Just enjoying myself."

"Then why are you going after my wife?!"

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not 'going after your wife,' Tugs. I might entertain myself with her while I'm here, but I promise that when I go she won't be coming with. In fact, if you haven't noticed, by the time I get bored and move on she will be quite the little firecat. Think of me as a remodeler... I'm making improvements."

"Why can't you just leave her alone, though! She doesn't need improvements!" I felt heat enter my face as it went red. "There are tons of women! Why her?"

"Shut up, Tugs."

"No! Fuck you! Why won't you leave my wife alone?!!"

He looked me in the eye. "I find these questions annoying. I don't think you get it, at all, so let me demonstrate for you just how much worse you will make things if you make me unhappy."

Brenda sauntered back into the room, obviously feeling sexy and proud. John smiled at her.

"Brenda, honey?" He asked.

"Yes?" A faint smile appeared at his beckoning. Her eyes lit up.

"Come over here for me." She practically danced over, hips swaying like branches in a soft breeze. "Sit on my lap, babe, we need to talk." Without hesitation she swung her butt down into his lap. He chuckled. "No, no, no. Not like this. Straddle me...we can't talk if we're not face-to-face." She spun around, and his hands went to her flanks. Hers went around his shoulders. This was too much. I started to get up, about to do I don't know what, when he gave me a threatening look. I sat down, fear trailing through my nervous system.

Brenda giggled. John rubbed his hands on her sides, almost as though her were petting a mare. "Here's the thing," he said, looking very somber, "I promised not to be distracted with your body, so that you could be beautiful for Robert. I'm happy to say that I'm doing just fine. You're perfect, gorgeous, but you're my friend's wife and I'm doing very well. I can't believe Robert hasn't humped you nine times today...I would have!" She blushed and her smiled grew.

"It seems to me that Robert needs something more. You look beautiful even if you're not trying. He's used to it. Men are visual, and maybe if he saw you acting as sexy as you look, it would help. You'll need a partner for this, and I just happen to be here. No, don't ask, there's no need. I'll be glad to help. Whenever you want Robert to see you being sexy, all you have to do is kiss me."

Brenda bit her lip, her eyes locked on his face, her breathing heavy. She nodded softly. John smiled at her. "You like the idea, don't you, little girl?" She nodded again, fainter this time, and began to lean in. He placed one index finger to her lips. "There is one catch, babe. Since I'm doing you this huge favor, I really think you should ask permission each time. Say please, like a good girl."

It was almost a whisper. Breathy, desperate. "Please."

They made out, ten feet away from me, for twenty minutes. My wife's nearly-nude body writhed in his lap, practically grinding against him by the end of it. Their lips danced, tongues sliding against each other. His hands found their way alternately down and up her back, gripping her ass as she dry humped him. Finally, he broke away. She stared at him, eager and hoping to give him whatever he wanted. He set her on her feet. Her legs almost gave way.

"I'm going to go out for supper," he said casually, "and to take care of a few things. I'll be home late. Brenda," he winked, "I think you'll find that this helped a lot. John," he frowned, "it's been a fun lesson."

Brenda and I made love that night. She wouldn't have taken no for an answer, and I was horny regardless. She was louder, more maniacal, than she's ever been. She sat astride me, eyes firmly shut, convulsing and moaning and screaming and saying his name.

I had to go to work the next day. I couldn't afford to keep missing. It was a terrible, terrifying day, wondering what they were up to. I needn't have worried; when I got home Brenda was wearing a tiny pair of underwear but John was just waking up. He stumbled out into the living room in his boxers, looking fat and gross and hairy.

They made out again that night, and again Brenda insisted on use of my body before bed. It was obvious who she really wanted. The next night they went out for a night on the town. I fell asleep nervous, but both were passed out in the living room when I got up for work, with their clothes still on. John was snoring.

Brenda hardly talked to me anymore. She followed John around like a schoolgirl meeting a teen idol. I was getting by on the idea that he might leave. Or that I might kill him first.

Thursday night, we were sitting in the living room, John flipping lazily through channels. He wore one of my robes, though it fit him poorly, and his bare feet were up on the footrest. He kept complaining that they were sore.

"I don't know what I fucking did, man." He belched. "They've just hurt like hell all day. All over, too."

"Maybe you should wash them," I snapped.

Brenda glared at me, and then looked back at him. She was kneeling beside his chair, talking and giggling about their time out on the town the night before. "Should you see a doctor?" she asked, nervously.

"Goodness, no, honey." He stroked the top of her head. "At my old place, though, I had this little bitch whose tongue was like medicine. Used to have her tongue my asshole all the time, but I when they hurt I had her suck and lick my feet."

"Gross," I muttered. But Brenda looked intently up at him.

"Please," she whispered.

He just smiled. "Good girl."

She crawled eagerly down to his feet, and I was surprised to see how big they were compared to her face. She is tiny, of course, and he's a big guy. I had forgotten how great the difference was, though.

She didn't look at me, or up at him, but instead her gaze remained locked onto his mammoth feet. The was a sense of worship in the way she leaned in to peck the bottom of his right foot, then open-mouth kissed it, and quickly, excitedly became more and more passionate about her administrations. Soon she was licking his soles and sucking his toes, moaning like it was great sex. He glanced at me, and I wanted to die.

"Be strong," he said to me, "it's going to get worse before it gets better. A lot worse." Then he went back to his beer, his TV, and my wife slobbering on his filthy unwashed feet.