My unfaithful wife out getting fucked while I’m at home

“Have you seen my blue dress?” she asked me.

I gulped, anxiety dribbling into the pit of my stomach. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said in reply, eyes moving from her precipitous heels, up over the dark stockings, my focus caught for a moment by her smooth vulva. It occurred to me she’d recently had her pubic bush waxed, the meaty labia peeping from that intimate place between her thighs.

Dread squeezed my insides when I looked up to see her generous breasts cantilevered over the quarter bra my wife favours, her long nipples extended and thick in the coins of their areolae.

She stood there, posing, fists on her hips in what seemed to be a deliberate taunt, ash-blonde hair piled up, subtle make-up applied, drop earrings dangling from her ears while a triple string of the same beads hung around her neck and nestled in the crease of her precipitous cleavage. Sophie flaunted her body at me, a body which still had the power to enflame my desires after nearly three decades of marriage.

“The halter-neck blue one,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation, as though she thought me an idiot. “You’re useless,” breathed Sophie, turning to leave me alone in the lounge.

I watched her buttocks jiggle as my wife hip-swayed away, certain the brief conversation had purely been an exercise in showing me what I was missing, but which I feared she was giving to somebody else. The ensemble of stockings and heels, her choice of bra in conjunction with that damned halter-neck dress was too much for a supposedly innocent night out with ‘The Girls’.

The television flickered with Saturday night programmes, ignored by me as I turned over the bleak prospect of my evening ahead. I had questions, the chief one being what time could I expect my wife to return. And it wasn’t guaranteed to be the early hours of Sunday morning; Sophie had once come home at 4 p.m. the following day, bedraggled and bleary and full of some bullshit excuse about having too much to drink and landing hard at the home of one of her friends – a lie I swallowed because I wanted to believe her.

“I’m going,” my wife said when the car horn sounded outside, “that’s the taxi.”

*

The four beers were demolished in less than an hour and a half, the buzz doing nothing to dissipate my mood, my head full of Sophie, her dress, and what she might be doing right at that moment.

The torture dragged on, with the television unable to serve as a distraction for more than a minute or two at a time. I was constantly checking my phone, desperately hopeful Sophie might text some endearment, an exercise in futility, of course, but I couldn’t stop myself from examining the screen.

The sound of a car door slamming sent a lurch through my stomach. I glanced at my phone and saw the time was close on twenty to one.

“No way,” I breathed, hope surging inside, already bracing myself for disappointment. It couldn’t be Sophie…

The sound of the key snicking into the lock sent me to my feet. My voice wobbled when I called out her name.

“It’s me,” came her reply.

A moment later, my wife appeared, dress belted at the waist, the outer flanks of her big boobs visible as she moved into the living room to take a seat in one of the big easy chairs.

I examined her for clues as she stared back at me, crossing her legs so the dress slipped high on her thighs.

“Huh-how did it go?” I managed to ask.

My wife pouted, eyes narrowing to feline slits, her expression suddenly sly. She grinned at me and said, “You’ll never guess who I met in the club.”

The Club. I envisioned drinking and dancing and horny young men gathered around my wife, all intent on freeing her large breasts or using her pussy.

I blinked, the emotions mixing inside me like they usually did: jealousy curdling my guts while my cock thickened and grew, dark urges rising up on a tide of the deliciously illicit.

“Who did you meet?” I managed to gurgle.

“Your boss,” Sophie told me, uncrossing her legs. She shifted position, squirming her rump against the chair before leaning forward in an inelegant pose, elbows on her legs, hands dangling between her knees like a plumber on a smoke break. My wife kept her stare locked on my face as she added, “You know he’s always fancied me, don’t you?”

Of course I knew. Just about every man in our circle had a thing for my wife.

I nodded but said nothing, her gaze holding me rapt.

“We danced,” she informed me. “And he insisted on driving me home.”

My wife reclined in her seat, thighs going wide as she raised the hem of the dress above the level of decency.

“Oops,” she said on a chuckle, chin on her chest while she examined herself along the front of her body. “I’ve mislaid my knickers.”

I gulped and shifted around, my cock pressing against my jeans.

“He told me he fancied me,” Sophie continued, her voice low and narcotic. “He told me he wanted to fuck me … He was very insistent.

“I told him I couldn’t of course, said I was married and didn’t do that sort of thing, but he didn’t want to listen, just parked in a lay-by and fished out his cock.

“And he’s got a very big cock…”

“Sophie,” I mumbled. “Oh God, wuh-what did you do?”

My wife gave me that smirk, the one which sent daggers into my chest. Then she spread her legs wider, splaying the folds of her sex.

I looked at her body and saw my wife’s clit all shiny and pink, her core glistening with what I hoped was her own desire, but which I suspected was something more sinister.

“I’m so fucking horny,” I heard Sophie groan, one finger slipping over her bean before she hauled one breast free of her dress.

“Jesus,” I moaned, eyes locked on my wife.

“He got me in the back seat,” Sophie went on, both breasts bared by then. “I said I’d only give him a wank, but couldn’t help myself. I had to suck his cock.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked with a grin. “I hope it doesn’t make things awkward for you at work.”

“Sophie,” I gurgled, the confession unprecedented.

Her revelations shocked me. Despite my suspicions, I’d never had anything confirmed before, the crude telling getting me aroused. The sight of my wife diddling her clit made me want to haul out my cock and start tugging.

“He kept telling me how much he loved my tits. He was so excited when I got them out and showed him. Couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

My wife shunted forward, legs going wider, her bottom close to the edge of the seat. She used one finger of one hand on her clit, teasing herself while the other hand went under her thigh, one digit sliding into her body.

“He kept saying he wanted to fuck me, but didn’t have any condoms. I told him he couldn’t, that I couldn’t take him bareback, but his dick was so thick…”

When Sophie eased the finger out of her pussy, I saw it smeared with gloop. She spread the stuff over her clit and dipped in for more, a slide of the stuff dribbling out of her opening to slip along the crease of her arse.

“Sophie, you didn’t,” I gasped, appalled and aroused, my stare fixed on another man’s jizm slipping out of my wife.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her expression belying the words. “I told him he couldn’t come inside me. I said it wasn’t safe…”

My wife shrugged and pulled a face, pouting before smirking again.

“But he was just too carried away. He kept fucking that thing into me. I honestly think he was just using my pussy to wank off.”

By then Sophie was smearing cum all over her pussy. I gawped at the rings on her finger: the big jewel on the engagement ring glinting in amongst the gold and jewels of her wedding- and eternity-ring, the symbols of marriage and fidelity right there at the same place she’d allowed my boss to use her body as a place to dump his seed.

“He was relentless,” Sophie was saying, the judders beginning. “He wouldn’t stop, just kept pumping his cock in and out … God it felt good,” sighed my wife. “I came when he let it go in my cunt.”

“Sophie,” I growled, standing abruptly. “Please, can I fuck you?”

My wife squirmed and groaned, face going slack as her orgasm hit her. “Yes,” she mumbled, body tensing with pleasure. “Put it in, stir up his spunk…”

A moment or two later, as my beautiful wife mouthed obscenities, telling me all about how it felt to have his thick shaft inside her, I sank into her pussy, her sex squelching and farting, my hard-on displacing his cum.

I fucked into my wife, hooking her knees with my arms and almost turning her double as I leaned in to kiss her mouth.

We went at it with vigour, her squeals telling me she was coming again, her hand down between us, fingers busy on her clit while I grunted a warning and added all I had to the mess inside her already.

“I’m seeing him again,” Sophie informed me, spunk sliding out of her body to stain her blue dress. “I think he might be a regular date…”