Adam’s Birthday Present - Part 1
Eddie’s hand slid up my thigh as we sat at a table in a secluded corner of the hotel lounge. He had sent a drink over to me after I caught him staring at my cleavage from across the bar, and we had flirted for a bit before moving to somewhere more out of the way. We had been fooling around for a while, and his hands had already been on a pretty fair tour of my body—around my waist, on my ass, under my shirt. “How about we take this upstairs?” he asked, lust in his voice, “Unless you’re a working girl, that is.”
“Oh, Eddie, you idiot,” I thought. “You’d have just struck out if I had any intention of going back to your room in the first place.”
“No, of course I’m not,” I giggled, “but we really ought to check with my husband first.”
“Your h-husband?” he stammered. “What the actual hell?”
“Over there,” I pointed, waving to Adam, who stood up and began to saunter over, all six-foot-four of him.
“Look, man. I don’t want any trouble. She never told me she was married.” Eddie stood up, hands in the air, and tried to back away from me, but I caught him, and pulled him back.
“Eddie . . . Eddie. Relax. It’s all good,” I whispered in his ear. “And you’ve done most of my work for me. He’s going to be so hard when we get back to our room we can just get straight to fucking.”
I turned and planted a huge kiss on Adam as he ran his hand up under my skirt and over my bare pussy. “Thanks, man,” Adam said, withdrawing his hand, now glistening with my arousal, and showing it to Eddie. “She rarely gets this wet.”
“You two are sick!” Eddie called, shock giving way to outrage, as we left the lounge and headed for the elevators.
I should probably take a moment to explain for those of you who haven’t figured it out already. My husband gets off on seeing me with other men. The sex is good anyway, but he never screws me like he does when he’s fantasized about—or actually seen—me being the object of another man’s desire.
We met when he hired the executive matchmaking service I worked for to find him a suitable romantic partner. I had lined up a series of dates with eligible women, but ended up banging him on the desk in my office when he came to meet with me. I figured I had technically fulfilled my part of the bargain—Adam ended up with a suitable romantic partner, after all—but my firm didn’t see it that way, and I was shown the door soon after.
Whether I had an income or not made no difference to Adam, as he had made a fortune as a financial advisor and money manager for techies and athletes in the Bay Area. He had played tight end in college, and his first clients were former teammates who made it to the NFL, followed soon after by dot-com millionaires.
Adam should have had no trouble attracting a wife. He was not only ridiculously successful but also absurdly charming and handsome. His . . . proclivities . . . made it hard for him to seal the deal, however.
After a few dates, Adam couldn’t refrain from sharing his desire to be cuckolded with the woman he was seeing. Any woman who didn’t run for the hills after that admission would inevitably turn tail when he asked her to dress in revealing clothes and seduce other men while he watched. I calculated that he wasn’t actually any freakier than anyone else . . . he was just more upfront about it.
I didn’t personally experience the depth of his fantasies until a few months after we were married. Adam came home one night bearing a deep-cut blouse, micro-mini, and stiletto-heeled boots and asked me to put them on to accompany him to a new club that had just opened. Figuring he just wanted a night out to blow off some steam, I readily agreed, even if his choice for my attire was a bit more risqué than I would have chosen for myself. As we left the house, he took my hand and slipped off my wedding band and engagement ring, placing them on a shelf near the door. “You won’t be needing those tonight.”
When we arrived at the club, he pointed out an attractive, well-built guy standing at one of the bars and told me, “Him. I want to see him with his tongue down your throat and his hand up your skirt by the time the night is over. Do you think you can handle that?”
At first I laughed, and said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you kinky bastard?”
But Adam wasn’t joking around. “I want to be able to taste that guy on you when we fuck later. Can you do that for me?” His eyes were pleading.
Nervously, I made my way over to the bar and inserted myself next to the man in question. “Hi,” I said, lamely.
“Hi,” he answered back, then turned and resumed his conversation with the friends he was with. I looked over at Adam, and shrugged. He rolled his eyes at my pathetic attempt at flirtation and mouthed, “Touch him.”
Trembling, I reached out and tapped my mark on his shoulder. He turned, and I ran my hand down the length of his arm, looking into his eyes as I did so. “Excuse me. Could you tell me the time? I lost my phone, and I’m supposed to meet someone here at 10:30.”
That got his attention. “It’s a little past 11. Looks like you got stood-up.”
I tried to look dejected. “Thanks,” I said, acting like I was about to walk away. “Another great night.”
“Whoa, whoa, there,” bar-guy said, this time reaching out and grabbing me by the hand. “Why don’t you at least let me buy you a drink? Whoever stood you up should be kicking himself.” His eyes wandered over me, appraising, and apparently liking what they saw. I could tell he was starting to think about how he could parlay my supposed “jilting” into getting lucky.
I let him buy me a drink, and introduce me to his friends. Keeping in mind that Adam was watching, and his directive to have this guy slobbering all over me by the end of the evening, I made sure I kept touching him—on his hand, his shoulder, his chest. Eventually he did that thing where guys who think they might get laid signal to their friends to give them some space, and his crew departed. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.
