My Cheating Wife

by Jaime Thorne

  But there was an elephant in the room, a fact that I couldn't deny or ignore. A truth that had defined me for twenty years and even if I turned my back on it now it would continue to define me going forward.

  I love my husband. I love him with everything that I have. I love him and nothing will ever change that. We had grown together and changed together and shared so much that I couldn't imagine a world without him in it, nor would I want to have that world.

  Being with Bruce was compelling and on paper there were so many more reasons to be with him than to not be with him, but I couldn't turn my back on my husband. I couldn't give up on the life that I'd built with him.

  I couldn't ignore the love that I felt for him.

  But I could forget about it for just a passing moment.

  Bruce stepped onto the top landing and moved towards the guest bedroom and in an instant, I had a flash of what had happened in there before. In an instant, the thought of Jeremy sitting there watching me and that damn look in his eyes came back to me and I froze and tensed in his arms and whispered to Bruce.

  “Stop.”

  He didn't hesitate, his feet stopped moving and his arms relaxed and I found the energy to extricate myself from him. I unraveled myself and found my footing and took a step back from him, trying to clear my mind and make sense of this.

  I stared at him, seeing a man that I wanted. But behind each blink was the picture of my husband. Behind each moment was the reminder of him and the vow that I was breaking.

  I felt terrible. I felt awful. I felt like I was living a lie because I was.

  But I didn't want to say no. I couldn't say no. I needed this and no amount of lying to myself would change that.

  In the end, I'm not sure why I did it. Why I stepped past him and led him away from the guest bedroom. I could say that it was because the memory of my husband watching us in there changed the way that I looked at that room. I could say that it was because the thought of us in that place felt like a betrayal of my husband.

  But none of that would explain why I chose my bedroom instead.

  Step by step I undressed as I led the way there. Like a lewd Gretel with her trail of clothes instead of breadcrumbs, I disrobed all the way over to my bedroom double doors and by the time I threw them open I was fully bared to the room.

  And he was on me in an instant, his hard body pressed against mine as he carried me over the threshold, his clothes mingled with mine as he pushed me through with such force that the doors rebounded and swung nearly shut behind us.

  I took him in my arms, wrapping my body around him once more as he pulled me into the room. I tried to wrap my legs around his waist again but found that his hands were lifting me up, pulling me up above his head while I squealed until I was sitting on his shoulders with my legs straddling his face and my pussy right at perfect mouth level.

  My hands pressed against the ceiling just as his tongue pressed into me, and my squeal of surprise turned into a low moan of breathy need as he dipped deep and tasted of me. As his tongue slipped past the lips of my sex to taste and drink deeply of me.

  One of my hands was pressed into the ceiling but the other fell on the back of his head. It pulled him forward as I ground my hips against him, bucking against him as I balanced precariously on him while he tasted me.

  I felt on top of the world then, shuddering with pleasure at the peak of existence as I stared down at all of the little things below me. Up here all of my concerns seemed temporary and fleeting. With him between my thighs everything else became insubstantial and unimportant and I could focus on this instead.

  This moment. This pleasure. This pounding running through my veins timed to the beat of his tongue lapping at me. This need as I bucked against him, screaming out my delight and begging for more.

  “Oh Bruce just like that!” I cried out, “Oh fuck I can't believe this fuck Bruce FUCK!”

  My hand dragged along the ceiling as he took steady steps forward. Each footfall was a rumble of thunder that ran through my body, a peak of electricity that made me shake and shudder, that made me nearly collapse on him with pleasure.

  I could feel my whole body shaking. Could feel my whole being vibrating with a build that signaled a coming climax but a whole world of pleasure before that.

  Waves after waves that rushed over me, that made my hot skin feel cold and then burning with desire once more. A confusion that pushed all other thoughts out of my body as my focus drilled down to a narrow point.

  Him. Me. Us.

  The world slipped out from under me and I tumbled into the bed with a giggle and a gasp. He was on me in an instant again, kissing me and running his hands over my body while my hands pressed against his.

  Against the firmness of him. Against the hard oppression of his muscular form. Against everything that he was and everything that he represented, the promise of pleasure eternal.

  My hand found his cock, taking it into my hand and stroking up and down the length of it. I squeezed and felt him, stroking him while moaning as his tongue pressed past my lips. I stroked him and felt the heat of his cock throbbing into my hand and my palm and making me want and crave more from him.

  Demanding it.

  I pressed Bruce onto his back and slipped onto him, finding myself facing his feet as I straddled and lowered myself onto him. His familiar thickness filled me, satisfying only a fraction of a percent of the need that was building inside of me.

  I needed more from him. I needed all of him. I needed to fuck him.

  My hands gripped his ankles as I bent low over him, lifting and dropping my ass onto his cock while I felt him stretching me open and filling me. I felt him inside of me, so full that it nearly made me black out. I forgot to breathe, focusing on finding the rhythm that would ratchet up the pleasure in me bit by bit until I could feel it pushing at the edges of me and threatening to make me burst.

  “Fuck. Me.”

