Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com



A Thumbnail Tale by Jardonn Smith

and Globalfight.com


Getting Jim out of the house was no problem. He was off work for a few days using up leftover vacation time.

All Marsha had to do was call him and say, “Jim, could you come over and put up this rod in our recreation room? It's too high for me, and you know Marvin is no good with such things.”

Being the handiest of handy-men amongst the group of friends, Jim proudly jumped at the chance to upstage his ol' buddy, Marvin. “Sure, Marsha, I'll be there in ten minutes or so, but, uh, how come you're not having lunch with Cheryl and the girls?”

Cheryl, Jim's wife, had left the house not more than fifteen minutes prior to meet her four friends at a restaurant for their weekly lunch, which was always followed by a game of bridge at one house or another on a rotating basis. Hostess of the house kept glasses filled and snacks stocked while the others played.

Marsha replied, “I decided to skip the lunch and get this project done before our game. I'll meet them over at Jackie's place soon enough. Shouldn't take you more than half an hour to do the job, once you're here.”

“Okay. I'll be there in a jiff.”

“Wear jeans, Jim dear. It's dirty where you'll be working.”

That was her prelude to suggestion he remove his shirt once he got there, which Jim smartly did, because the location Marsha had chosen for the rod – an unfinished section of the basement near the clothes dryer – was saturated with tiny lint particles that billowed up with the slightest of movement.

“Why do you need it so high, Marsha?” Jim wondered, as he stood on step ladder mounting brackets to the ceiling for his suspension hooks.

“I've got some out-of-fashion evening gowns I want to store down here.”

“Oh, well, better let me hang them up for you while I'm here. Soon as I test my rod.”


“No need for that, Jim, dear. I've got another chore for you, and besides, the girls are here.”

“Huh?” Jim nearly dropped his rod, as Brenda, Liz and Jackie descended the stairs.

“Hi, girls. How come you're not having lunch with Cheryl?”

Brenda, first to reach the basement floor, fielded it. “Poor Cheryl. I think we've been one step ahead of her all afternoon. She must think we've lost our minds.”

Second to land, Jackie added. “Blame this all on Marsha. She was scheduled to host, but asked me to switch with her. So what happens? Right before I leave for the restaurant, the carpet men show up. I completely forgot I'd scheduled a shampoo and deep clean today.”

Liz joined the other two. “Thank goodness Jackie got hold of me before I left so I could call Brenda.”

“I foolishly volunteered my house,” Brenda explained. “Liz drove over to Jackie's so she could get the food and bring it over to my place, but then I remembered that my freezer's on the fritz, which would render Jackie's ice cream cake a useless mess, so I had to wait for Liz to show up at my place, and then we drove together back to her house to store the ice cream.

Jackie's turn. “And by the time they got to Liz's house to call me, I'd already set up the carpet men and taken off for the restaurant. Terribly late, mind you.”

Liz stated, “In all the confusion, nobody thought to call poor Cheryl.”

Jim's head was spinning as the women rattled through their tale. Temptations to ask questions were squelched, however, because Jim knew interrupting them would only further scatter their brains, thus delaying the seeming-to-never-come end of their story. Smartly, he kept his mouth shut.

“She'd already been to the restaurant and left, “Jackie (mercifully) finalized. “So, honestly, we don't know where she is. I did leave a note on my door, but it said we were meeting at Brenda's house.”

Jim, with one hand on hip and the other scratching his head, pondered, “So, why aren't you over at Brenda's?”

“Because,” Brenda snapped. “Marsha told us to come over here and watch you work.”

The basement went silent, as Jim observed four grins wash over four female faces – four grins which could only be described as those of the shit-eating variety.

“To be more precise,” Marsha, the hostess, smirked in an alluring sort of way. “We are here to watch you work out, Jim. As in weights. As in the equipment room my husband never uses. Get it?”

