Loveth Thy Wife

They called it a luxury townhome, but the honey oak "wood" looked like it was bought off the floor at IKEA. The white linoleum had peeled in places in the kitchen and all three bathrooms. The carpeting was all the same boring beige and the walls painted an omnipresent eggshell color. John couldn't stand the suburbs. But being a stockbroker wasn't working well for him at the moment, having reached its lowest percentages since the Great Depression. So he and Chelsea had sold their SoHo loft in Jersey to relocate in Pineville, Massachusetts.

As Bill the real estate agent droned on, Chelsea nodding along with every word and smiling, John followed behind and tried not to look as negative as he felt. He attempted to distract himself with the scenery.

Though he would always prefer the city lights to the greenery, the landscape here wasn't too bad in spite of its fatal symmetry. The grass was lush. The trees were tall and thick and neatly clipped. There was the small veranda they shared with the family living in the townhome connected to theirs. Across the street were several townhomes exactly alike the rest, each with their own wraparound veranda, the only difference from one to the other being the vinyl siding that varied from pastel to pastel. A busty woman ran by in baggy pastel sweats, her off-white Labrador running alongside her. John appreciated the woman's bust that was still large despite the oversized outfit, but looked away well before she was out of sight.

He gaze eventually trailed back to his wife of six years. Chelsea Kinn was six inches shorter than John's 6'3" sturdy frame and she had once been lean. She filled out after the miscarriage three years ago. Since that traumatic experience and their decision to not try again, it seemed more so than ever that Chelsea had stopped trying in several other aspects as well. John didn't mind as much as he probably should. They had grown distant. Their marital bed had long since iced over.

Today she at least put on makeup, and there appeared something of a shine in her eyes as she hung on the agent's every word. John had to admit that the agent had a way with words. If he wasn't so dead set against the suburbs, Bill's flowery descriptions might have relit something in John's green eyes as well.

"Jonquille Valley here is a sparkling new development! Place for new beginnings, full of young couples like yourselves who've come to settle down and start a family. This particular home is a two bedroom, two bathroom, but if you're expecting your family to become larger then there are more developments I can show you with a yard twice this size and..."

John had to cut him off, becoming daunted at the prospect of appraising yet another townhouse that would look exactly like the nine others he and Chelsea had been looking at over the past three months.

"Thanks," he said, "But I think we've seen enough. Chels, I'm tired. Why don't we get back to the hotel?"

"You go on," she said, sending him a look that didn't even marginally shine. "It's early and I'm not tired at all. I can always take a cab, or..." Her blue eyes refocused on Bill, who had caught on long before John did.

"I can drop you off, Mrs. Kinn," said the aging real estate agent without missing a beat.

John felt his body temperature drop as he realized what had been going on right under his nose all along. However he didn't feel angry. Upset, sure, but even the hurt only registered as a dull ache in the back of his mind. Kind of like a sinus infection.

"Okay," he responded numbly, backing away. "See you later, I guess."

Neither Chelsea nor Bill watched him go. They headed back inside the townhouse. Bill was already saying something about the toilets being genuine porcelain...

The door shut in John's face.

He stopped backing away. Stopped breathing altogether. His wife was cheating on him with the real estate agent. John would have been fine with moving into any one of the nine other townhouses, apartments, condos they'd looked at before this. Chelsea always wanted to look at just one more. Had the cheating started before or after the miscarriage? Before or after the stock market's near-crash? John could think of at least six other times he had left Chelsea with the real estate agent. That number was a fairly small fraction compared to the number of opportunities he had given her to meet and fuck new people in the past.

Well... Fuck her.

John Kinn returned to the hotel and after a hot shower, still naked in his towel, called the real estate agency to let them know they had made their decision. By the fifth of October the Kinn family could move into Jonquille Valley Luxury Townhome Community. Then John promptly called room service, ordered the minibar to be refilled despite that he hadn't cracked open the first miniature bottle.

After he hung up, he started in on the minibar.

