A Jilt Becomes a Jolt

Part I: The Discovery

My wife and I had a very honest relationship with nothing hidden from the beginning. To an extent, that began as playful conversation. Would I really let her read my email anytime? Sure, why not. What about her?

It became a matter taken for granted by us both. She would log into my accounts to check on bills or track our business, and I'd log into hers to chat with the in-laws from time to time. Far from a matter of mistrust or invasive prying, it was simply a matter of actual trust and convenience.

So, imagine my surprise when one day I found a pic of a fat cock in her main inbox.

At first, I figured it was a wrong email; a matter of private laughter that might embarrass a friend. Once our contact lists were checked, that was clearly not the case. Before searching for other emails from the same address, I wonder if I should.

Of course I should! After all, she's my wife and it's not like she didn't know I'd see it sooner or later. Were anything really wrong, she'd have made a new account to hide it all.

My search brought back some interesting results.

"lol ya, i'd like that," she wrote in the first result I saw. Not encouraging, but better fix the ordering to "ascend by date" to see this from the beginning. Two months ago... Hmm...

"This is my email. Are you sure you can do this?" His email this time. As it turns out, from the first week or so of exchanges, he was her coworker. An apparent "shy guy" with an Internet crush, he sought her help deciding which pics he should send his lude sweetheart.

Sure. I believed him. Not really, but she did.

"ya ok," she wrote back with a little blushing emoticon. Cute. So, it went back and forth first with clothed pics of him and then various stages of nudity. For each batch of pics, she would reply with which she liked best. This guy was slick!

Okay. Understood. Stay calm... Is there anything to worry about?

My snooping may have been permitted, but it still felt like snooping. Never once did she indicate that she thought I would object, which was a flattering compliment to my understanding. Since that made me feel like I shouldn't worry too-too much, I scanned quickly.

Then I saw it...

Her bare cooter, gleaming wet and puffy with excitement. I looked at the date. No, we had not done anything that night. Odd, so... What happened?

The previous email explained it all. He played up the Internet "shy guy" even to the point of being upset that his cyber sex plaything, as it turned out, was only "leading him on". My, isn't that a shocker?

Of course, Liz (my wife) is a sweetheart of epic proportions. When somebody hurts, she responds by making them feel better. Maybe she's a little naive too.

"how bout this," she wrote in the improper language she only types when excited. "now u tell me what u think!" Come to think of it, she had written that way all along. She was getting off on this!

Calm down. Calm down.

It's just a little Internet flirting and no worse really that viewing porn, which of course all men do. Sure, she was actually chatting whereas porn involves only images and video of people who can't interact, but the way she may see it, most porn sites have social components now so you can chat.

Besides, we had roughly been together five years by that point, and as my work picked up things cooled off in our bed. Maybe she just felt the need for a little excitement. I almost closed the browser when I remembered, oh yeah! He's her coworker, isn't he? Mike. I've met him, and he did look at her like he wanted her soft pink pussy for dessert.

Now my blood was boiling, but I heard a lock in the door. I scrambled to close the browser, and took a deep, cleansing breath.

She could not know I had discovered this. If she found out, and there was anything to worry about, then they would only cover their tracks better.

I had to play it smart.

"Hi honey! I'm back!" She was beaming, as usual(always so happy), and I felt relief.

"Hi hon', how was work?" I knew she was happy with me. There was nothing to worry about.

"It's like an oven out there."

The next week was uneventful.

----------------------------------

Part II: The Plan

Each day, I got home before her, and each day I checked on her inbox and studied past correspondence for insights. So far, I had figured out that most of their emails were traded while I work. That explained how I never noticed!

However, things had been quiet until one day following a tired, migraine-addled night when I denied her sex. It wasn't so much that I didn't want it (hey, it's always good with her -- she's tight and knows how to use what she's got!)... My head was just in too much pain to perform.

"u there?" She started. Now, the cool thing here is that I saw this happen live from the first time the Sent folder's little (0) became a (1).

"Yeah. I was looking at you during the meeting." What did that mean?