“But, hmm...” Jim stumbled, still trying to untangle the web they'd woven. “What about Cheryl? Shouldn't somebody go find her? Or call her cell?”

“I left a note on my door,” Brenda crowed. “Told her exactly where we'd be. Right here at Marsha's.”

Marsha added for clarity. “So, she will eventually find her way here. Meanwhile, you can entertain us.”

“Yes, Jim,” chimed Liz. “Please do entertain us.”

“We insist,” Marsha re-iterated while producing a battery-powered screw driver from a nearby work-bench. “Otherwise, I'll have to drill you a new belly button.”

“And we wouldn't want her to do that,” Jackie giggled. “We prefer the one you have now.”

It should be noted that Jim was not stupid. The fact Brenda left a note on her door for Cheryl to find confirmed that these four connivers had planned this all along. At the same time, Jim was accustomed to pranks. The bridge ladies and their husbands had been friends with Jim and Cheryl since high school days, when they all ran as a pack. All stayed in their hometown for their marriages and careers, and pulling tricks on one another had always played a part in their friendships. Normally, however, the pranks stayed within gender – husbands tricking husbands and wives tricking wives.

Figuring that either these four women were pulling a fast one on Cheryl, using him as their Guinea pig, or that Marvin or one of the other husbands would at some time or another jump out of his hiding place to celebrate his big joke, Jim played the game.

“Well, ladies, I kinda like my current belly button, so lead the way.”

They did. Other end of the basement and into the exercise room. Told him to lay on the flat bench.


They put one set of dumb bells in his left hand, another in his right, and told him to “get to pumping.”




And pump for them he did, while the women paced the bench, scrutinizing with their eyes, positioning themselves for the views they desired, each of them barking words of motivation – for him and for themselves – all or any of them chattering at the same time, an exercise of which women are so very talented.

“Blow up those big muscles, big man.”

“Hurry up and break a sweat, muscle stud.”

“Yeah, we want it to smell like a man in here.”


Jim's muscles did fill with oxygen-rich blood, just for them. His powerful chest, triceps and biceps were properly pumped.

His pores opened. Sweat painted his skin.

His sheen emphasized the perfectly-designed symmetry of muscle he had built and maintained ever since high school, and the smell of a man inundated the basement's workout room.


“Good God, isn't he beautiful?” one of them drooled, her identity unimportant.

“Same as he ever was back in the day.”

“Only now he's all grown up. Covered in body hair.”

“Man fur, you mean.”

“Yes, I do mean exactly that. Our Jim is ALL man. Too bad none of our husbands could stay looking that way for us.”

“None of our husbands ever looked that good to begin with, even back in the day.”

Now, Jim being a serious weight trainer, he only half-way listened to the shower of compliments coming his way. He focused on his reps – arm positions and angles, tempo and count – but just as any man would, he subconsciously absorbed what was said, which did tend to elevate his ego a lot and stir his testosterone a little.

“Guess you might say we're just a bit jealous, Jim. After all, you dated all of us at one time or another.”

“That's right, Jim. You could have picked any of us for your bride and we'd have jumped at it.”

“But, it looks like Cheryl's the lucky one.”

“Speaking of dating,” Marsha, the hostess, giggled like a school girl, “I do remember a little secret I discovered on one of our nights together, Jim. Making love in the back seat of your Super Sport.”

Jim stopped his exercise, as the women removed dumb bells from his grip. “Secret? What secret?”

While two females held Jim's arms, Marsha explained what she remembered about him. “Seems to me...” She produced a long rod with suction cup at one end. “My lips on your tit produced a very healthy boner.”

“No,” Jim protested while mildly resisting the grips held on his wrists. “My boner was full on before you sucked my titty.”

“Well, it was fuller once I got to licking. Let me stir your memory.” She flipped a switch and planted the suction cup.




“How does that feel?” Marsha cooed.

“Tingly,” Jim acknowledged.

“Giving you a little jolt, are we? Jackie queried while lowering a second suction rod.

