My wife had just walked in the door from her usual morning run, looking flushed, fit, and happy. To all outward appearances, it was no different than dozens, even hundreds of runs she had returned from over the years.
Except for one little detail. She had just been fucked. Her run was to his place and back. The sweat glistening on her face, the bare skin of her midriff, her shoulders, arms, and legs, was from another kind of exertion altogether.
And one other, rather challenging detail, a detail in two parts. I had discovered her indiscretion, and she was blissfully ignorant of that fact.
The conundrum I found myself in was what to do now? I had discovered her inbox, full of evidence of her infidelity, including her plans for this morning. My stomach was still in knots, yet I had just orgasmed explosively to the image of what she was doing at that moment.
The tug of war between anguish and arousal playing out inside me was intense. I looked at her. Her aura was one of a sexual animal, a wanton slut. I had never found her so sexy.
I thought about her holding me gently at arm’s length as I approached her. Was it to hide any smell of sex that might be lingering on her?
Or was it because she did not want to touch me?
The latter thought took hold, and she became to me, at once, both unattainable and distant. I was incredibly turned on by the first and gut punched by the second.
I would need some time to process all this.
My eyes took her in. Her full, round lips that had kissed him, opened to take his cock into her willing and hungry mouth. Her throat, down which his manhood had been shoved, his balls pressing up against her chin and his pubic hair smashed against her cute little turned up nose.
That chin. I imagined her saliva cascading down it as she slobbered over him.
Her breasts. I could faintly discern the outline of her nipples, pushing against the tight fabric of her top, still erect as a sign of her lingering arousal. How sensitive were they; how did she react to his touch? Was he gentle, licking and sucking, running his fingers lightly across them, or was he rough, pinching, twisting, nibbling and then biting? Did she run his fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him?
Or did a string of unspeakable obscenities pour forth from her mouth?
Her belly, taut, athletic, and partially exposed. Just moments ago, it had been on full display, all the way down to the patch of hair above her pussy. Her legs – they would have spread open, inviting him to violate her, to have his way, to take her as his own.
Had he gone down on her? Licked, sucked, probed, fingered her to orgasm? Or, given the brief time, had he immediately fucked her?
I could see his cock poised above her pussy, her petals open to receive him, her eyes locking onto his, and the slightest of a nod giving him what assent he needed to complete the wretched and beautiful act of adultery.
His cock would have been big, of course, hard and beautiful. She would have remarked upon that, over and over, crying out how good it felt to have it inside her, how desperately she needed this. Those strong legs of hers would have wrapped around him, in her urgency crushing him, willing him to go even deeper.
As she walked past me to get some water, I stared at her firm ass, the snug fabric of her running tights stretched across and around it. In my mind’s eye, I could see her on all fours, he standing behind her, she reaching back to guide him back into her. He, grabbing onto her hips for leverage as he slammed into her, and she, matching him, thrust for thrust, as her cries echoed off the walls.
So many questions. Was this their first time? How rough had he been, how rough had she wanted it? How much bigger was he? How much younger and fitter? Was he, too, married, or a single bull having his fun with a desperate housewife?
Had there been a condom?
And where had he cum? Her face, tits, stomach, back, pussy? I imagined a shockingly huge and splattered mess, not unlike the one I had just cleaned up, her body painted in his sin.
Or had he planted his seed inside her? Deep inside her sacred cavern, in the cruelest, filthiest, most vile manifestation of infidelity?
This was no longer imagination, though; it was real. As she poured her water, I gazed at her, at the same time deeply shamed and desperately turned on by the knowledge that she had just come back from a carefully planned encounter, a dirty tryst, and that some trace of him remained either on her, inside her, or both.
I will give her this, she hid it well. Nothing in her demeanor or body language gave any hint of deception or guilt. She could not have acted more ordinarily.
But then again, the ability to compartmentalize was the key to maintaining the lifestyle that she had chosen. I had learned that from my travels into the online world of affairs, adultery, infidelity, and swinging. Those who give themselves over to the desires of the flesh and want to maintain their identity and existence in the vanilla world must learn that art. And by all indications, she had learned it extraordinarily well.
As I pondered this and continued to stare at the backside of my cheating wife, my cock began to awaken again. I wanted to wrap her in my arms from behind, press my cock against her, pull down her shorts, bend her over, and reclaim her. As turned on as I was, though, I was chastened by her earlier playful rebuff, and so I only watched in mute silence as she walked upstairs to take her shower.
I drifted through the day, trying to clear the fog to focus on my work. My world had been turned upside down. I thought about the texts I had hurriedly scanned while she was out. They wove a tale of deceit going back months, if not longer. Today’s partner in sin was but the most recent of many. If there was any comfort to be taken, it did not appear that any of her relationships were of long duration. To the contrary, most appeared to be one and done. Rather than looking for an affair, my pretty, suburban, all-American wife was on an odyssey of debauchery, chasing the white rabbit of cock and cum.
