My Wife, My Slut

"You mean, you don't want any more of Billy's big, fat cock, making that hot, sweet cunt purr?" he said, smoothly. I was doing a slow burn. The motherfucker was good, but he was too sharp by half. "You don't want Billy's long tongue licking your clit and making you cum over and over and over?"

"Oh God, Billy, don't," she said, and I could tell from her voice the she was getting turned on. "You know I love how you fuck me, but I can't. He knows, Billy. You may think Mike's a country hick, but he's not stupid, and I'm telling you, he knows."

"Listen, bitch, I don't care whether he knows or not," Billy said, now sounding threatening. "You want that raise you've been expecting?"

"Are you threatening me?" Claire said.

"No, no," he said, knowing he was doing just that. "But you know my father-in-law is the president of the bank, and, well, if you're not nice to me, it would probably get back to him, and, well, I know how much you need your job."

"Look, Billy, I can't meet you tonight," she said. "But next week, he's going to Dallas for an electronics show. Maybe we can get together then."

"Well, I guess," he said. "He'll be gone Friday? You know, you've never invited me to your house. Maybe we could christen your bed the same way we christened mine a while back. Remember?"

"Billy, what about the kids?" she said.

"Don't they have a football game that night?" he said. "Be the perfect opportunity..."

"We'll talk later," she said. "Look, I've got to go."

"OK, see you Monday," he said. "Love ya."

"Yeah," she said, hanging up.

This was like shooting fish in a barrel, I thought. But there were a lot of things about the call that concerned and angered me. One was his threat to hold back her raise if she didn't come across with sex, another was her reaction to his smooth patter. She was showing a carnal side that I'd never seen. Finally, it was clear that she was trying to break it off, that she didn't like cheating on me. Of course, I really didn't focus on that; I was zeroing in on the fact that they had confirmed my suspicions, and besides, it was a little late to be feeling guilty. And I was absolutely steaming at the way he'd talked about me. It was clear that he considered himself my superior. I'd cure him of that notion soon.

Nevertheless, the next afternoon, we spent a good two hours in bed, and it was some of the best sex we'd ever had, although it served to drive home the point that Claire was cheating on me. For one thing, she was the aggressor, which was way out of character. And she spent a lot of time sucking my cock, which she'd never liked to do before, and I returned the favor, something else she hadn't particularly cared for in the past.

Afterwards, it would worry me, but for one glorious afternoon, we put everything else aside and concentrated on the moment. I think she came about eight times, and I managed to get it up three times. We were sweaty and exhausted when we finally finished. I think if we had fucked like that all along, none of this would have ever happened.

I left the house early Thursday, with my bag packed as if I was going out of town. In fact, I got a motel room along the interstate, then dropped my car at my old friend Carl's repair shop. I got him to drive me to a car rental place, where I rented a cheap black two-door. I had also brought along my laptop, so I could download whatever pictures I took of Claire and her boyfriend for future use. I also went to an ATM and got several hundred dollars in cash.

I was in position to follow Claire about 6 o'clock that night. Our house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, with woods all around. I could ease my rental car into a spot where I could see the front door of my house without my being seen.

About 7:30, Claire came out, and my heart fell to my stomach. She was dressed in a clingy sleeveless black dress, and was heavily made up, with 4-inch high heels. As I trained my binoculars on her, I noticed something else. Her plump tits were dancing on her chest, clearly unfettered by a bra. I was hurt and angry that my wife was dressed to the nines for someone else, not me.

I followed her into town to a popular dance club, where she strolled to the door. She hesitated for just a second as she got to the door, as if reconsidering her action, then she pulled it open and went inside. I was in luck as far as watching the door was concerned. There was a coffee shop across the street, so I sat down where I could see the front door of the club quite clearly.

I waited... and waited. I probably went through a dozen cups of coffee, three cinnamon twists, and read and reread every newspaper they had until finally, a little before midnight, I saw her come out. I was slightly stunned when she did, because not only was she with Billy Stewart, but also with another man, and they both had their arms around her shoulders and she had her arms around both of their waists. She was clearly drunk, but she also looked almost giddy.

