Be Warned, this tale has cuckoldry as the central theme.
I am five foot ten in height with a wiry build but consider myself to be quite clever. Sandra my wife is six inches shorter but her four inch high heels make us the perfect match for dancing. We are both now in our early thirties but I'm fortunate that, after ten years of marriage and bearing two kids, she still retains the slim waist and rounded figure that she had when we met. I mustn't forget to mention her glorious, shoulder length blonde hair. I describe my sexual experience before we met as being average and she said the same about hers but I often had the feeling that her average was somewhat higher than my average.
I first got an inkling that Sandra was cheating on me roughly three months earlier. A decade of contented marriage, without a doubt in my mind, and then a kind of gut instinct told me that something had changed. The problem was that all the various clues were rather tenuous and at first it was very easy to convince myself that I was imagining things.
The major difference was that Sandra began claiming that she was 'not in the mood' far more often and even when we did have sex she became reluctant to persevere until I gave her an orgasm, instead telling me to finish quickly because she was feeling tired. I knew that over the years our sexual activity had tended to ebb and flow in intensity, but somehow this seemed more significant. From the start of the marriage the sexual part had been important for both of us but that seemed now to no longer be true for her.
Every Friday her parents had our two young daughters at their house overnight, occasionally keeping them for the whole weekend, so we generally grabbed the opportunity to have Friday's as a night out, cinema, take in a show etc. Monday evenings I regularly played Duplicate at a local bridge club and Sandra had her night out on Wednesdays when she joined up with a crowd of married female friends. These evenings were usually spent drinking and chatting at one of their houses but sometimes, generally someone's birthday, they all went out clubbing and on one occasion the crowd of them went to a reasonably respectable venue to watch male strippers.
The breakthrough on knowledge about my wife's infidelity came from a missed phone call. It was a Wednesday and Sandra was late home from work so consequently it was a mad dash making tea, then her frantically getting ready to go out, with the result that it was not until the kids were safely in bed that I thought to check the tape for missed phone calls. There was only one and it was for Sandra from her friend Petra. The short message was, "Hi San, Just checking – with you blobbing again last week I wanted to make sure you would be there tonight. Bye, Petra." To my knowledge Sandra hadn't missed a Girl's Night for months.
My wife arrived home late, in a merry mood and somewhat inebriated, but I said nothing. Nor did I question her on the Thursday because I still needed to get things sorted in my head but I made sure that we would be spending Friday evening at home. When the time came I waited until we were both sitting with a glass of wine before asking quietly, "Are you having an affair?"
Sandra laughed. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked with an amused expression on her face.
"You haven't answered my question," I said doggedly.
"Well you haven't answered mine either," Sandra said grinning, acting as if this was a game. "Anyway, I don't know how you can ask me something like that."
"Where were you a week ago on Wednesday?"
"You know where - with the girls like always," my wife answered but with much of the confidence suddenly gone from her voice.
Without speaking I played the incriminating message to her. When it finished there was a long pause before Sandra started to say, "I can explain," but then she stopped and said, "No I can't," before breaking down in tears, mumbling, "I'm so, so sorry."
Throughout our relationship I have always hastened to her side to offer comfort at the slightest sign of distress but this time I steeled my heart and waited until her sobbing had eased before asking, "How long has it been going on?"
"Nearly two months."
"How many times?" "- have you seen him," I added quickly before she misinterpreted the question and caused me even greater distress.
"Five – six counting the first."
This was still more than I had hoped to hear. Knowing, from the phone call, that she had missed the girl's night once before, I realised that the bastard must have fucked her on at least two occasions but now my mind was working overtime trying to identify the times that she must have returned to me after being with him. I was incapable of speech for what seemed like an age but was finally able to ask the big question, "Who is he?"
Sandra shook her head. "I don't want to say."
"I need to know."
My wife again shook her head. "I can't tell you, I just know that it won't help."
"Do I know him?"
