Missionary

During thirteen years of matrimony, Ingrid and I produced two wonderful children and never seemed to be able to climb out of debt. We could not divorce if we wanted to and my God, we often wanted to. The house we share, a Craftsman bungalow on the northern edge of Marston Hill, has witnessed the steady dissolution of our marriage, the breaking of our bonds, the loud arguments, and silence sharp as a stiletto, as oppressive as a boulder resting on the back of a Carpenter ant.

Sleeping in separate bedrooms and silently cursing our enforced familiarity, this house is an escape proof prison no less secure then the cellblock at Alcatraz during its much-heralded prime time.

We swallow our misery, trudge on, hoping the other one falters, falls and in miss-stepping gets the bullet or the bayonet. I day dreamed of Ingrid and me traipsing through the jungle dressed in torn and tattered uniforms with Japanese troops all around us. Ingrid falls and before her lithe body hits the jungle floor, a guard shoots her in the head or thrusts his bayonet between her ribs. In another dream, Ingrid and I are in the cabin suspended beneath the Goodyear blimp. I open the cabin door, push her out and then watch her fall through the empty air. My grin widens and my burdens fall away as I watch her arms and legs kicking, as she gets smaller and smaller and becomes a dot not a woman.

The mortgage, the credit cards, the car payments binds us as effectively as Georgia road gang shackles or the handcuffs of a dominatrix.

Generally, we get along with little difficulty. Working the graveyard shift at the Peppermill Trucking Company allows us to live in my own way. Occasionally we even have sex. It is sex in the missionary position with little emotional or physical piquancy.

My sex life revolves around porn and adult personals web sites. I sit at my computer looking at the web camera images of women giving head and taking it in the ass. I chat with women in the most graphic of terms and several times met them for the kind of sex no longer delivered or received by Ingrid. My wife had no knowledge of my activities.

I did not know she had her own activities. Once a month I make some extra cash by driving a rig from here to somewhere else. On these weekends, Ingrid often spends time with her friend Holly. They eat lunch, shop, visit the antique mall that type of thing.

One morning after coming home from work, I entered the house and saw her dressing for work in a short, tight black skirt, typical attire for her. Bending over I got a clear view of her lacy black panties and her firm ass. In the early days of our marriage, her bending over in such a manner was a signal that she needed fucking. I complied by lifting the skirt and sliding my cock in around her panties.

In recent months, she worked out three times a week, paid careful attention to the application of her make-up, the dousing of her body with

Red

perfume, and seemed at peace with herself.

Say that I am dense but I did not connect her new vibrancy to any speculations on her cheating on me.

On this particular morning, she forgot her cell phone in her haste to make it to work on time. I found this out at 11:32 a.m. when its ringing awakened me.

“Honey, its Robert, I’m leaving now. I should see you in about ten minutes. I can’t wait.”

Not hearing anything but my breathing Robert paused and said “Hello, is that you Ingrid or did I get the wrong number.”

“You got the wrong number buddy,” I said before pushing the phone’s end call button.

I called her office and the receptionist told me that Ingrid was out of the office for several hours.

I could not go back to sleep. I spent the rest of the afternoon looking at porno sites and occasionally masturbating. She came home at four, her regular time. She quickly changed from her work togs into the spandex she wore for aerobics class, dropped her work clothes in the laundry hamper and left with her car keys jingling in her right hand. We exchanged not one word. After the door closed behind her, I went in the bathroom, searched through the hamper, and found the clothes she had worn today. The lacy black panties wrapped in the black skirt and shoved to the bottom of the hamper were not easy to find. Pulling them out, holding them in my hands, I touched the soaking wet mesh-like fabric and touched a man’s semen.

I did not feel angry or enraged. I felt excitement, I felt turned on by the discovery that my wife was cheating on me.

The next weekend, scheduled to drive a rig out of town, I told the boss I could not do it. I left as I always did on these trips but all I did was drive down the street and park.

Holly showed up about one hour later. Twenty minutes after she entered the house a tall black man parked his silver Lexus on the street in front of our house, walked up the sidewalk leading to the front of the house, stepped on to our porch and knocked on the door.

I left my car, worked my way around to the back of our house, and tried to look through the bedroom window as unobtrusively as possible.

The tall black man fucked Holly doggy fashion. Ingrid was off to the side watching Holly and the black man fuck. After an eternity passed, the black man came and Debbie immediately straddled my wife’s face. Ingrid licked Holly’s cunt clean and in doing so made her cum once more time. Then Ingrid moved over and took the black man’s hardened cock into her mouth. The bitch had not blown him in a decade. She still knew how to do it. By this time, I had my cock in my hand and I stroked it. I did not care at this point if any of my neighbors saw me masturbating. I had not been this sexually excited in years.

She sucked the black dong so forcefully, he came in no time and pearly white semen erupted from his black dick. The three of them rested for a bit but continued to stroke each other’s bodies.

The black man, maybe the Robert I had heard on the telephone, turned my wife on her stomach and jammed his renewed hardness into her ass. Holly positioned herself to have her pussy eaten by Ingrid. While the man fucked Ingrid, he played with her tits and pulled her ass back toward his cock. He shot his load, kissed Ingrid and Holly, dressed and was out the door.

Holly moved over to Ingrid and sucked the man’s cum from Ingrid’s ass. At this instance, I shot off in my hand.

Zipping my pants, I returned to my car and spent the rest of the weekend with a friend of mine.

Following the events of that weekend, I seemed to spend the bulk of my off time trying to catch Ingrid fucking. It was not difficult to do. I continued to as though I was oblivious to her cheating ways. As time went on, she became more reckless. One afternoon she came home with dried cum in her hair. I said nothing. Her clothes became more and more revealing. She started wearing thongs instead of panties.

Some days I drove over to her office and waited for her to take lunch. Several times, she left the building and entered a long in the tooth pick-up truck. I followed them as they pulled away from the curb. Driving to an empty parking lot in front of an out of business Pay N Save grocery, they parked and I could see my Ingrid’s head bobbing up and down on the driver’s cock. It was not the same man. This guy wore a cowboy hat and looked like an over the hill rodeo cowboy. She then sat on him and straddled his cock. Now I saw why she had started wearing thongs. All she had to do was push it to side to allow access for a man’s cock.

My infrequent cheating episodes now seemed summer stock compared to her Academy Award winning performances.

For the next 71 days I followed Ingrid, watched her being a slut all over town and all through our house. I catalogued her activities and figured she was fucking twelve different men. I spent a good deal of time watching her engaged in sucking cock, having her pussy fucked, and her ass reamed. When possible I masturbated while watching.

On the 72nd day, we were having our standard missionary congress and the thought of her fucking and sucking all these men hardened my cock inside her pussy in a manner she had not seen in years.

She commented on this fact and at this point all my knowledge of her behavior came rushing out in a torrent. If anything, my cock became harder. I flipped her over and rushed my cock deep into her asshole without benefit of lubrication. At first, she fought, scratched and screamed. As my cock rammed her rectum, she relaxed, reached back and stroked my ass.

“Fuck me honey,” she said. Cumming, I pulled my cock from her and rammed it into her mouth. She purred like a kitten and latched her mouth down on my cock. She sucked my cock with such relish. All her recent cocksucking seemed less important as she blew me.

All that afternoon we fucked and not once did we assume the missionary position.

To this day, she continues to fuck everything in pants but we also have frequent sexual bouts. The sex is rough, loveless for the most part, but now we both seem to take great pleasure fucking each other’s brains out. I no longer think of flinging her from the Goodyear blimp and if we cannot divorce due to our financial mess, I no longer have sex in the missionary position.