I followed them all the way across town until they came to a seedy motel in a slightly-rundown part of town. It wasn't the 'hood, but it was close. I pulled up to a curb on a side street and snapped some pictures as Billy got out, went inside to rent a room, then came back and drove around to the back of the building. I waited a few minutes, to give them time to get going good, then drove to the front of the motel, parked and went inside the lobby.

There was an older man, around 55, behind the counter. I walked up to the counter and asked him about the man that had just come in.

"Um, maybe," he said warily. So I pulled out the roll of bills from my pocket, peeled off a hundred and slid it across the desk. "Comes in about once, maybe twice a week with this broad, good-looking brunette. They get the same room every time, number 123. They usually stay about two or three hours, and, let me tell you, he fucks her good. She's a screamer. Why'd you wanna know?

"Oh, her old man thinks she's fucking around on him, and he paid me to follow her," I said, trying to keep a jovial tone in my voice. "Look, you think you might let me wander back there and take a peek?"

As I asked, I slid another hundred across the desk.

"Uh, I dunno," he said. "I don't want no trouble."

"Oh, I won't cause any trouble,'" I said, pushing another hundred in his direction. "I'm just going to take a look around, see if I can get a few pictures, maybe listen in a little bit.

"OK," he said, finally. "But if the cops come around, you're on your own."

"You let me handle the cops," I said. "Thanks. Who knows, you might get something extra out of the deal." At the time, I wasn't sure why I said that, but I guess I was already subconsciously thinking about Claire's punishment.

I walked behind the building, and as I got closer to Room 123, I could hear Claire in the throes of utter ecstasy. When she gets really hot, she gets quite vocal, and she was going through the whole songbook at that moment: cries, screams, moans, and lots of "Oh God, fuck me!" I took a few pictures of Billy's car parked at the seedy motel, including shots from behind that showed his license plate in the foreground and the motel room door in the background.

As I looked at the room, I saw that the curtain on the window wasn't quite closed, leaving about a half-inch gap through which one could see into the room. With my heart in my throat, I crept to the window and peeked in. The sight I saw in that moment will be burned in my memory forever.

I thought I was prepared, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Every light in the room was on, giving me a clear view of Claire being sandwiched between Billy and another man. Billy was on his back driving what appeared a very large cock into Claire's pussy from underneath, and the man behind her was steadily pumping a slightly-smaller dick in her ass.

I just went numb. On several occasions through the years of our marriage, I had tried to coax Claire into anal sex. I had always liked a little anal stimulation as an enhancement to sex, and I wanted her to try it. But Claire had always adamantly refused, saying I was too big (I'm about 7 1/2 inches and quite thick) and that it was too dirty. But here she was in a sleazy motel letting some guy she'd probably never met before that night have what she'd always refused me.

And was she ever loving it. Claire's body was a live wire of tumbling orgasms as they worked her between them. She was cumming in waves of pleasure as her two lovers worked their cocks back and forth, in and out of her clenching holes. I was mesmerized as I watched the guy in her ass pull out, revealing a solid 8-inch dick.

Then he pulled her off Billy's cock, and I was stunned to see Billy holding up a cock of at least 9 inches, maybe more. The other man flipped her around, while she got her feet underneath her, then she slowly slid Billy's cock into her ass. I was utterly amazed as she took every bit of him, all the way to the root. She started working her body up and down on his cock, her head thrown back in absolute crashing lust, while she rolled her fingers around her clit and opened up her already-distended cunt. The other guy grabbed Claire by the hips, drove his cock into her and together they fucked her like a machine.

Suddenly, I came to the realization that my own cock was hard, painfully so. The sight in front of me disgusted me, but it also excited the hell out of me. Then I remembered the camera, so I pressed the lens to the gap in the window and shot several shots of the trio writhing on the bed.

I could hear the pitch of Claire's vocals climbing higher, and I could see the two men working their cocks faster and harder, and I knew they weren't far from climaxing. Sure enough, Claire went into full-body convulsions as the two men delivered their cum loads deep in her body. I could see the buttocks of the man on top clenching with each burst, and I could actually see the cum oozing from Claire's ass around Billy's pistoning stick. I took a few more pictures, then slipped away.