“Yep, just a little,” Jim grinned. “Kinda hot, temperature-wise.”

“How hot is it, hard-on-wise?” Marsha wondered.

“Very.” He raised his head, observed the tingly suction cups stimulating his tits. “So, uh, I figure one or more of your husbands is about to jump out and make fun of me at any moment. Right?”

“No, Jim, darling. All the men are at work, but I do believe your wife is coming down the steps as we speak.”

“Oh, shit,” he exclaimed while struggling a bit harder to break free their grips. He could have busted loose had he wanted, but figured to put on a good show for his wife. That way, whether she was in on the joke or not, she'd see him as the innocent victim he truly was.

“What on earth is going on here?” Cheryl rushed into the workout room. “What happened to our lunch? How come none of you answered your cells? And what are you doing to my husband?”


Marsha fielded it, as they removed the tinglers from Jim's tits. “Oh, Cheryl, we had such a mix-up with location, we decided to have us some play time here in the basement. Jim was so kind to come over and fix my hanging rod, and he looked so handsome playing my handy-man, we talked him into being our circus monkey.”

“Right,” Jackie concurred. “Your beautiful husband's been giving us a command performance... lifting weights... getting all sweaty and hot and bothered.”

“Is that true, Jim?” Cheryl asked in a rather scolding tone.

“Sure,” he boldly answered. “I agreed to it, since I figured you'd find us over here soon enough. Besides, as you can see,” he turned his head left and right, emphasizing the girls holding his wrists, “they kind of have me held prisoner at the moment.”

Cheryl huffed, “So, I see. I also see you rather like it, judging by the bulge in your jeans.”

Guilty, as charged, Jim looked over his chest to confirm what he felt – a full-on hard running the inside thigh of his denims.

Marsha defended him. “It's not his fault. We've been giving him a little extra stimulation.”

“Sure,” added Brenda. “A post-exercise cool-down.”

“Looks like more of a heating up to me,” Cheryl scoffed.

Liz argued, “Well, now, Cheryl, there's no use getting in a hissy. We're all friends here, and since your husband's finely-tuned physique tends to drive us all crazy...”

“Always has and always will,” interjected Jackie.

“We thought maybe you'd consider sharing him for an hour or two.”

Brenda jumped in, “It's not as though we're tempting him to cheat on you. We knew you'd find us soon enough. This was just a little side-show.”

“Right,” Marsha agreed. “Just getting our jollies, borrowing your very masculine husband for a bit.”

Jackie pointed out, “We just needed to watch your manly man doing some manly things. That's all. It's not as though we're expecting him to screw each and every one of us.”

“Do you think he couldn't?” Cheryl snapped, proud that Jim was HER husband. Proud that HER husband had kept his masculine physique in prime shape for HER all these years. Proud that he'd always been loyal to HER, never a doubt in her mind. “Trust me, my dear girl friends, my man could do each and every one of you until you all collapsed to the floor exhausted. And then he'd do me!”

Jim, listening to all of this, now sported a boner the likes of which he hadn't experienced since... well... ever. Being the smart man, he kept his mouth shut, lowered his arms a bit, expanded and raised his chest a bit, sucked in his belly a bit and posed like he was some sort of bound-up, super-stud he-man, waiting for the ladies to work out their differences.

“Oh, my goodness,” Marsha chortled. “Now, really, Cheryl, your Jim is quite something, but I seriously doubt if he is all that.”

Cheryl was unfazed. “Bah! Don't tempt me. If I give the word, he will do exactly what I said. Trust me, mine is no false boast.”

“All right, miss smarty-pants,” Marsha challenged. “Do us the honor of stripping him naked, and then we'll take him out to the sauna... better known as my torture shed, according to Marvin.”