  I begged him, each word punctuated by a thrust on his cock.

  “Fuck. Me.”

  I asked of him, clenching my eyes shut and feeling that tension building in me but knowing that my actions alone wouldn't be nearly enough.

  “Fuck. Me. PLEASE!”

  I cried out, feeling his hands reaching out for me and finding my body. Feeling him pull me and flip me so that I was lying face first and prone on the bed while his cock was still buried deep inside of me.

  One of his hands was on my hips, tugging and pulling me back into place. The other was between my shoulder blades, pushing me down into the bed and holding me there. His breath was hot on my neck, making me shudder and tremble.

  I felt the force begin.

  Hard and fast all at once. A pounding between my legs as he fucked me roughly, as he gave me what I needed and desired and craved. His hips must have been a blur, my thighs and ass must have been red with the smacking of his hips against me as he fucked me down into the bed.

  I felt myself lose control. I heard a sound that sounded like me but I was so detached from my own sense of self that I didn't realize it was until the high pitched moan registered as mine in time. The only thing that I had a connection to was that pleasure in my body, that pounding building inside of me like the drums of war.

  I could feel a shift as I forgot everything else. As I forgot about all but the here and now and the pleasure that I was feeling. I could feel my climax building in the distance and knew that it would be better than any that I had had before. More powerful and more intense and more more more.

  I wanted it. I wanted all of it and nothing would stop me from that. Nothing could pull me back from this.

  Single-minded in my focus I pressed back on him and pulled forward, pulling him out of me and whirling on him in an instant. I turned back on him with hunger, curling my body beneath me and tensing in preparation to pounce.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JEREMY

  I had a feeling the whole way home, this sort of unshakable feeling that something was wrong. That I'
d missed something.

  Like leaving the house and leaving the oven on. Like going on a trip and forgetting to check that you'd locked the door. A nagging worry that I'd missed something along the way and that missing that would be my doom.

  The drive gave me the clarity to think. To think about Avril and think about me, to think about the two of us and what I was doing to us.

  I was ruining something good.

  Appetite and hunger are two different things. Hunger is the need for sustenance. It's the need to consume in order to keep living. It's a necessity and a part of what it means to survive.

  An appetite though is something more than that. An appetite is about feeding a desire, and desire and need are two different things.

  Hunger drives us to eat. Appetites drive us to seek out specific tastes to satisfy a craving that thrums deep inside of us.

  Make no mistake, pursuing my fantasy was not a necessity. I could play it off as such and make excuses the whole way along but in the end, if I denied it to myself I would still survive. I wouldn't die from the lack of it.

  But a fantasy is an appetite for something exotic, and that can be the seasoning that makes life worth living. Subsiding on it and it alone can ruin you though. It can consume you as you consume it.

  It can make you lose yourself to it, and in doing so lose everything but it as a definition of yourself.

  I'd pushed too far. I'd grown fat on the need to satisfy my urges and it was ruining things.

  Avril hated me. I was almost certain of that now. She was trying desperately to find some sort of connection to me to keep on going but the further I pushed her the more she began to see me the way that I asked her too.

  If you ask someone to call you a loser enough times, if you ask them to call you weak and inadequate then eventually they'll start to believe their own words. Say something enough times and it becomes a sort of truth.

  Avril didn't want to be with me anymore, and though I wanted to be with her I also knew that being with her meant giving up in a big way the life that we lived before. Things had changed now, and no amount of effort could put that truth away in a drawer to lay forgotten.

  That wasn't to say that we wouldn't have something, that we couldn't have the potential for a life together. But I knew on some level that I would always be wanting the life I had before. I'd always need to taste my fantasy, to live and grow in it. I'd never be satisfied with less.

  The drive home was slow and the drive home was sad for me. I was going home to be with her because I knew that it was the right thing to do, but it wasn't what I wanted to do.

  In the back seat of the cab I thumbed through my phone, playing at checking email and reading the news but always coming back to my texting app and always opening the conversation with him.

  Bruce.

  I wished so much that we'd found someone else. I wished so much that we'd found someone easier to work with, easier to be around. Someone that we could connect with on a level that was more than physical.

  No that's not true, that's not honest at all.

  In truth I had a connection with Bruce, one that went beyond the physical. I didn't know much about him but I knew enough to know the sort of man that he was and the sort of man that he reminded me of.

  He reminded me of Jacob, not the Jacob that I knew now but the one that I had met all those years ago. The Jacob that had been by my side when we started our company and grew it to the juggernaut it is today. The Jacob that could be maybe a bit crude and maybe a bit blunt but who was also honest and direct. The one that didn't pull any punches.

  That Jacob was gone, gone to drink and indiscretions. Gone to his appetites and lost to it. Not just once Emily left but in truth so long ago, in truth Jacob hadn't been in my life in probably well over a decade and maybe more than that.

  Under different circumstances Bruce and I could have been friends, could have found the same connection in each other that I had with Jacob. I could have taken on almost a mentor role for him, guiding him on a path that skirted around the follies that had ruined other men. I could have made him a great man.