This time Sandra nodded. "I'm afraid of what you might do if I tell you who he is. I can't risk you getting hurt or ending up in prison."
"If I promise not to try for revenge, to not even speak to him about it, will you tell me then," I asked.
My wife looked deep into my eyes looking for sincerity then, making her decision, she said quietly, "Its Huw."
I felt as if I had been kicked in the gut, I could hardly breathe and it was as if the whole of creation was falling down on top of me. You see, Huw was the one man in the world who I thoroughly loathed.
(For clarification, Huw is the Welsh spelling of the name Hugh).
I spend my working life in the software development area of a very large open plan office where I'm in charge of a small team of five dealing with specialist applications. Down one full wall there are a series of offices fronted with opaque glass, to give privacy while allowing light from outside to pass through to the main office. Huw is the purchasing manager and his is the middle of the nine offices. In his early forties he is just over six feet tall but very heavily built. He wears his straight black hair sleeked straight back so that it looks like a skullcap with the visage completed by a fat jowly face with rather bulging frog like eyes. To my mind he is ugly but I have to admit that females don't seem to see him that way.
Down the other long wall are banks of VDUs manned by data input girls, mostly school leavers and single mothers. There is a steady turn over. Near the main entrance to the office there are two big automatic drinks machines. It is allowed to get a drink at any time but during the official break there is always a small crowd round the machines. Now whenever an attractive new girl appears, as if activated by radar, Huw emerges from his office like a spider from its lair. Making a beeline for the girl he either squeezes her bottom or runs his hand round her back and up under her armpit while saying loudly, "Isn't anybody going to introduce me to this gorgeous creature." The groping is so blatant that I expect the girl to slap his face but none do. Instead they smile up at him as if glad of the attention. I would never dream of doing such a thing and resent the fact that Huw seemed to do it with impunity.
He made a fair number of conquests which would have been fair had he used discretion but he made no secret about who he was screwing. Even worse, particularly when ready to dump a girl, he liked revealing intimate details about her to his group of cronies. These acolytes seemed to laugh at everything he said and I wondered how they could fail to see through his shabby façade. At least two of the females he humiliated were married, both left the firm and I know for certain that one ended up divorced. It's an understatement to say that I despised the man.
Every lunchtime, I and nine others gather round a table left clear for the purpose and engage in a game of liar dice. This is played with five dice but with court cards on the faces instead of spots and together they make up a range of poker hands. A nominal amount is paid into the kitty for three lives and when all three lives are lost you are out of the game, winner take all. When the bell goes to signal lunch, someone rattles the dice in the cup and from all over the large office, players start heading towards the table like zombies answering the call. One game nicely last the whole lunch hour.
The game requires the ability to bluff and knowledge of probability. Hands are rolled secretly under a cup and passed to the next player who can accept or refuse the claimed hand. If he refuses and the hand is there he loses a life otherwise it is the liar who forfeits. If he accepts and looks under the cup he must pass on a higher hand, rolling whatever dice to try to achieve it. He may pass it on unseen but if then called when he has been bluffed it is his misfortune. A key part of the game is that you may under call the hand. I am rather good at the pastime. Before I came along Huw was one of the better players but due to my dislike, I used subtle game ploys to ensure that he lost more lives than he otherwise would.
The previous two years we had been unable to attend the firms Xmas bash but last year, for the first time, we managed to turn up to the large hotel where it was being staged. We had a couple of dances and were just sitting at our table drinking and enjoying the ambiance when Sandra suddenly asked, "Who's he?"
With her eyes she was indicating part way round the dance floor to where two tables had been pushed together and in the middle of the small crowd was Huw holding court. "Which one?" I asked, guessing the answer but hoping I was wrong..
"Him in the middle, the one with very black hair."
"He's called Huw but you don't want to know about him. He's a fucking sod," I told her firmly hoping to end that line of conversation.
"Well he seems very popular so someone must like him," my wife remarked dryly. "He's a bit ugly but appealing in a funny sort of way. I can't see much wrong with him to make you dislike him as much as you obviously do."