As the end of the workday approached, my nerves became increasingly raw. Soon I would be alone with her for the first time since I had opened that inbox. I would have to make conversation, act normal, be confronted, one on one, face to face, with the woman who had betrayed me in her quest for ever more intense sexual adventure of the kind she could never find at home. I was both nervous and excited.
Eventually, we sat down to dinner, having ordered takeout. I was self-conscious, and our conversation seemed awkward. Her mood, on the other hand, seemed buoyant, playful even. Her face lit up as she gazed across the table at me. I knew this was far from her first time, and yet I was just now noticing these signs for the first time, my ignorance having blinded me to the reality that had been hiding in plain sight.
Sitting across from her, I was mesmerized by the glow that was radiating from her. A glow I knew to be erotic, sexual, carnal, her beauty enhanced by the selfish and animal lust that I now knew burned within her.
As bedtime approached, I became even more on edge. My hormones were fully raging, I wanted desperately to fuck her, hard, to reclaim her, to experience the woman who had been revealed to me. In my anxiety, however, I suspected that she would resist my advances, claiming mid-week exhaustion. I laughed ironically at the thought – she would say it was work but I knew better.
As we changed for bed, she shed her clothes, and I saw her naked body for the first time since her secret was revealed. She was breathtaking. All the images of the morning came flashing back to me. I noticed that her triangle was freshly groomed. How she must have reveled in the anticipation of her pending betrayal as she so carefully shaved and trimmed her private area, her lips swelling and her insides turning moist.
As we climbed into bed, I was restless, unsure what to do, wanting to make a move but afraid of the pain of rejection. Unlike other nights, I would know why, and the hurt would cut deep.
I lay on my side facing her, and she spooned closely against me, letting out a little sigh as she nestled her ass against my mid-section. The firm yet soft feeling, the warmth of her body, and the images playing in my head soon had me swelling with arousal. Wanting to avoid any awkwardness, I pulled away slightly, but she surprised me by shifting backward to reestablish contact.
I soon had a raging erection. I was frozen in fear and indecision. For the first time in our marriage, I lacked the confidence to initiate. Her body and hair smelled of the soap and shampoo that she had used to carefully wash away all traces of her infidelity.
Her ass continued to press against my painfully hard member, and I could imagine his cock in exactly the same position just hours before. The difference was that there was fabric between us, while their contact had been skin on skin, his hard, naked body pressed against hers with the promise of what was to come.
Suddenly she reached back and fondled me gently through my sleepwear. I tried to stifle a soft groan as she began to rub up and down. I lay still, waiting to see what she would do next, when her fingers poked through my fly and brushed up against my cock. I felt like I would burst, yet I remained still, trying to quiet my breathing.
She probed deeper and grabbed me, poking my erection through the fly. Her hand engulfed my hardness, and she began to stroke lightly. The same hand that had wrapped itself around her lover’s cock this morning. Precum oozed out of my tip, and she used it as lubricant as she continued to masturbate me.
Without so much as a word, she rolled over to face me and gently pushed me onto my back. My cock pointed directly toward the ceiling, hard as a rock. She leaned in for a kiss, her lips smashing against mine and her tongue probing lightly.
The same lips, the same tongue, which had kissed him – with hunger and passion.
She broke off the kiss, and in the dim light, I saw her face hovering directly above my cock. With careful and practiced skill, she opened her mouth. A large amount of saliva poured forth from it directly onto my cock. She spread it liberally over me and resumed her stroking with a purpose. The skin of her palm was slippery and warm, and I could feel my orgasm approaching.
She leaned back toward my head and whispered in my ear with the sultriest of voices.
“God, you’re so hard for me.”
Her pumping increased, and I let out another groan.
“You like that, don’t you?”
I could only moan in response. I was close and she knew it.
“You need to cum.”
My mind was in overdrive now. More images, intensely graphic, played out in my head. She had opened her nightshirt, and I could see the perfect round curve of her small breasts capped by her erect nipples. I stared at them and imagined all the beds they had been in, all the men with whom she had betrayed me. No one in her ordinary world would ever suspect a thing.
My pretty wife, who had promised to forsake all others. Just another cheating whore.
The sheer dirty thrill sent me over the edge. Cum shot in high arcs into the air and landed everywhere. I cried out in anguish and ecstasy as I shot rope after rope, my spasms seeming to last an eternity.
She leaned in for another kiss, a gentle brush of her lips against mine as she reached under my shirt and wiped her hand clean on my belly before rolling over to face away from me.
She was soon asleep, and I, too, gradually succumbed to the darkness.