  But that wasn't an option now. Avril wouldn't have it.

  That was my fault, going for the man that would fulfill my fantasy instead of the one that could offer more. Picking out a candidate with the assumption that this would be a one-night thing, not realizing that there was the potential for so much more from it.

  Avril hated men like Bruce. Hated their crudeness and their approach to the world around them. She hated it with a fury that I could understand, that I could hold onto and make sense of. She hated it because of course she did. She hated it because Bruce represented men like Jacob, and Avril had so many reasons for hating men like that.

  If I had been smart I would have chosen someone with that in mind. I would have found a friend and built this from that. Maybe then it wouldn't be so hard for Avril to say yes.

  Maybe then it wouldn't destroy a small piece of our marriage each time she slept with him.

  That feeling that I'd missed something returned to me the moment I stepped out of the cab. It consumed me and drove me as I walked up the steps, building each foot I got closer to the door.

  It was that feeling that made me work so quietly, unlocking and turning the handle softly so as not to be heard. It was only that feeling that could explain that, a compulsion that didn't make sense but made me steal into my own house like a thief in the middle of the day.

  There was a vase broken on the floor, a splash of water and a flutter of color as flowers stained the wood in the entrance way. I stared at it for a moment, contemplating it while I silently closed the door behind me.

  It should have made me think of robbers, home invaders. It should have made me panic but it didn't.

  The sight of it brought clarity to me, as if the sight of it was confirmation that I hadn't missed something. That my instincts had been correct and I was walking into a truth that I had missed.

  That truth drew me up the stairs. Up through the silent rooms towards the noise that grew and grew the closer I got to it. The noise that brought me all the way up to the top floor and left me pausing, gripping the railing and staring at the floor in front of me.

  Like the flowers in the entrance way, this floor was stained as well. Strewn with the trail of clothes that drew my eye forward towards the doors of my bedroom. Hers and his. Unmistakable.

  And beyond that door, I could hear it. The sounds were familiar and intense. The rhythm and the rocking of it. The push and pull and the cries of desire. The need building between the two of them as I was drawn forward with each rush of it.

  I heard her speaking to him, her words difficult to make out. I heard him responding, the gruff tenor of his voice masking his words but the tone unmistakable.

  Avril. Bruce. Together.

  Swallowing hard my pounding heart drowned out the sounds of them. The rush of blood in my ears made such a din, washing out the rest of the world in a roar as I stepped up to the door of my bedroom.

  I opened it, just enough to see inside but not enough to be seen. Peeking around the corner like a peeping tom, hiding myself and witnessing them.

  Bruce was stretched out on the bed, on my bed. His hard body was on full display and it was slick with sweat and exertion. I could see the toned tensing of his muscles. His arms and abdomen flexing as he stared down at the woman below him, giving her all to him.

  She was kneeling over him, taking him into her mouth. Her one hand was placed on his hip and abs, pushing and kneading on them, while the other held the base of his cock steady and kept it pointing directly up and into her lips.

  Her lips that were all over him, her tongue that played across his head and down and around and around his shaft, her hot breath on him and the slickness of her saliva coating him as she took him past her lips and pleasured him with everything she had.

  She took him deep, her whole body going tense and shaking and trembling as he stretched her mouth and filled her u
p. She took him deep, gagging herself slightly on him before pulling back and letting him fall out of her mouth while her hand stroked up and down the length of him.

  Avril stared at him while she stroked him, her breasts rising and falling as she stroked him into her face and locked eyes with him.

  “God your cock is phenomenal,” she told him, “So fucking thick. So fucking long. So fucking perfect.”

  I watched him tense as she barrelled down onto him. She took him deep inside of her again, stroking the base of him quick and fast while she bobbed on his end with fantastic force and vigor. She stroked him into her mouth, moaning while her eyes locked into his and his hands gripped the sheets between his fingers.

  She stroked him until he roared and threw his head back, and then and only then did she pull away.

  Her hand lazily worked on his length, one of them finding his balls and fondling them while the other moved in slow rhythm up and down his shaft. I watched in enraptured awe, seeing how her saliva on his shaft coated her fingers, seeing how it left the two of them glistening and slick.

  “Did you like that?” she asked.

  “Oh yes,” he replied, his chest heaving with breathlessness.

  “Do you want more?” she teased.

  “More,” he nodded, “I need more.”

  Avril sat back, releasing him and sitting up. She waited until he noticed her, until the bucking in his hips let up and his head rocked forward to look at her.

  “You'll have to earn it.”

  And with those words she pounced on him, rolling around and spinning atop him she straddled his face and pressed her sex down onto his lips while she bent over his body and took his cock back into her mouth.

  With a focused effort she returned to him, pounding herself onto him while he came alive with purpose between her thighs.

  His hands flew up to grab her, slapping onto her ass and pulling and kneading at her cheeks. I could hear him working on her, could hear the sounds of him and her sounds responding to him. The sounds of both of their bodies mingled with excitement and need and pleasure.