My Husband Made Me Give Head To Ed

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By Lauren McAllister

Eddie has been hangin’ around for as long as I’ve known my husband. They went to high school together and were inseparable. They were like a pea and a little shriveled-up green thing in a pod. John was the quarterback for the football team and Ed got set back a year after getting food poisoning in the school cafeteria. He had diarrhea so bad his parents docked the rise in their water bill from his pocket money. Eddie is just the sweetest guy but he’s got the world’s damndest luck. Just last year, Ed lost his girlfriend, his job, got his car totaled and had a fire torch half of his condo. He had to wash in the kitchen sink because his bathtub had fallen into the apartment below his. And they were suing him for it! Through it all though, Eddie, bless him, never let on that his heart was broken or he was in any way discouraged. Mr. Chipper, John and me used to call him.

You couldn’t help feelin’ for the guy, ya know?

We were all feelin’ pretty happy that it was late December, so’s he could get rid of that crumb-bum of a year and start up a new one fresh. Plus Christmas and all the pageantry that lies therein was just right around the corner. But, as ill fortune would have it, none of the datin’ sites he had invested in had brought forth the companionship that he so desired for the holidays. He weren’t totally alone, understand, ‘cause John and me were going to have him over for victuals and present-sharin’ festivities but if you ain’t got that person of the opposite genitals (or even the same genitals, these days) to share a drumstick with, then it can be desperately lonely time of year no matter who else ya got assembled.

So, it was Christmas Eve and he comes over sportin’ a face like a three-day-old breakfast. Never seen him so low, as when he showed up at the ranch that particular au jour d’hui. Turns out, his younger brother had just passed away, sudden-like. He just absolutely loved that guy and he was totally distraught. Now, I’ve seen grown men cry when they got their pickups repossessed, but this was way worse than that. Plus, the fact that Arte – his bro – he had a great job and a prodigious family and, see, Eddie’s 6 years older and all he’s ever got from life is a big swift kick in the nards.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Nice Guy, here’s a big, steaming shit salad for you to eat. Right?

So Johnny, he don’t know what to do. He just ain’t got no talent for feelin’s and being sympathetic to another’s unendurable tear circus. I mean John would give Ed his left nut, that’s how close those two are but men ain’t women, right? He ain’t got a lord-lovin’ clue as fer what to say or what to do. He just stood there like Greyhound Bus conductor and asked him if he wanted a beer. He didn’t.

And we had this really nice Christmas Eve dinner planned, too. Huge pre-cooked meal, I picked up from Gelsons and these popper things that they got in England. You pull ‘em and they make a bang and then there’s a terrible joke, a paper hat and a tiny plastic toy that the cat could choke on inside.

Well, our big, intricately planned feast goes over like a funeral for a cheerleader. Fuck! And I even picked up some Jello Pops for dessert.

So all the while only me is eatin’, Johnny is thinkin’ somthin’.  He git real quiet and what you might call your contemplative. Highly unlike the not-givin’-a-shit hunk-a-handsome that I got hitched to.

Right after the meal, as Eddie’s just sitting there watching his Jello Pop melt, Johnny signals me to go meet him in the kitchen. Johnny don’t hang out in the kitchen unless we’re recreatin’ that sink-fuckin’ scene from “Fatal Attraction”, so I knew somethin’ pretty important must be on the boil.

So, he nods over Eddie’s way and says to me how down he looks. Well yeah, you’d have to be Ray Charles’s blinder brother not to notice that. Then he says that we need to do something to lift his spirits, ‘cause it’s Christmas and all. I’m thinkin’, if those British cracker thingies and the paper hats didn’t lighten his mood, then we’re gonna have to dust off the bong.

That’s what I’m thinkin’ but Johnny’s thinkin’ is drivin’ down a completely different highway. He says that it’s Christmastime (well, Duh!@) and what Eddie really needs is some quality female companionship. So I says, “Well, we got one more of those crackers to pull open but I kinda doubt a naked woman’s gonna fall out.

So then, I sees the way he’s lookin’ at me and I suddenly realize that I’m potentially this female party favor that he’s referrin’ to.

“Are you insane?” I suggested. “You’re really askin’ me to take Eddie into the boudoir and let him wash his willy?”

“He’s really depressed, hon. I just can’t abide it.”

“And just where do you plan on bein’ while he’s parkin’ the car in me?”
”There. Watchin’.”

“So he’d know it was alright. Like he wasn’t bangin’ my wife behind my back, or nothing.”

“Well, that’s highly magnanimous.”

“So, like, you’re gonna do it, right? I’ll let you got those unicorn candle holders you’ve’ been eyein’.”

Damn him! He knew how much I longed to up the sophistication of our dining experience. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I sadly replied, “but I want the matching butter dish and gravy boat.”

“Deal!” Then there was a pause. “So how you gonna go about seducin’ him?”