"i saw u look under the table." Wait...!!!

"That pussy looked so good, I want to taste it!" Okay, now this was a little different! It's one thing to see a pic of my wife's horny critter, but to look at it bare and live is something else.

"mean it?" My heart pounded. My head spun. It hurt. Honestly, it hurt bad. For years I had the perfect wife, and here she was one very serious step closer to committing adultery. I didn't know what to do!

"Yeah. Today. After work."

"where?"

"Where do you want it, sexy?" It wasn't even thirty seconds later that my cell phone rang. I knew before glancing that it would be her. Please, Liz, back out before it's too late! You're about to cross a bridge you can't backtrack over.

"Hello?"

"Hi, honey! What are you doing?"

I had to think of something fast! She couldn't know that I was onto her. If she went through with this, then I had to know for sure that it happened, "I'm getting these reports done for inventory, and... Oh, yeah! I almost forgot..." Matter of fact, this was my chance to know for sure if she would go through with it.

"What?" She sounded nervous and distant, as if she was either weighing the option to follow through or working out how to. I still am not entirely sure which it really was.

"I'm going to have to stay late, hon, these reports have to be in before corporate shows up this weekend, and I..."

"It's okay!" Uh-huh. She never, not once in five years, ever just let me stay late at work without at least objecting.

Okay, self, stay calm... "Yeah.. uhh..." Damn it! I was awash in emotion. Confusion. Guilt at having caught her the way I did. Fear. Anger. Some of it came out in my voice.

"Is something wrong?" Suddenly, she didn't sound so distant. I watched as her sent folder was emptied suddenly. So close to blowing this...

"Yeah, I... Uhh... Here it is! I'm sorry, I just thought I found a big problem, but turns out the night shift's waste report was just in the wrong place." Skip a beat. One. Two. "Hon, this inventory is going to kill me."

"You can do it, baby, you know that." Baby? The only time she called me baby is when she wanted something. She wanted me to stay late. All I had to do was reel this in.

"Look, I have to go. This has to get done. Was there something you needed, maybe wanted me to pick up?"

"No, honey, I just wanted to say your ass is MINE when I get home, but since you won't be there..."

"Maybe when I get in?"

"Definitely." We exchanged our expressions of love, and hung up. In a few moments, the trap was laid and sprung; they planned to meet up at our house. I felt a little bit triumphant, but the wash of emotions was having an effect on my stomach. The clock. A quarter to three. No time to think.

--------------------------------------------

Part III: The Act

My car carefully hidden behind a nearby church, the computer powered down, and all evidence of my being home hidden or cleaned up, I proceeded up stairs to take up post in our bedroom's closet. Cliche', I know, but then it's a cliche because it works. Just in case, I had a plan.

Our house was covered, every square foot but the bathrooms and master bedroom, by webcams I installed myself. On my lap in the closet, I booted up a tablet computer, verified that all cameras were up and broadcasting, and lit a smoke. My last one for the night, perhaps.

As it turns out, there had been less time than I thought. Just as I disabled the tablet's sound, I saw the front door crack open in one little box on screen. Smart gal. She had rushed home ahead of him to be sure it was safe.

She came inside, and hung her hat by the door. It looked like her hand was shaking. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and fully composed left the foyer to check for my presence. No dishes. No shoes. No PC. All clear.

To my surprise, she did not look any less tense to find me gone. That was the first of many revealing insights I'd gain that evening. Her cell already set to go in her hand, she pressed the call button. I couldn't make out what was said, but I think I got the gist. It's okay. Come on over.

He must have been nearby because it wasn't even a minute later when it walked through the still-cracked door.

They must have been wanting this for a longer time than they had talked about it... Or even talked, for that matter.

When he came in and closed the door, they stood for a few moments facing each other like a couple of teenagers about to make out for the first time. She was beaming, and through the lens of the foyer's color camera I could see him clearly blushing.

One thing married people should know is that long, long term relationships develop habits; especially in bed. Habits become routine, and then become an expression of what is comfortable. Liz is a stickler for such things. She'll allow foreplay anywhere, but the main event is always in our bed.

