The sound of my husband cheating greeted me as I walked through the door, stepping briskly over the threshold he had carried me over when we moved in. I could hear Vanessa whimper as I kicked off my heels, and my ankles thanked me as I padded to the kitchen on silk-clad soles still sore from dancing.
A few glasses of water drove back the thirst that drinking causes; the first one downed like the boys had been downing pints over at Rosie's, the second going down in swigs. I sipped at a third as a rhythmic thudding sound rattled the ceiling -- our bedroom was directly above the kitchen, and my husband's hard thrusts were reverberating through the floor.
Why does drinking make you thirsty, anyway? It seems kind of paradoxical. Whatever the alcohol itself does to you, you'd think all the liquid you were downing with it would balance it out. I'd wondered that aloud back at the party and one of Rosie's friends, a sporty-looking ginger type, had started talking my ear off about something called 'vasopressin'. I didn't have much time for that; I remember thinking that I was a businesswoman, damnit, not a doctor, and on my third vodka-lemonade to boot.
The impact of a particularly hard thrust rattled the floorboards and a few motes of dust, dislodged by the clattering and banging up above, came spiralling down from the ceiling. I watched them fall with a jaundiced eye and wondered if it needed cleaning. Then I finished my water, went through to the living room, and put my feet up on the sofa.
As i sank into the couch, my sigh of relief mingled with a yell from upstairs, a whimpering cry from that desperate little hussy that my husband was banging above me.
We had known Vanessa for a couple of months at this point. She'd found herself a job in a bookstore in town, where she made her bread selling raunchy novels she had heard about on TikTok. She looked kind of like what you'd expect from that type; pale, pleasingly curvy, dyed blue hair and glasses. She had a lip piercing and a nose ring, a stud in each ear, and another stud balls deep inside her.
I booted up my laptop and settled down to watch.
The camera was mounted just above the bed where my hubby was mounting Vanessa. It gave me a bird's eye view of the action: looking down at an angle into our marriage bed, to where the love of my life was indulging one of the loves of his life -- his love for a fresh conquest.
He tells me he likes the variety. I'm a fine meal and I know it, but sometimes you're in the mood for cake, I suppose. For what it's worth, I don't look much like Vanessa. My skin is a little darker, my hair curly and black from my mother's side. I'm taller by far, and thinner too.
"Fuck! Fuck-fucking fuck!" Vanessa cried. It wasn't a particularly imaginative comment, but it was certainly accurate. That man sure was fucking. It was the only word that fit. Not humping, not pumping, and definitely not making love. This was a fuck: Strong, hard, rapid thrusts slamming deep into a woman's needy pussy, making the bed cry as loud as his partner. He had her pinned to the bed, his hands on her waist and hers on his hips, and he was putting his whole body into the act -- not just stabbing away with his cock, but using every muscle he had to work that cock deep into her. Going by the noises, he was doing a pretty good job.
"Fucking -- you're so fucking good at this!" For her part, Vanessa was being run ragged. Her words were barely coherent, hips bucking wildly and large, pale tits jiggling as my man rocked her world. Her cheeks, normally milk-white and even pasty, were flushed so red it put me in mind of a tomato, and her makeup was sweating off as her fancy winged eyeliner was etched awsy by tears of pleasure.
"Better than your Derek?" My husband spoke for the first time, in the tone of a man who knows and is proud of the answer. His voice was even and measured despite the loud clap of his hips against his lover, for all that the sweat was beading on his brow. Vanessa laughed.
"It's -- not -- even -- close!" And from the admiration in her voice I knew that wasn't a compliment to Derek.
Derek was one of those men who always seemed more smug than he had any right to be. He gave the impression that he was very pleased to be dating a blue-haired nerd with big tits, but not so much that he wouldn't make obvious passes at other girls right in front of her. He had tried it on me, just tonight, despite the golden band on my finger and the fact that his girl was right there watching. He was probably still at it right now, and much good may it do him. Turned out his girl could make passes too, and right now it was looking like she'd had much more success.
Not that he could really call her his girl, any more. Not after this.
"Close..." Vanessa moaned, "Close again..."
Her hands squeezed the hard, firm cheeks of my husband's muscular arse. Their nails were painted blue, as were her toes, which curled as she wrapped them around him. She must have felt fantastic, and I was happy for my man.
Downstairs on the sofa I slid down my knickers, which by now were more than a little damp. I started to stroke myself, slowly, savouring the show. Vanessa had no idea I was here, of course. Some might say I should have gotten permission before perving over the sight of her getting fucked like a cheap whore, but to that I say she should have asked permission before fucking my husband.
It's not like I would have said no.
True to her word, the blue-haired little vixen was obviously about to cum -- and not for the first time, by the sounds of it. I could see the signs, the wide eyes, the trembling limbs, the building O-face, and I couldn't wait to see. My man, on the other hand, seemed almost unaffected. He fucked her with a stoic intensity, his passion displayed in the sheer strength with which he sent his cock plunging inside her depths, the force with which his big balls slapped at her taint. His sheer size and solidity, throbbing and firm for her. Whereas she was increasingly a mess; glasses about to fall off, hair stuck to her brow, barely able to form coherent words. My honey was on top, he was putting his back into it, doing all the work, and yet comparing his state to hers was like night and day.
