Wife's Students Jerk Off All Over Her Body

The heat sat on the backyard like a wet hand. Nathan had been out there since late morning, raking the last of the clippings into the wheelbarrow, and his shirt was stuck to his spine. At thirty-two he still handled a shovel fine, but the two young men his wife had brought home from campus made the work look like a warm-up. Omar, twenty-one, broad through the shoulders, had spent an hour splitting the dead elm into fireplace lengths, sweat darkening the collar of his gray T-shirt until he peeled it off and tossed it over a lawn chair. Victor, also twenty-one, leaner and a little taller, had been on his knees in the flower beds, pulling crabgrass with the kind of steady patience Nathan associated with people who actually listened in lecture. Both of them were black, both of them her students, both of them old enough to drink the beers Nathan had set in the cooler, and both of them had been looking at Vivian whenever they thought the husband might not notice.

Vivian was twenty-eight, an associate professor who still got carded at the faculty club and still graded papers at the kitchen table in a tank top that made Nathan lose his place in whatever he was reading. She had invited Omar and Victor over because the yard had gotten away from them during midterms, she said, and because they needed the cash. Nathan had said yes without thinking too hard about it. He was thinking about it now.

All afternoon she had been out there with them. Not working, exactly. Bringing water. Standing close while she pointed at a root. Laughing at something Victor said with her head tipped back, the line of her throat shiny. Once she had put her hand on Omar's forearm to steady herself on the uneven flagstone, and she had left it there a second longer than she needed to. Nathan had watched from the patio with a glass of iced tea going warm in his fist, and the thing that surprised him was not the jealousy. It was how hard he was under the table.

By four the beds were clean, the wood was stacked, and the mower was put away. Omar and Victor dropped into the Adirondack chairs under the maple with cold bottles sweating in their hands. They were not drunk. One beer each, maybe the start of a second, the kind of drinking men did when the work was finished and the sun was still high and nobody had anywhere to be. Their skin gleamed. Omar's chest rose and fell slow. Victor rolled the bottle across his forehead and sighed.

Nathan stayed on the patio. Vivian had gone inside to change out of her dirt-streaked shorts. The screen door had clicked. The garden smelled like cut grass and hot stone and the faint iron of the wheelbarrow. Nobody spoke for a minute. A cicada started up in the neighbor's oak.

"Your wife's tough," Omar said, not quite looking at Nathan. "Most professors don't get their hands dirty."

"She likes the yard," Nathan said. His voice came out thinner than he wanted.

Victor smiled at the bottle. "She likes watching people work, too."

Nathan did not answer that. He did not have to. The screen door opened again.

Vivian stepped out barefoot onto the warm boards. She had taken everything off except a tiny pair of white cotton panties. They sat low on her hips, the waistband a little damp where she had not quite dried off, the fabric gone slightly sheer over the dark crease of her. Her breasts were bare, full, pale where the sun had not reached them under her usual shirts, the nipples already tight and dark in the open air. A sheen of water or sweat caught along her collarbones. She did not hurry. She walked down the two steps into the grass as if she had forgotten she was nearly naked, or as if she wanted them to understand she had not forgotten at all.

Omar's bottle stopped halfway to his mouth. Victor sat up so fast the chair creaked.

Nathan's mouth went dry. He had seen her like this a thousand times in their bedroom, in the bathroom with the door half open, but never like this, in their own garden, with two of her students staring and the maple throwing broken shade across her stomach. She looked at him once. Not asking. Checking. He gave her the smallest nod he could manage, and something in her face went soft and hot at the same time.

"God," she said, and her voice was low, pleased, meant for all three of them. "You two look good like that. All afternoon I kept thinking about it."

Omar set the beer down carefully on the arm of the chair. "Professor—"

"Vivian," she said. "We're not in class. And I'm not grading you." She turned slowly, a full circle in the grass, letting them see the way the cotton clung between her cheeks, the sway of her breasts, the faint tremble in her thighs. When she faced them again her nipples were harder. "I'm turned on. I've been turned on since you took your shirt off, Omar. Since you got on your knees in my flower bed, Victor. I want to watch you. Both of you. I want to see those big cocks in your hands while you look at me."

Victor exhaled like he had been holding it since noon. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." She glanced at Nathan again, and this time she smiled, small and filthy. "He's sure too. Aren't you, baby?"

"Yes," Nathan said. The word felt huge in his mouth. "I want to watch."

Omar stood. He was already thick under his shorts, the shape of him obvious, and when he pushed the waistband down his cock swung out heavy and dark, half hard and thickening as the air hit it. Victor followed a second later, shoving his shorts to his thighs. His was a little longer, curved, the head already glossy. They were not shy about it. College men who had been looked at all day by a woman who wanted them, and who had just been told, in plain words, to take themselves in hand.