She wasted no time following her norms.

Before I knew it, SHE kissed HIM! Well, so much for him being the antagonist! I wanted to cry out, but at the same time I suddenly felt no grudge for this guy. He was just a dude who wanted to get his dick wet in a lady he liked at the time. We've all been there.

The kiss was quick, urgent even, before she lifted his hand up her skirt and pressed it to her bare lips. I mean, sure, I couldn't see all that from the camera, but I know my wife. She planned to fuck, so she was not wearing panties.

He kissed her back.

She unbuttoned her blouse, let it slip to the floor, and surprised me. She wasn't wearing a bra either, which meant she had the whole thing planned when she left the house! Her modest, pert breasts made her appear all the more petite against his broad, tell form.

My rage quietly faded to sorrow. Why would she?

I knew why. This man had to be near to six foot five, and was no skinny man. I, on the other hand, had been called "shrimp" not only growing up but well into college. Don't get me wrong! I'm in shape. But then when you're a short, skinny guy like me you kind of have to be. In five years she had not felt the form of a hulking man such as this pressed against her, so it hurt my pride that in doing this she would choose somebody the immediate opposite physique type from me.

As the kiss finished, she leaned close to his ear, and must have been more whispering than nibbling because a second later he scooped her up in his arms and made for the stairs.

Their footsteps proceeded toward me.

I heard a stifled giggle outside the door.

The door opened.

Some times, the best laid plans are still imperfect. There had never been any instance to practice this sort of voyeurism of self-preservation, so I really didn't know what I was doing. My narrative has a gap here. As I carefully, slowly, set aside the tablet and leaned toward the hole that had once hosted a door knob, I don't know what was happening.

But I do know what I heard.

*GASP* "Unh... Yes, on the bed. Bed is fine." His feet dragged against the carpet, her weight made the springs of the bed groan, and I heard a zipper. "Mmmm... Nice!"

By the time I could see the action, all emotion had washed away. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment; simply too much to feel for me to feel anything. I imagined that it was the importance of the moment; I must remain calm and undetected.

For a split second, the thought of springing the trap then occurred to me. She was on the bed, her skirt hiked up, her snatch wet and puffy in anticipation that I could see from six feet away. He was rock hard, chiseled in form, and blushing wildly. She was already guilty. I could have jumped out then.

But no. She still had time to change her mind.

He dropped to his knees, and effortlessly pulled her by her ankles so her ass rested just on the edge of the bed. Unabashed, unhesitant, and eager he plunged his face between her thighs and she let out a gasp of pleasure that stopped my heart. Her hips lifted from the bed, her knees locked behind his neck, and she gripped the sheets with both hands.

I was watching another man eat my wife's pussy.

I was watching her enjoy it.

I was hearing her moan.

I kind of liked it.

What? I was starting to get hard, and a distinct feeling of longing crept over me where all the rage and conflict had been. I told myself it was just the sex. I was seeing sex, that's all, like watching porn. But that wasn't true. It wasn't sex. Yet.

Should I stop this? She let him lick her pussy. She's caught! I could stop this. I couldn't.

He was much larger than me too. Longer. Thicker. I knew he would stretch her pussy until I could hardly feel it later. Wait, what? Later? Would I really be doing that after this? My cock throbbed.

As she neared climax, her gasps became more urgent, and he pulled his now soaked face back to shove a thick finger into her abruptly. I tensed, but she was wet enough for it. He hadn't hurt her. She bucked against his thrusting hand, her back arching, until just... that... moment... and he stopped.

He retrieved his own shirt, and wiped his face clean, and then positioned himself between her legs. From my vantage point behind him, I could see his whopper of a cock hovering just barely away from her delicate, wet, red opening. What happened next turned my understanding of his position into respect.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Even she was shocked. She stopped, stock still, and thought about it if only for a second.

"Once," she said in an assertive tone, looking him dead in the eye with her serious face. "We will only do this once, and we will never talk about it. Understand?"

"Does that mean you're not okay with it?"