"He's too bloody full of himself and he can't leave the females alone," I complained. "Whenever a new girl starts work he has his hands all over her at the first opportunity then passes it off as just being friendly and making her welcome."
"Perhaps he is just being friendly. Some people are a lot more tactile than others. They just touch quite naturally without thinking anything about it and that probably has something to do with upbringing. I know that you don't act like that but then your parents are not exactly cuddly people are they?"
I said nothing hoping to let the subject drop but Sandra had not finished. "Did any of the girls object?" she asked and when I shook my head, she said triumphantly, "Then they must have enjoyed being touched. Women do you know."
"Even blatantly groped?"
"That all depends on quite how blatant it is," my wife said with a small smile.
For the next half hour we only exchanged the odd remark. Both of us seemed content to sit and watch the dancers but I did notice my wife's eyes frequently flicking in the direction of that expanded table until, almost inevitably, I looked up to see Huw purposefully heading in our direction.
Arriving at our table, speaking as if I was his bosom buddy, Huw said loudly, "Hi there Jeff old pal, I hope you won't object to me stealing your lovely wife for a dance."
There was nothing else I could say, especially as Sandra was already starting to stand. Even though my skin crawled at just the thought of him touching her, I pasted a smile on my face and told him politely, "Be my guest."
Par for the course, as my wife moved in front of him, Huw slid his hand so far round her waist that I knew he could feel the swell of her lower breast and as they reached the floor he dropped his hand to caress slowly across her bottom. From what I could see the actually dancing was quite respectable but when he returned her to me the 'copping a feel' manoeuvre was repeated. I don't know what else he found out on the dance floor but Huw certainly returned to his table knowing my wife's bra size and aware that she was not wearing panties.
I was fuming and the moment Sandra sat down, I said nastily, "I suppose you're going to tell me that he didn't grope you."
"Oh he groped me all right," she happily admitted, "but I wouldn't say it was blatant, if fact I would be very surprised if anyone noticed."
"Course you did but then you were watching out for it. Like a hawk. Jeff, for some reason you've got a bee in your bonnet about that man and it's is causing you to get everything out of perspective. So he felt my tit, lots of men do, it's all part of life's rich pattern. Anyway, I found him rather charming."
"Charm is how he works," I pointed out.
Sandra put her glass down hard on the table and said firmly, "Jeff, I'm not going to spoil my evening by sitting here arguing the merits of a man who is never going to have any relevance to me. Please can we let the subject drop?" Fortunately at that moment two of my team walked up accompanied by female companions and we spent the rest of a very enjoyable evening with them.
A few days afterwards at work Huw came to my desk to say, "You have a very attractive wife Jeff, very shapely." I thanked him for the compliment but then looked straight back at my work. I was trying to deter further conversation but Huw felt the need to add, "You and I certainly have the same taste in women," before walking away. I let that go because as far as I could see, his taste extended to anything gullible with a cunt.
Nearly a month later, while eating our evening meal, Sandra said conversationally, "I bumped into that colleague of yours today, the one you don't like. Our trolleys literally bumped into each other in the supermarket."
"You mean Huw?"
Sandra nodded and chuckled as she went on to say, "I was going round the end of an isle, he was coming in the opposite direction and we met half way. It was actually mainly my fault but Huw took all the blame and couldn't apologise enough. Anyway, he insisted on buying me a coffee to make amends so we put our trolleys in the lockers and went in the cafeteria."
"What did he say to you," I asked feeling suddenly on edge.
"Nothing much at all. We were in there chatting for over an hour but I can't remember a single thing we talked about, so it can't have been anything significant. The trouble is that I've invited him round here for dinner Friday evening. If it hadn't been for that I probably wouldn't have mentioned seeing him."
"Why the hell did you do that when you know I detest the bugger," I demanded angrily.
"I kind of tricked myself into it," my wife admitted. "As we were about to leave the café Huw said how much he had enjoyed talking to me and wondered if I would like to go round to his place one evening to continue the conversation."
