Jax, Kevin, Amber, and Quigley take a weekend couples’ vacation to a snow-covered cabin in the woods. It’s actually a lumberjack-themed hotel with free breakfast in the morning, but that’s as rustic as Jax will allow.
And holding hands repeatedly with another woman’s husband is the furthest Jax will dare push her morality.

“Okay, wow.”

“That is vigorous.”

I looked at the nightstand trembling on the floor of our room. “Are they shaking our lamp?”

“Old buildings, thin walls,” Kevin noted. “Quite a reveille for our first morning in this backwoods log cabin.”

“It’s a lodge, Kevin. And it’s located approximately ten yards from the exit off a major highway. I confirmed that fact when you three nature lovers conspired to make our couples’ vacation an outdoorsy adventure.”

“What’s the difference between a lodge and a cabin?”

“Indoor plumbing, room service, and no uninvited bears.” 

“Too bad Goldilocks and her crew already RSVPed,” my husband quipped from his side of the bed.

Outside our window, the late morning sunlight shone over a great white expanse. It always amazed me that a few hours away from our temperate, metropolitan home, these chilly, yet welcoming villages existed in a verdant, mountain terrain, dusted with snowflakes that were falling heavy from the sky.

Had I just heard one of our friends cry out, “Take me from behind”?

I untied the headscarf from my coiled tresses. “How sweet that Amber and Quigley have maintained their mutual passion.”

“I have heard a second marriage increases your libido.”

The grunts gathered momentum, followed by verbalized delight.

I turned to examine the state of our headboard, carved from reclaimed barn wood. “I didn’t even have to deal with this in college.”

“No amorous roommates or neighbors?”

“They were mostly chaste geeks like me. Or they engaged in their intercourse in other people’s rooms.”

The ruckus abruptly ended.

“Want to give them a run for their money?” Kevin leered at me.

“The thought of Quigley’s balls slapping against my friend’s keister giving you a chubby this Saturday morning?”

“Egad, Jax.” Sufficiently squicked out by that image, my husband whirled away from me and headed for the bathroom.

“This is why you married me!” I bellowed at him from under the sheets.

He ran back, pounced on the mattress, and covered my neck with smooches. “And I would marry you again and again and again.”

I squealed with amusement as I tickled his tummy. “Maybe I would, too.”

“Whose waffle is going to ding first?”

“I poured my batter before yours. Therefore.”

“You assume that all other aspects of each iron are equal,” I said to Quigley, the only other patron at DIY section of the lodge’s breakfast buffet.

“Do you know something I don’t?” he wondered.

“Many things.”

“Ten, nine, eight.”

We watched the timers count down the seconds. My numbers sped up to almost match Quigley’s. But they didn’t move fast enough to overtake his alarm.

“Yes!” He pumped the air with his fist before carefully lifting his edible creation from the sizzling appliance. 

I soon followed suit. “Reminds me of the cheers I heard earlier upstairs.”

“Cheers? Was there a game on?”

“The clamor of a fervent intimacy, disturbing the peace on the other side of our wall. Almost humorously boisterous.” 

Quigley blushed then mumbled, “Amber and I are having a romantic getaway without the kids. We’re in a hotel. It’s both of our second marriages?”

“That’s what Kevin said! Jeez, is the concept of new poon so erotic for you dudes?”

“Thanks for describing my wife as ‘poon’, Jax,” he whispered, glancing behind him at the bustling dining area.

“Amber is a wonderful person and one of my closest friends.”

“I could say the same about you.”

I felt a flutter around my belly button. 

“But I won’t,” Quigley winked.

“Oh!” I guffawed.

“I’m kidding! Obviously you are amazing.”

“Obvi.” 

We sneaked glances at each other as we gathered condiments on our trays, pretending to accidentally bump the other’s bum to holster the whipped cream.

“Pardon me, madam.”

“Indubitably, sir.”

“Henceforth and forthwith.” He sprayed the cream so mightily that a dollop of white froth landed on my tray. “Let me wipe that for you.”

“Q?”

“Amber, hey!” I stammered at Quigley’s wife, whose plaid flannel and double pom pom beanie coordinated with the logger chic theme of the establishment.

“Hi, babe.” Quigley smoothly slid his arm around her waist.

“I came to get some cereal.” She took a gander at our plates. “Although those waffles do look appetizing. And Kevin said you were an expert at the machine. He refused to let me ask you to make him one.”

“What if you take these,” I set both dishes on one tray, “and we’ll make two more?”

“Peachy.” Amber reached for the plates. “Are you sure, Jax?”

“Eat up,” I replied. “This gives me a chance to emerge victorious in the next competition.” I began pumping batter into the nearest measuring cup before Quigley had a chance to catch on.

“The next…” He clocked my head start on the single dispenser. “No fair.”

“You two chefs have fun. What a feast.” Amber cruised to our table with the food.

When the liquid had approached the brim of my vessel, I permitted Quigley a turn and waited until his goblet was full. “An equitable contest.”

We sprayed our irons, loaded them with yellowish goo, and pressed our buttons at the same time.

Quigley shook my hand. “May the best woman win.”