A little less than an hour later, a woman wearing the hotel's uniform of navy and white let herself into the room with a faint knock on the door as she passed through it. She was a big woman and about ten years older than John. He saw her before the maid saw him. When she did, she actually faltered a bit, her beady eyes flickering down his naked, lithe yet sturdy body. Her gaze hesitated on his genitals, which were currently soft. Although the longer she stared, the less soft John felt.

Having perhaps had one too many self-mixed Fuzzy Navels, John looked the woman over. He had always wanted to do it with a housekeeper. Preferably one with a supermodel body and wearing a much skimpier uniform, but this could be fun too.

"Want a drink?" John asked, saluting her with his peach schnapps and orange juice.

"Que? Eu não compreendo muito o inglês. No much English."

"What's that, Portuguese? You understand Spanish?" He had taken six years of it, four in high school and the last two in Business College. "¿Usted habla español?"

"Muito pouco. Small bit."

"How about this then. You and me drink then fuck. Usted y yo bebida entonces cogida. ¿Entienda esto?"

The woman smiled, showing that she was missing quite a few teeth. Probably one reason they kept her working down in the kitchens; only seeing customers when a minibar needed refilling and they were too inebriated to remember the slurred accent or nearly toothless grin and the three warts on her chin.

The woman, whose name turned out to be Lucinha, pushed aside her cart and used his room's phone to call the front desk and tell the manager she was taking her break. Then Luci and John started on the minibar, finishing it and half her refill cart before the clothes started to come off.

Next thing he knew, John was pounding into the lump of sweaty meat like there'd be no tomorrow. She howled like a chupacabre in heat. Despite the sagging flesh surrounding it, inside she was wet and nearly as tight as a virgin. It had been quite some time for Miss Lucinha. John didn't care. He didn't give a damn if she got off. The only reason he hung on so long was the masochistic and exhibitionist underside of his brain that longed for Chelsea to walk through that door and catch them in the act. Maybe she would even get off on it. She used to love watching porn with him and then reenacting their favorite scenes. This wasn't that different.

Even the thought of his wife with another man wasn't that repulsive anymore. John pounded into Lucinha harder, gripping two giant gelatinous rolls that part of him wanted to tear right through. He imagined Chelsea's mouth around Bill's cock, which was appropriately small, meanwhile John pounded away into her ass. Inspired, John pulled out of Luci and reposition himself, using the dripping tip to lube around the rim before gently pushing inside the Portuguese woman's asshole.

She screamed.

He shoved in a little harder. John could see her fingers left trails across the carpet as her hands raked across the pale blue shag. She grunted bestially and surprised him by pushing her hips back into him. John stayed motionless as she rocked her ass back and forth, nearly withdrawing from him completely before slamming back down. Leaning forward, he wrapped his hands around her heaving breasts, kneading gently as she shoved forth and back and the volleyball-sized mounds repeatedly slopped together. He let one hand trail up her neck and into her mouth, finger-fucking her mouth while she slurped at it. He felt the walls of her anus tightening as her cum dripped onto his sack, creating a wet sound like stirring fresh macaroni and cheese as she continued to gyrate against him.

Pulling out, John came allover Lucinha's back.

There was a lot to cover, but he managed.

They took separate cold showers and dressed without looking at one another. Still tipsy, Lucinha tottered out of the room, clumsily dragging her cart after her. Later John would use Chelsea's credit card to pay for what they drank, and he would need an appointment with the gynecologist pronto for a STD screening. Still, John found himself smiling as he picked up the phone to dial his wife's cell number.

But no, he wouldn't be telling her of his dirty deed.

She picked up the phone on the eighth ring.

Sounding mostly out of breath, Chelsea snapped, "Yes, John?"

John thought of her naked; bent over doggy-style just as he'd been doing the maid with Bill shoving into her from behind as she spoke on the phone with her husband. John's cock began to stir in his jockeys and he reached inside, stroking himself absently as he answered, "I bought the house. We move in on the fifth."