"Bastard," I swore.
"I was convinced that he wanted me to go there alone so rather than refuse I asked him if you were included, thinking it would make him withdraw the invitation," Sandra carried on. "Trouble was he said, 'Of course,' and I then was stuck. I knew how much you would hate being stuck on his territory so, to try and rescue the situation a bit, I claimed baby-sitting problems and invited him here instead."
I said nothing but I didn't blame her because Huw was not a man who it was easy to outmanoeuvre but I was still left with no option except to prepare myself for an unpleasant evening.
On Friday, my wife started the meal and then I took over while she went to get ready. When she finally appeared Sandra looked delightful but at my request there was no cleavage on display and her simple classy black dress was loose fitting. Huw arrived dead on time carrying a rather expensive bottle of wine and a big bunch of flowers. Although the preliminaries were very stilted and formal once the food was served everybody seemed to relax. The dreaded encounter actually turned out to be rather enjoyable, mainly due to our guest's droll sense of humour – I've never denied that the man can be entertaining.
When we had finished eating I gathered the dirty dishes onto a tray and headed towards the kitchen intending to put them straight into the dishwasher. I was expecting that we would now retire to the sitting room for another couple of hours but suddenly Huw said loudly, "Is that the time, mustn't outstay my welcome, Cheers Jeff see you at work." I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him already leaving the room.
I had no alterative to continuing into the kitchen but once there I put the tray down and quickly headed back. Looking down the dimly lit hall I could see Huw standing with his back to the front door with Sandra facing him. He was leaning forward with obvious intent and my wife had her head cocked as if expecting to be kissed but then he spotted me. Quickly he straightened back up and instead stuck out his hand to Sandra saying, "Thank you for a very lovely evening you must let me return the favour some time." Then, with a casual wave in my direction he had gone.
Turning to me Sandra grinned. "Thank goodness that's over. He is a bit overpowering don't you think," she said and those few words dispelled any slight unease I was feeling, caused by that final scene in the hall.
So I sat facing my errant wife trying to come to terms with her now admitted cheating. After knowing her character so well for ten years I had to think that the fault lay with me. "Where did I go wrong?" I asked sadly.
"You didn't do anything wrong Jeff," she told me with sincerity in her voice. "You've always been a perfect husband and a marvellous father. I'm the only one to blame."
"If I'm so wonderful what the hell does he offer to tempt you away from me?" I asked bitterly.
"Excitement," Sandra told me without needing to think, "And he's also got a huge cock."
That made sense; in fact it explained a lot that had puzzled me. I hadn't noticed but then I was not in the habit of checking out other men. "How big is it?" I asked, "say compared with mine."
Sandra gave a sad smile. "Jeff love, yours just doesn't compare, his cock is a different order of magnitude completely.
That shook me but I persevered. "You must still be able to give comparative figures."
It was easy to tell that she was unhappy with the question but she eventually told me, "Remember when we measured you some years ago. We called it six inches but it was really a little bit less, well his has got to be over nine and it's also very thick."
"What exactly do you mean by 'excitement'?" I asked changing tack.
"Darling, you are so safe and dependable, it's what I've always loved most about you but he is just the opposite. He's daring and unpredictable. You have always kept me wrapped in a warm cocoon of contentment but he makes me feel alive again."
"I never told you about Karl, the boyfriend I had immediately before you, he was a total shit but he was magic in bed. He used to cheat on me and knock me about but I stayed with him far longer than I should, just for the sex. Most of the time I was desperately unhappy but being with him was always exciting. Then you came along to rescue me and make me happier than I ever thought possible."
"I don't quite see what he has to do with Huw," I said, genuinely puzzled.
"It's just that Huw reminded me of the good parts from back then and I realised that I missed them. I missed them desperately."
"So after that dinner, the next time you did go to his place by yourself," I accused.
My wife shook her head. "I have been to his flat more than once but that isn't how it started. It actually started here."
You mean at that dinner?"