We made our way to the dance floor, and almost immediately bar-guy decided to get handsy. In any other situation, I probably would have smacked him, but I caught sight of Adam through the crowd, and the look on his face told me I had hit pay dirt. He was getting aroused by seeing me get manhandled.
I let my partner put his hands around my waist and pull me into him, kissing me hard as he did so. As the music played, he parted my lips with his tongue and frenched me deeply while his hands roved over my body, grasping at my breasts and finally diving under my shirt and bra to pinch my nipples. He was getting stiff in his jeans, and he ground his groin against me before his right hand slipped from my blouse toward its new objective—under my skirt and onto my ass. “No panties, huh? Nice.”
He continued groping and rubbing against me until I guess he decided we should go somewhere and get it on. “Let’s get out of here,” he said in my ear, as he started to lead me toward the door. “Where do you live?”
“Umm . . ." I tried to stall, looking around frantically for Adam. “How far is he going to let this go?” I worried. As we got closer to the exit, I finally spied Adam moving quickly toward us.
“The lady is coming home with me,” he said forcefully.
“Excuse me? Who the fuck are you? Are you the guy who stood her up? You lost your chance, pal.” Bar-guy appeared to be willing to put up a fight.
“Is there a problem here?” The club bouncer intervened just in time.
“Not at all,” Adam said smoothly. “Our friend here was just saying how he needed to get going. Isn’t that right, friend?”
Bar-guy looked like he could have spit nails, but he wisely chose not to start anything with Adam or the even bigger bouncer. “The fuck?” I heard him mutter as he left the club.
“You two all right?” the bouncer asked as Adam took me by the shoulders.
“Yeah. I got her. Thanks, man.” The bouncer nodded and turned his attention back to the other occupants of the club.
“Shit, Adam. Why’d you let that go on so long?” I was angry and more than a little frightened, but Adam moved quickly to reassure me.
“I had you in my sight the whole time. I wouldn’t have let him leave with you.” He led me back into the club, and down the hallway to the bathrooms. “Do you know how hot that was—his hands all over you, touching your tits, your ass, tongue in your mouth?”
Adam opened the door to the men’s room, and after a quick look around, backed me into one of the stalls and locked the door. He spun me around, facing away from him, and pinned me to the partition with one hand while using the other to unzip his fly. He hiked my skirt up over my hips, and I could feel his cock, hot and unyielding, probing against me as he spread my legs. “I’m so hard for you right now,” he said as he penetrated me, using his full weight to slam my hips into the stall as he thrust. “I can smell him on you. He wanted you so bad, he was practically fucking you on the dance floor.”
It wasn’t the most glamorous location, but Adam’s intensity and absolute need to take me soon had me fully into it as well. I moaned as he stroked harder and faster toward his climax, and I contracted around his shaft when I felt him cum, getting my own orgasm on the tail-end of his. As we stood catching our breath, Adam leaned closer and said, “We have to do this again.”
“Poor son-of-a-bitch never knew what hit him,” Adam chuckled as he pulled out of me, leaving a thick trail of cum on my thigh. He always came with more force and volume after witnessing me with another man. He rolled to my side, and pulled me into his chest, crooking his arm around me. “What was his name again?”
“Eddie,” I said, coming back down from my orgasmic high. “This one’s name was Eddie.” Truthfully, I had lost track of the men we had ensnared in Adam’s cuckold fantasies in the two years since “bar-guy.” The basic outline was always the same even if the specifics changed: Adam would dress me as seductively as he could, then we would go to a club, or a bar, or a concert and wait for the sparks to fly. I began to enjoy our little exercises almost as much as Adam, performing for him, making sure he could see how much the guys desired me, and how desperately I needed him to fuck me when our little game was through.
So far, I had only fooled around with the men he chose for me—no sex—but recently, Adam had begun to beg me for more.
“You know,” he said, his voice low and sensual, “my birthday is just around the corner. Have you thought about who you’re doing for me?”
I pretended to miss the implication in his question, and answered, “If I told you what you’re getting, then it wouldn’t be a surprise. Besides, you have literally everything.”
“Everything but what I want the most. You know what I want, baby.” His voice grew even huskier.
“I don’t know.” I was honest. What Adam was asking was a big step, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to take it.
“Please? It’s my big 4-0. I just want to see this marvelous body get used to its full potential.” He ran his hand over me, letting it come to a rest on my pussy. “You must have thought about what another man could do with this.” His fingers played over me, exciting my clit, and I shivered with anticipation.
“All right,” I acquiesced, quietly.
“Yeah?” he asked, not quite able to believe his luck.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“I’ll arrange everything,” he said. “No rough stuff, and I’ll make sure they’re clean.”
“They?” I asked, trepidation creeping into my voice.
To be continued . . .
Copyright GWinterbourne 2018.