Now, I didn’t tell this to Johnny, ‘cause it might’ve led to hurt feelin’s, but I have boned every single man that I ever set my sights on. It ain’t any kind of challenge at all for a girl sportin’ a world class cock-catcher under her skirt.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” he was reassured.

I looked around, picked up a big dish of cranberry sauce, walked over to the Edster and dumped it right in his lap. Now most people would’a said, “Why the fuck did you just dump the big  red shit on me?” But not Eddie. For him, it was just all part of his normal, every day life.

“Christ on a sandwich,” I perfectly acted, “I am so sorry. We have got to get you into that bath, immediately.”


I had already raised him to his feet and was marchin’ him off toward the recently redecorated sale de bain as he was seekin’ clarification. Within seconds, the water was pourin’ into the tub as I was removing the gentleman’s attire. Boy, if I had a nickel…

Anyway, I peered over at Johnny sneaky-like, as I was relievin’ Ed of his dungarees in order to let loose the monster. And there appeared to be a substantial bulge in hubby’s jeans as I inspected Ed’s doowanger for seeds and berry pits. Hmm.

As soon as the guest of honor was submerged, I whipped off my own garmentary, lickety-split, and plopped myself down in the tub beside him. There was oodles of room. We installed one of them double seaters, so we could relive our honeymoon in the Poconos anytime we wanted. He was a little shocked as to seein’ me there in the all together but was too polite to object.

“Now, I’m the one who got you all messed up, so it’s my duty as a woman, to make sure you’re as clean as a whistle before I let you leave.”


“My mother spilled some gravy on Johnny last Thanksgivin’ and she had him suds up in the shower before he could blink. Ain’t that right, honey.”

“Ah… “

Johnny seemed to be mesmerized as I began to soap up poor Ed’s shy torso.  The whole cleanin’ exercise was a bit of frothy fun until I got to his joystick. Then, it was time to get serious. I took his wham-jammer into my hand and languorously stroked it up and down, putting my leg over his and pressing my dinner plate into his hip bone. Eddie was as quiet as Marcel Marceau’s grave but I could tell that the engine had started up on his pleasure bus. Down onto his nutsack I slid, scraping my nails scrumptiously over each cum plum and walking my fingers over his scrotum. It was truly amazing to witness someone look so miserably uptight and uncomfortable while having the best time of his life. Men, right?

“Now sit up her on the edge of the tub, sweetie,” I instructed him. Of course, it was Eddie, so he did exactly what I asked. As he sat there, his cock was as hard as frozen squirrel. I splashed right up next to him and spread his legs wide, rubbing my tits against the inside of his thighs. Massaging his bulbous cock-head softly with my thumb, I casually announced, “I’d better give you doowanger a taste to see if there’s still any cranberry left.”

Before he could let out a peep, I’d pounced on his pecker. Now, I hadn’t had another man’s joint in my mouth since the time we girls went for a night out a Chippendale’s and that was mostly for the whipped cream. This time, my intent was to drain the blue-veined train. I had his meat mushroom goin’ great guns, pokin’ around at the back of my throat as I gently kneaded his maracas. By now, even I had started to enjoy the goin’s on and was looking forward to the moment when his one-eyed Santa had a present for me. I was sucking and tickling and snoggin’ his noggin like a steamin’ hot whore. Eddie began to breath a little on the heavy side and was showin’ all the signs of a man about to blow. That’s when I slipped a soapy finger up into his pucker-hole to well and truly light the mung match and Jesus Murphy, what a gusher! He was jizzin’ on my tonsils, under my tongue, up into my gums – you could’ve impregnated Eritrea with the amount of spunk I had comin’ at me. When he’d finished spackling my uvula, I dried him off and led him into the bedroom.

“You’re sleeping in the guest bed,” I informed Johnny, as we walked past. Somehow, he’d parted ways with his pants and undies since the last time I’d paid him any attention.

I left the door open on purpose for pryin’ eyes as we made ourselves comfortable on the marital mattress. Eddie fucked me three or four times that night. Each time, Johnny would be there watchin’ – he’d disappear for a couple of minutes, now and then – I’m sure to shoot one into the sink – and then be right back at it.

I was a little tired and sore the next morning but it turns out, I really liked spreadin’ ‘em for Eddie. He treated me good and waited patiently for me to cum before emptying his bucket.

These days, my seafood buffet is getting a majority of its tartar sauce from the Edster. He practically never goes home no more and he’s always up for a good hump. I recently ordered this little penis-cage off the internet and I enjoy lockin’ Johnny in it while his best friend rams a load of spunk in my trunk about two inches from his cuckold nose. Then I sit myself down on hubby’s face and make him clean it on out of there before I let him have the key back.

Wow! If that was Christmas, I wonder what Valentine’s Day is gonna be like!

The end


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Copyright Lauren McAllister 2022

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