I lay back, utterly spent. Sun streamed through the window of our bedroom and fell on her body. The sheets were wet beneath her ass and between her legs. A trickle of cum flowed out of her pussy. My eyes traveled up her body, across her flat, athletic tummy to her pert breasts, nipples fully erect, pointing upward proudly. Above them, her chest was flushed, as were her neck and face. I studied the contours of her jawline, the curve of her lips, the cute little turned-up nose, before resting on her eyes.
They were closed. She, like me, lay spent, panting, hair splayed around her shoulders, a tangled mess.
What was going through her mind? I thought. Was it me she was fucking just now? Or was she imagining I was someone else – a bull, a fuck buddy, a random stranger? Why had she so unexpectedly and uncharacteristically initiated sex in the middle of the day? Surely it wasn’t simply the familiar sight of my naked body and semi-erect cock. What was driving her?
And why such frightening intensity? She was always an energetic lover, but never remotely like this. Her feral growl, the violent ejaculation drenching her, me, and the bed. She had always been fully present during our lovemaking. But we hadn’t made love. We had fucked, raw and hard, and it was as if her soul had left her body.
To be fair, I had become an animal myself, fueled by my fertile imagination. I was fucking a different person this time – a deceitful, filthy slut. And that had set off a rage of hurt, anger, and lust.
My mind continued to swim; I lay dazed and confused. My cock had shrunk, my balls were empty. And someone I wasn’t entirely sure I now knew lay collapsed beside me, my essence continuing to ooze out of her cunt. Perhaps her cheating cunt.
Quite suddenly, she said the words that at that exact moment were going through my head.
“What was that?”
I rolled to one side to face her. Her eyes were open, and she had rolled onto her side toward me.
I should be asking you the same question, I thought. Instead, I deflected.
“I don’t know. But wow.”
“Yes, wow,” came her reply.
I reached over and my fingertips traced a soft, slow path down her body, across those erect nipples, down that taut stomach, across the groomed triangle, stopping at her bare mound. I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Where did this come from,” I asked, in as teasing a voice as I could muster, trying as best I could to cover my insecurity, as I ran my fingers around her slit across her smoothly shaven private area.
“Do you like it?” she responded.
Deflection?
“I do. It’s very sexy.” I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. ”What made you decide to do it?”
“A few of the girls at work,” came her swift reply. “Lunch talk. You know. They said their partners liked it. I thought, why not?”
She began to run her fingers across my shaft and down over my depleted balls. She leaned in for a kiss. It was tender, yet deep, her tongue probing my mouth, dancing with mine. She pressed herself into me as her fingers tried to coax me to erection once again.
My hand caressed her round, soft ass while her fingers continued to dance, but I wasn’t going to be able to perform again. There was no need for her to know that I’d already pumped two loads out of this cock before she arrived. An excuse in transition was needed.
“I’m exhausted,” I said. “And hungry as hell. I went extra hard this morning.”
“I’ll say you did,” she giggled. Something in the way she said it stroked my ego. “Come on, I’ll make us some lunch.”
She rose and I watched her walk into the bathroom. Her long back and the perfect curve of her ass leading to her toned legs shone in the early afternoon light and I marveled at the sight. Never had my wife looked sexier. I wasn’t gazing at a prim wife. She was, by contrast, a sexual beauty. I noticed a few drops of cum trickling down the inside of one thigh, and despite my state, my cock gave a little twitch.
I rose myself and followed her into the bathroom, embracing her from behind and, brushing her hair aside, planted a gentle kiss on the back of her neck.
“Thank you. That was wonderful,” I said.
Over the next few days, my mind continued to race with the possibility that my wife was fucking other men. Mind you, I had no evidence whatever, even circumstantial, other perhaps than the surprising and unprecedented change in her intimate grooming. That and her quite out of the ordinary desire to fuck in the middle of the day. And yet, even those two could be explained. Perhaps it was as simple as she had said – she got the idea to shave from friends and thought it would spice things up between us, and having done that, was eager to test it out.