I was in a daze as I drove back to my motel, my cock still twitching from what I'd seen. I stopped and bought a six-pack of beer on the way back to the room, then sucked every one of them down, one after the other, as I stared at the dark TV screen.

I still slept fitfully, but the beer did help. I woke up the next morning with a little bit of a hangover. I'm not much of a drinker, and guzzling down six in a row had hit me pretty hard. I spent the day in the room, downloading the pictures I'd shot the night before. And as I did, my cock responded the same way it had outside the motel room. Finally, I got on the Internet, found some gangbang porn and jacked off, the first time I'd done that in years. Then I did it again. I couldn't believe I was so turned on by watching my wife act the slut, but I was.

After an afternoon nap, I prepared for the big night. The son of a bitch was going to fuck my wife in my bed, "to christen it," as he put it, but it was going to be costliest piece of ass he'd ever had. This was the night I confronted them, and the pictures I would take would be much clearer and make it much more obvious what he'd been doing, what they had been doing.

Because at that point, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to see Claire again after that night, other than in divorce court. I just didn't know what I was going to do. One thing I did know, however. Lover Boy was going to be lucky if I didn't beat his sorry ass to within an inch of his life.

I was in position, ready to go at 5:30. Claire came home, looking very bedraggled, from which I got a grim sense of satisfaction. Cindy and the boys left for the football game a little after 6 o'clock, and about 6:20, Billy Stewart drove up and parked right in the driveway, like he owned the place. He swaggered to the door, carrying a box of Chinese carryout and a bottle of wine, and Claire answered it, dressed in shorts and a tight t-shirt, again with no bra.

Billy tried to be smoochy, but I noticed that Claire was just a little standoffish, and simply ushered him in and closed the door. I shot pictures with the long lens from the time he pulled in the driveway until the door closed.

I waited about 45 minutes, to give them time to eat, drink and be merry. I wanted to catch them in the act, and I had a feeling it was going to take them a little while to get going. Claire had looked tired and not at all enthusiastic, so I figured it would take a little cajoling and a good bit of wine for him to coax her into bed.

Finally, I decided that it was time. I had the camera, without the big lens, around my neck as I walked through the woods to the back of the house. I quietly unlocked the kitchen door and slipped in. As I did, I was struck by how I was sneaking into my own house, and I thought that it was a good thing I didn't own any firearms. Over and over, the line from that Lynyrd Skynyrd song kept running through my mind: "Two feets a-come a-creepin', like a black cat do. Two bodies a-lyin' naked, creeper think he got nuthin' to lose."

Their meal was strewn all over the kitchen table, along with the bottle of wine, which was two-thirds empty. As I crept into the living room and headed for the stairs, I could hear Claire already getting warmed up.

"Oh yeah, baby, fuck me with that big fat cock," she wailed. "Unnnnnnnhhhhhh! Ahhhh yeaaaaaaah!" Bile rose in my throat as I listened to her lewd patter, and his too.

"Oh yeah, you like Billy's big cock, don't you," he said in a low tone of voice. "You want to give it up, but you can't. Can you?"

"No!" Claire cried. "God, just shut up and fuck me, you bastard!"

The bedroom door was cracked a few inches wide, and I could hear everything. I had just the right moment in mind, and as I heard them hit the short strokes, him grunting furiously and Claire wailing like a banshee, I got ready to move.

As soon as I heard Billy gasp, "I'm cumming," I burst through the door, snapping a continuous series of pictures with the motor drive. I shot for about 10 seconds, and what I got was priceless. In fact, if it hadn't been such serious business, it would have been funny. Claire screamed bloody murder, and Billy whipped his whole body around in astonishment. As he did, his dick flopped out of Claire's pussy, sending cum flying everywhere, mostly on Claire's belly, but also on the sheets and on the floor, before he stumbled off the bed and fell on his back in his haste to get away from me. And I got all of it on camera, including Claire's cum-filled, wide-open pussy.

Then I slung the camera around my back, stalked into the room, grabbed Billy Stewart by his hair and dragged him toward the door, scooping up his clothes as I did. I stuffed his clothes under an arm, pulled him to his feet, grabbed one of his butt cheeks and frog-walked him out the door, down the hall, down the stairs until I got about six steps from the bottom. Then I planted my right foot in the small of his back and booted him the rest of the way onto the floor, where he fell hard and ended up sprawled on his back on the floor.