"No, it means I don't cheat. I don't do this. I'm not a slut. I... just..." She seemed distant, obviously reflecting on her motivations. "I just haven't felt something new in so long, you know?"

So that was it!

It was also enough for him.

I could have stopped it. I could have leaped from the closet in a show of masculine strength and rage, chased the interloper from my home, and fucked her like a cave man. I could have kept our marriage clean. I cold have prevented his seed from spilling on our sheets.

But I didn't.

The head of his thick member parted her lips, and as he slowly pushed his full length inside her bare, her back arched ever so slightly, her jaw dropped open, and her eyes closed. I watched this man fill my wife's pussy with a cock so much bigger than mine knowing she wouldn't feel the same for a little while at least. I watched as he pulled back out slowly, and then pounded into her with the fury of a man who has held back desire for longer than he could remember.

On the second thrust, she let out a sound like, "Ahh! -- aaaaaaah!," which by the third thrust became, "oooh!" She held onto his buttocks with both hands, and raised her groin to grind against him. Her face was red, her breathing already rapid and shallow, their movements together frantic and animalistic so that the bed seemed like it would give way beneath them.

With every thrust, I watched his cock slam into her, and her juices come out more and more. With each thrust, I watched his balls tighten and draw up. I could see her asshole as it began to twitch. I could see everything, and then...

"GOD! YES! MIKE! YES! YES! MIKE! Uhn... Uhm... OH!!!!" Her breath held suddenly, her body taught and rigid, glistening with sweat, she climaxed so intensely that I was reminded of a passionate, raw beauty I had not seen in her during the act in some time. My hand had found its way to my crotch, and I let it slip into my pants.

My heart was pounding, but it was good.

Thus hurt like hell, but somehow... I LIKED it!

I liked it! Yes!

I admitted to myself that I ENJOYED watching this young, strapping, hung-like-a-bull stud fuck my wife like she was a sex-deprived nymphomaniac. I liked that he mad her moan, and gasp, and scream. I liked that he stretched her pussy like I simply could not. I enjoyed that she was cheating on me. It hurt so good! SOOOOO good!

As she finished climaxing, he lifted her legs and quickened his pace, his trusts shorter, his thick cock obviously rubbing her g-spot, and he braced for another wave of ecstatic pleasure as his head fell back and his breath became more rapid, more shallow. My cock was out and in my hand, and lubed with my own spit I was furiously masturbating to the scene. They might have heard me had they not been lost in a sea of orgasmic pleasure together.

I would have expected to feel perverse for having that reaction. I would have expected to be ashamed of myself. I would have expected so different from what I was actually feeling!

He continued to pound her, as I clenched my cock tighter with every stroke, barely holding myself back until I saw his muscles ripped, and he pushed as deep into her as he could. "Oh.. my.. god.." she gasped, barely able to manage the words as he emptied his load deep into her belly until it poured out of her and my own throbbing member erupted in spurts that landed on the inside of the closet door.

Then it was done.

---------------------------------------------

Part IV: Unlikely Therapy

After they cleaned up, and she tore the sheets from the bed to hide the practical puddle they had made, he dressed and left. I waited for her to carry the sheets downstairs, and emerged from the closet. But my timing was bad, I was still distracted with shock at myself and her, and they had cleaned and dressed so quick that the afterglow of intense orgasm had not left me (much less them).

The distraction was fatal to the whole operation's success. Liz entered the room, and caught me there, pecker still out and glistening. She stopped dead in her tracks, took in my presence, saw the wet, sticky mess on the closet door, and before she could speak I crossed the room to her.

That very moment, I thrust my wife to the bed and made love to her with more passion, more intensity, and more sincerity than I had in years. I knew she could get better, physically, but she was my wife. I knew she could even get better financially, but she was my wife. She was with me. She loves me.

And that's how it ends. With one couple of lovebirds forgetting all possible wrongdoing and embracing in the passions of love made new. Could have it gone differently? To this day, I don't know. After all, as she said, she would never talk about it and Liz just about always keeps her word.