I held his palm longer than necessary.

He didn’t let go immediately.

Eventually, I released my grasp, furtively checked that neither of our spouses had spotted our lingering union, and decanted a glass of water to quench my thirst.

Later that morning, my husband and our friends gathered in the resort lobby for the scheduled ambulatory odyssey through the forest. I joined them under duress, milling through the growing crowd of energetic guests, plotting my escape since the moment I descended the staircase.

And then, lo and behold, a meteorological marvel.

The desk clerk posted a large pedestal displaying a small sign. “Due to the blizzard raging outside, today’s snowshoe hike is cancelled.” Her announcement was punctuated with a thunderclap.

“Aww.” The other guests were disheartened.

“Oh no,” I uttered with glee, bundled in a plethora of winter accoutrements.

“Could you attempt to appear sad about this turn of events?” Kevin prodded me through my parka as we stood near the crackling log fire in the stone fireplace.

I gave him a dejected glower. 

The clerk let us know that the substitute entertainment for the morning was a screening in the lodge cinema. “Additionally, despite not engaging in outdoor activities today, we will still hold the daily après-ski party this afternoon in the lounge.”

The group cheered.

The clerk and her co-workers wheeled out carts of popcorn and drinks next to the theater entrance.

Quigley inspected the sign. “A modern adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Cool.”

“You’re not into walking through nature?” Amber followed the placated guests towards the dimly lit room with the three of us in tow.

“Those words do not appeal to my temperature-regulated, sedentary disposition.” I plucked snacks for each member of our party and handed them out. “Plus, movies!”

Kevin scooted toward the back row, my preferred section.

Amber ushered us in so she could secure her aisle seat. “Unpredictable bladder. I am working with my primary care physician.”

I ended up smooshed in the middle next to Quigley, with our spouses on our flanks. 

On my left, Kevin positioned our refreshments on our seat.

I lifted the armrests on either side of me for more room.

Kevin took my gloves, neck warmer, and sweatshirt. But I insisted on keeping my coat in case I got cold. I placed it on my lap, then shifted it to my right, where Quigley had shoved his coat, too, forming a barrier comprised of fleece and fake fur.

Amber and I dueled in a word search game on our phones until the opening credits rolled. I had seen the film before, but Kevin had not. I was charmed to witness his reaction as he watched the events unfold.

At some point during the first act, my right arm drooped onto the outerwear pile and connected with Quigley’s elbow.

“Sorry,” we both sputtered in the dark, shrugging away from each other.

I fumbled for a safe location to rest my appendage, realized that was drawing too much attention to myself, and settled on the crevice underneath my parka.

Which is where I found Quigley’s left arm.

Exasperated, I blew a raspberry. I contemplated switching my stance. Then I decided to stand my ground.

Equally stubborn, Quigley endured in his pose as well.

Well, if he wasn’t moving…

I dared to touch his fingers with mine. 

Our skin barely made contact.

As the Shakespearean comedy progressed, we kept our eyes on the screen. The magical world inhabited by the lovestruck characters entranced Amber and Kevin, distracting them from the illicit pairing occurring in their vicinity. With every passing minute, Quigley and my salty digits inched nearer, crawling, probing below our garments. 

The tension made me sweat. 

With this method of keeping warm, I wouldn’t need that hot sauna session that Kevin had suggested as an après-dinner treat.

Our spouses could have caught us at any moment. Yet my digits finally intertwined with Quigley’s and stayed firmly linked for the second half of the movie, until the lights came on and we forced ourselves to let go.

“Why am I the one who has to trek through this haunted mansion to retrieve ice?” I grumbled in our room, after we had parted ways with Amber and Quigley that night, post dinner.

“I’m nestled all snug in my bed,” Kevin whined, wrapped like a roti that I would consider devouring when I returned from my expedition. “This is some good heat. Also, you wanted ice, not me. Also also, upstairs is phantom-free. The front desk clerk confirmed that the ghosts inhabit the kitchen, the billiard room, and the study on the ground floor, because that’s where the murders took place.”

I snatched the canister off the mini fridge. “You better hope I come back alive, or else my spirit will pester you to death.”

With a smug look on his dumb, handsome face, my husband declared, “Silver lining: we would be together forever.”

I slammed the door shut.

Once I found the vending nook on my floor, I wasn’t alone for long.

“My wish came true,” Quigley said as he entered the alcove behind me, carrying his bucket. “I heard your door creak open. And it was you.”

I poured the water into the drain. “The cubes melted.” I took in his rumpled hair, his bare chest, his pink sweatpants. “Do those belong to Amber?”

“I pinched them without asking, since she’s taking one of her long vacation showers with no munchkins to bug her. I forgot to pack my pajama bottoms. I considered cruising through the halls in only my boxer briefs.”

Near his waistband, I detected the hint of a happy trail. “Did you anticipate objections?”

“I expected tips.” He wiggled his pelvis. “Singles, fives. Twenties, if you’re a baller.”

We peered at each other silently until Quigley spoke again.

“So. Our morning activities weren’t a turn on for you?”