I threw his clothes at him, walked right up to him, knelt down, put a choke hold on his throat and got right up in his face. I think they both thought they were going to die, especially Billy, who was so scared he peed all over himself.

"If I ever catch you within a hundred yards of my wife again, asshole, I'm gonna cut your nuts off and feed them to you," I hissed. "And that includes that bank, which is soon to be your former employer. I'm gonna ruin you so badly you'll wish you'd never heard of me. Now get the fuck out of my house!"

"Y-y-you got to let me get d-d-dressed!" he said in a terror-struck voice, after I let go of his throat.

"NOW!" I yelled, and when he started fumbling with his pants, I gave a snort of disgust and stormed into the kitchen. I picked out the biggest knife I could find and stalked back into the living room. Even in my rage, I was lucid enough to know not to use it, keeping foremost in my mind that this cowardly bastard wasn't worth going to prison over.

But it made a nice, effective threat, because when he saw me stride angrily into the living room brandishing that knife, he hobbled hurriedly to the door as he frantically tried to pull his pants up and put his shirt on. He ran out the front door, me in hot pursuit. He climbed into his Caddy, and just to give him something to remember me by, I slammed my fist onto the hood of the car, putting a huge dent in it. He drove off screeching down the street and, as it developed, out of our lives.

Now it was time to deal with my wife. I stomped back upstairs and into our bedroom, still wielding the knife. Claire was white as a ghost, cowering in the bed with the sheet pulled over her body, and her eyes were like saucers. I just stood in the doorway and stared at her.

"Mike, please don't hurt me," she whimpered.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said finally, putting the knife on the dresser. "I'm your husband. Remember? Get cleaned up, get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We have issues to discuss."

When I got downstairs, I picked up the wine bottle and guzzled it down in one big gulp. It seemed to calm me down a little bit, and I sat down and thought about what I was going to say. Claire came down about 15 minutes later. Her hair was damp, and she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I noticed too that now she was wearing a bra. She sat down at the table opposite me and just looked down at her hands, which she was twisting back and forth. She looked very tired.

"I'm so sorry," she said finally, in almost a whisper. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Are you going to ask for a divorce?"

"I don't know. Should I?" I said.

"NO!" she said emphatically. "No. It may not look like it right now, but I love you. I always have."

"Then why, Claire?" I said. "Why? What did this clown offer that I didn't. I'm your husband, damn it. That's supposed to be me up there."

"I thought you were in Dallas," she said.

"Claire, for someone who is supposed to be an intelligent person, you can be so stupid sometimes," I said. "I never went to Dallas, never intended to go to Dallas. I set you two up, and you walked right into it. You knew I knew, and yet you did it anyway. Why?"

"I think maybe I wanted to get caught," she said, still speaking in hushed tones. "It may be the only way I could have gotten rid of him."

"Hell of a way to do it," I said. This was getting us nowhere. "OK, I want the truth. I want you to tell me everything, especially why you did it."

And she did. As I suspected, Billy had started coming onto her that night in May, when she'd been so down about being 40. He'd flattered her, told her how sexy she was, made her feel like she was 20 again. He'd put the full-court press on her, and she'd bought it, every last bit of it. In the meantime, I was spending too much quality time at the store, we weren't going out much, our sex life wasn't fulfilling, etc., etc. I wasn't giving her the kind of emotional support she needed and she wasn't equipped to ask for it.

Again, as I suspected, he'd finally succeeded in seducing her at the pool party. She'd gotten drunk, they'd played around all day, getting hotter and hotter, then they had slipped into the host's basement, where he spent a good hour fucking her.

"Please don't be offended, but it was the best sex of my life up to that point," she said. "He did things to me that I'd never had done to me, took me to places I'd never been. You know I didn't have any experience with men when we met. I guess I was just looking for something different. I wanted to see what other men were like."

That was the phrase, on top of everything I'd seen those two days, that set what followed into motion. For some reason, it pissed me off. She wanted to see what other men were like, by God, she'd see what other men were like, and then some.