That is exactly what she did. With Liz and Brenda holding Jim's wrists, Cheryl untied and slipped off his shoes. Unbuttoned his jeans. Pulled down his zipper. Yanked his jeans and undershorts to his knees, past his knees to his ankles and all the way off. After removing his socks, they helped him sit on the bench to work the kinks out of his spine. When Jim was ready, they stood him up and led him to the back door.

Marsha's back yard had a pool surrounded by an eight-foot-high wooden privacy fence, and to the west of the pool was a sauna room... or, as Marsha had said, her torture shed.




In the torture shed, they draped a hood over his head before turning on the light so he could not see what awaited him.

Suspended from the ceiling was a sling, and into the sling did their naked victim go.


With his hood removed, Jim's wife Cheryl was given sole responsibility for getting her husband fired up all over again.

Once successful, Cheryl invited her friends to feast upon him, and all did greedily partake of his manly, sweat-encrusted, fur-covered and muscular flesh.


From then on, Jim was a man no longer in control. All thoughts, emotions, sensations and reactions were on auto-pilot. His lust surged to dizzying heights. One man, bound, naked and defenseless, writhed in the praise of five beautiful women.

They hand-massaged him. Licked and kissed him anywhere and everywhere until his manly cock – so rigid he felt it might split open the flesh that shaped it – nearly erupted with orgasmic fluid despite the fact none of them touched it. His glorious, reproductive tool, the epitome of what a man should be, received no stimulation whatsoever.

The evil females primed their prisoner, and then stood back to admire their creation.




Stimulating him had stimulated them. Now, observing the magnificent, god-man sculpture they'd created set their innards afire. Their blood sizzled. Their labias frothed with feminine juices, sugary tributaries trickling down their legs. So badly did they desire to mount his heavenly cock – a tool massively befitting a bull but generously gifted to a man, THEIR MAN! – they clutched their own hands to their engorged clitties, their feet marking time as though they had to pee.

“Ooh, yeah, Jim! You magnificent stud. Wanna taste my syrup? Here, lick my fingers!”


One by one, they did straddle him. They did insert his mighty penis to their quivering vagina holes, every female so primed to spew milk that no more than a dozen strokes were required to trigger each womanly explosion.

As for Jim, he did his duty. He commanded his nuts to hold his seed. He ordered his pecker to maintain its raging hardness until each of his women was properly serviced. The ultimate alpha male, Jim dominated and pleasured his entire pack of females.





When Brenda, Liz, Jackie and Marsha had taken what they wanted, when Jim's mighty phallus had pounded and battered them to orgasm and they lay on the floor, exhausted and panting for air just as Cheryl had said they would, it was his wife, Cheryl, who finished him. Not with her husband in bondage. Not with her man in a sling, but in the swimming pool, where Jim, the man, could fondle and kiss his woman. Where he could press her breasts into his fur-covered and muscular pectorals. Where he could stroke her clitoris with his mesmerizing cock, and do so at angles of their choosing, at a pace of their choosing.

Brenda, Liz, Jackie and Marsha watched in awe, in amazement tinged with a bit of jealously, as Jim made love to Cheryl for nearly thirty minutes. Together, they moaned and groaned their pleasurable sounds of orgasmic bliss, knowing that for him there was only Cheryl, and for her, only Jim.

As final proof that all friendships remained solid, the girls, with Cheryl's permission, coaxed Jim into one final pose before everybody got dressed. Appropriately enough, he played as though he was suspended in bondage from the very rod he had so generously mounted for Marsha that very afternoon.


The ladies who lunch are now the lunch-munch bunch. Jim has kindly spaced out the remaining days of this year's vacation time so he can entertain his ladies once a month.

Cheryl, of course, can have him anytime she damn well pleases, and as you might suspect, she is pleased to have him vanilla-style, and oh, so very, very often.






The man in my story goes by the name Carolina Jim

and you will find him exclusively at Vangar/Globalfight Videos



There is also a personals section where you can meet men like him,

and men who admire him. You'll find them at Globalfight Personals




This Jardonn Thumbnail Tale was inspired by






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