My eyes flashed at him. “What are you referring to?” 

“Me and Amber. Before breakfast.”

“Oh, right. No, the incident was more comical than anything else. Kevin and I had a laugh about the sounds.”

He averted his gaze to the fluorescent light fixture. “I haven’t heard you two boinking yet.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Quigley, but we had some marital enjoyment last night after we arrived. Kevin and I did.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“We were quiet. No need to put on a show. Why? Is that your kink? Aural voyeurism? Eavesdropping on hotel sensuality?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. Though, hypothetically, the idea of a woman experiencing pleasure does make me happy. The knowledge that her body and mind are being stimulated in ways that bring her carnal and emotional joy. Especially if that woman is in the same building as I am, on the same floor, in a room adjacent to mine, only a few feet away.”

“Fortunately walls exist, for protective separation.”

“Boundaries are important,” Quigley agreed.

We clutched our insulated canisters in front of our stomachs.

I stepped closer to him. “Who knows how you would be inspired, once you heard and visualized that lady’s ecstasy?”

“I know how.”

I swallowed. “Um…”

“My arousal would be evident.” His knuckles were an inch away from my forearms. “I would take care of it.”

“How practical of you.” My fingers extended gradually.

The back of his hand grazed my thumb. “Previously, my imagination of such a rapturous woman had to suffice as stimulation.”

My thumb skimmed the back of his hand. “Have you heard of pornography? It’s free online.”

“The woman occupying my thoughts can’t be found on the internet in such a delicate situation. That I am aware of?”

“I doubt it.”

“However, with the awareness of her proximity, her desire,” he breathed, the ragged mustache framing his lips tempting me, taunting my restraint. “The vocalization of her satisfaction.” His pinky licked my wrist. “Resistance to the combined attack on my senses would be futile.”

We were getting lost in each other’s eyes.

We had to stop.

“And yet, we persevere.” My heart pounding, I trudged around his half-nude form to the exit.

“The ice,” he reminded me.

Oh yeah.

I ceded my empty bucket to him.

He adjusted the plastic bag inside, filled the void, and returned the container to me, wet, stuffed, and overflowing.

“Thank you.” Flushed, I padded back to my room.

Safely inside, I dropped the bucket on the dresser, climbed on the mattress, and peeled the covers off my snoozing spouse. “I’m horny.”

Kevin kicked the remaining sheets out of the way. “It’s go time.”

Our evening attire stripped to the floor, we pressed our naked bodies together with me seated on top of him at the foot of the bed.

“Do you think we could conceive our next baby tonight?” I mused, guiding his penis into my vagina.

“In the presence of a poltergeist?” He hoisted my hips so my bottom comfortably rested on his thighs. “That would be a story to tell.”

“To whom?” I encircled his torso with my legs.

As Kevin leisurely rocked upward into my canal, I overheard a key card enter a lock nearby, followed by a door open and close.

“That’s the spot,” I conveyed louder than I normally would.

“You mean this spot?” My husband shifted his flection. “Or this one?”

“Both, please. Alternate.”

“As you wish, Jax.”

“Yeah, right there.” I allowed my whimpers to get blatantly loud.

Kevin was surprised at my volume. “What’s gotten into you?”

I racked my noodle for an acceptable response. “The fresh air. Breathing in the flora with the other fauna has invigorated me.”

He kneaded my meaty hams as I bounced on top of him, my large breasts jiggling under his chin. “We haven’t left the building since we arrived here, but I won’t complain.”

“Save your complaining for not fetching the ice.” I thrusted hard enough to shake the headboard and the walls.

“All right, enough out of you, madam,” he snickered. Kevin licked his thumbs and locked them on my clit.

“That’s the other spot!”

The freight train that was my orgasm was bearing down down the tracks, clickity clack.

“More, please, Kevin, yes,” I demanded.

He increased the friction, skilled at how to take me over the edge.

I bucked and came and bucked and came and wailed as the bed frame banged against the painted drywall separating us from our friends.

Kevin’s load erupted into me as I slowed, appreciating the waves of excitement coursing through my warm skin.

He ran his palm across my tubby tum tum. “Is something happening now?”

“I’m not psychic.”

“How about now?”

I kissed his pink lips. “We will know in a month.”

We indulged in our afterglow long enough to lie down, fall asleep on the messy sheets, and wake up a few minutes later.

He inhaled the scent from my damp bosom. “I’m going to clean up.” 

I gazed at his naked form as lustily as when I first had the privilege to view it years ago. “I love you, Kev.”

“I love you more.” He entered the shower.

A vibration emanated from my lump of clothes. 

I crawled across the scrunched blanket to find the culprit. It was a text from Quigley: “Lazy breakfast tomorrow. See you two there.”

I wanted the message I composed to be clever, but my energy was sapped. “I can’t resist the joy of baked goods,” I typed back. “We’ll be at the waffle station.”

The phone buzzed once more. 

I read his reply.

Oh, Quigley thought he was funny.

“I heard… that’s the spot.”

 

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

<a href=”https://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/-surviving-the-great-indoors-.aspx”> Surviving the Great Indoors </a>





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