Nonetheless, there was something different in her, or at least that’s what my emotional half argued. The more I thought back to that quick fuck, the more I became convinced that that something had changed. The sex had been outrageous, and she had never squirted before. It was the best sex I could recall, and that thrilled me. And my own silent role play had contributed to that as I imagined myself the bull, or the affair partner, fucking the dirty cheating whore. My blackout orgasm stood as testament to how much that turned me on.
Our sex continued to be intense. As we coupled, I would think of her as an unfaithful whore, a greedy slut driven only by carnal desire. A glance down at her legs wide open, her perfectly coiffed triangle of pubic hair, and my cock being gripped tightly by her bare lips drove me crazy. She was not my wife in those moments. She was someone’s fuck toy.
In my private moments I spent more and more time online. I devoured porn videos of cheating wives. My needs were particular. She had to be cheating without her husband’s knowledge – no allowed hotwives. She had to have a slender, small-breasted build. Incest scenarios didn’t work for me. The searches were tedious, but I found them, and I shot load after load imagining the actress was her.
I journeyed further, entering the realm of infidelity blogs and communities. Before long I was deep down a rabbit hole in a dark and fascinating world. I explored its caverns with jangled nerves, pounding chest, tight stomach, and raging erection. It was vast, far more so than I could have imagined, and driven by raw sexual desire and erotic passion. Its inhabitants were driven relentlessly by their libidos, devoid of inhibition, and brazen in their defiance of societal convention as they chased the white rabbit of their next sexual high.
It was the thrill of the forbidden, the filth of deceit and betrayal, the adrenaline rush of risk, the cruelty even, that was the drug that could satisfy their compulsive desires.
They were everywhere – large cities, small towns, working-class neighborhoods and tony suburbs. All had secrets, their illicit deeds hidden behind elaborate veils of deception.
It was entirely possible that my wife could be among them.
And so, I began to study her constantly, searching for any telltale signs. I found nothing. I looked for a spring in her step, a brightness in her face, when she returned home. I pulled panties out of the laundry, hoping to find, or was it hoping not to find, any telltale signs. I told myself she wouldn't take that much risk.
Or would she?
I observed her patterns of coming and going, seeking to discover anything out of the ordinary. I could find nothing. That didn’t necessarily mean anything – she had her job and her own life, and so we were certainly apart often enough for her to sneak something in. But I kept coming up empty.
Until one fateful morning.
I had risen early and gone to grab a cup of coffee. She was already up and about to head out for her usual morning run, her running bottoms and cropped top fitting tightly to her toned body, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. As I walked into the kitchen, she was typing something on her phone. Nothing unusual there – we all awake to emails and texts from work. I poured myself a cup and she put the phone down, walked over, gave me a kiss, and bid me goodbye as she walked out the door.
I stared as she broke into an easy jog, admiring her smooth stride and long, lean body, until she disappeared. I shook my head and smiled, imagining the reaction of the men she would pass, and shuddered at the filthy things that no doubt would go through their minds.
Who wouldn’t want to fuck her, given the chance?
I gathered my thoughts and, glancing at the counter, realized she had left her phone face up and unlocked. My heart began to pound. I hesitated, telling myself it was a bad idea. But my curiosity overwhelmed me. I grabbed the phone and sat down.
I first checked her texts. Nothing. Not satisfied, I began to swipe through her apps, looking for a secret hiding place. On my first pass I found nothing obvious, but at this point a morbid fascination was consuming me. So, I scrolled again, and this time I found a text app, tucked two swipes deep in a folder.
I tapped the app, and it prompted me for a PIN. My chest tightened as I frantically racked my brain trying to think what she might use. I tried several different logical combinations, with no success. By this time, I was convinced I had found the door to her hidden world. All I needed was the key. I was doubtless approaching the attempt limit that would lead to lockout, and an awkward situation the next time she tried to use the app.
I paused and thought hard. My mouth was dry. Think, I kept telling myself. Think.
Then it hit me, right between the eyes. Our wedding date – two digits for the month and two for the year. With pounding heart and shaking hands, I typed the numbers and watched in wonder as her inbox opened.