"Stroke them," Vivian said. She stayed standing in the middle of the lawn, panties clinging, breasts lifted with her breath. "Slow at first. I want to see you get hard for me."

Omar wrapped a fist around himself and pulled, a long stroke from base to tip that made the skin shine. Victor matched him, thumb sliding over the head, a low sound in his throat. Nathan could not look away from his wife's face. She was watching their hands, her lips parted, one hand drifting up to cup the underside of her own breast as if she needed the weight of it. The cotton between her legs had gone darker at the center.

"That's it," she murmured. "God, you're both so thick. I knew you would be. I thought about it in my office. I thought about you sitting in the front row with those arms, and I got wet under my desk like some stupid girl." She laughed once, breathless. "Keep going. Look at me. Look at my tits. Look at how wet these panties are getting just from watching you jerk those big black cocks."

Omar's strokes picked up. His cock stood fully hard now, veined, the head broad and dark. Victor's hand made a wet sound. He stared at her breasts, then lower, at the little white triangle that did nothing to hide how swollen she was. "You want us to come on you," he said. It was not quite a question.

"I want you to cover me," Vivian said. "I want it on my face. On my tits. All over me. And I want my husband to see every second of it." She sank to her knees in the grass between them, the blades tickling her thighs, and tipped her face up. "Come closer. I want them right here."

They stepped in. Omar on her left, Victor on her right, close enough that the heat of their bodies reached her cheeks. Their fists worked in short, urgent pumps now, inches from her mouth, from the stiff peaks of her nipples. Nathan had come to the edge of the patio without remembering the walk. He could see the shine on her lower lip. He could see Omar's cock jump in his grip every time she exhaled.

"Please," she said, and the word broke a little. She cupped both breasts and pushed them up, offering them, the white panties stretched over her hips as she spread her knees in the grass. "Don't hold back. I want it. I want your cum all over me. Mark me up. Let him watch you do it."

Omar groaned. His hand blurred. The first rope hit her cheek, hot and thick, and she gasped and turned into it, mouth open, catching the next stripe across her tongue and her chin. Victor came a heartbeat later with a rough curse, pulsing over her throat, her collarbone, the upper slope of her left breast. They did not stop stroking. Omar painted her from forehead to jaw, heavy white ropes that slid toward her neck. Victor aimed lower, striping her nipples, her sternum, the soft give of her stomach, one long spill that soaked the front of the cotton panties until they clung transparent and dripping. Vivian moaned and rubbed it in with both hands, smearing their loads over her breasts, circling her nipples, dragging wet fingers down her belly. More kept coming. Omar's second wave caught her in the hair at her temple and ran down to her ear. Victor jerked the last of it onto the waistband, watching it soak through onto her.

"Yes," she whispered, shaking, not from fear. "Yes, like that. All of it. Don't stop until you're empty."

They emptied. When the pulses faded they stood over her breathing hard, cocks still in their fists, glistening, watching the mess they had made of their professor in the middle of her own garden. Cum streaked her face, pooled in the hollow of her throat, webbed between her fingers where she held her breasts. The panties were ruined, plastered to her, a white smear spreading down one thigh where a rope had missed and landed anyway. She looked wrecked and radiant. She looked at Nathan.

He crossed the grass on legs that did not feel like his. The smell of them hit him first, salt and heat and her skin underneath. Omar and Victor stepped back, not far, still catching their breath, still watching, because she had not told them to leave and neither had he. Nathan dropped to his knees in front of his wife. Up close her eyes were bright, lashes stuck together on one side, a thick line of Omar's cum sliding toward the corner of her mouth.

"Clean me up," she said softly. Her hand found his hair. "Taste them. I want you to."

He leaned in and licked the stripe from her cheek, slow, the way she liked his mouth on her after she came. Salty. Thick. Not his. He swallowed and went back for the rest, along her jaw, under her ear, the hollow of her throat where Victor had left the heaviest pool. She sighed and petted his hair, fingers sticky. He moved to her breasts, tongue flat over a nipple, gathering what had been rubbed into her skin and what was still sitting on top of it, sucking gently until the stiff peak was clean and shining with his spit instead. She shivered. He kissed down her stomach, chasing every streak, the taste of both of them mixing on his tongue, and when he reached the panties he pressed his mouth to the soaked cotton and licked through it, feeling her heat underneath, tasting the cum that had soaked all the way through to her.

"That's my good husband," Vivian murmured, stroking his hair while he worked. "You like how they taste on me. I knew you would. I loved being their cum target. I loved you watching."

He made a low sound against her and kept licking, devoted, thorough, the garden quiet except for their breathing and the cicada and the soft wet noise of his mouth on her ruined panties. Omar and Victor stood in the shade with their shorts still down, spent and staring, and Vivian held Nathan's head where she wanted it, smiling into the late light, not quite finished being worshipped, the afterglow still warm on all of them when the moment held and did not ask to go any further.