tagExhibitionist & VoyeurMy Cheating Slut

My Cheating Slut

byEnglish Bob©

She thought I was out, safely tucked up in my office and of no threat. But I'm smart. Smarter than her. I'd got wise to her little games.

I had suspected before, of course. Oh yes, it wasn't the first time that I had reckoned my bitch of a wife had cheated. Furtive telephone calls taken at odd times; purchases of new and more alluring clothes; more frequent visits to the hairdresser. All these changes had led me to one simple and inevitable conclusion: Michelle was having an affair.

In the past I had come close to catching her out a few times – once in particular. I'd come home early from work and passed a young tradesman – a plumber, I think – just leaving the house. His guilty smile as he hopped into his vehicle told me everything I needed to know. Inside the house Michelle was in her bathrobe – unusual for her during the day. She was standing over the sink washing a wine glass. Another glass stood upside down on the drainer. She was clearly surprised to see me home at that hour and as she turned to me I could see that she was still flushed. As I embraced her I could still smell the man on her, his masculine scent mixed with the unmistakable aroma of perspiration and sex.

Of course, I should have confronted her there and then, got the whole thing out in the open. But, whilst my anger was rising, strangely, another part of me was rising as well. I was confused. My mind was sending messages to my body that I didn't fully understand. Here was my young, beautiful wife – my treasure – still reeking of a man who had obviously just fucked her, and I was getting an erection you could hang your coat on!

I had turned away from Michelle, embarrassed by my body's display of arousal, and made an excuse to go and shower. I could still feel the blood pounding through my swollen shaft as I stripped off and stepped beneath the warm, cascading water. As the down pouring water cleansed my body – if not my mind – I masturbated to a very quick climax, shooting the entire contents of my balls onto the floor of the stall.

But despite my confusion on that day so many weeks ago, I was still determined to catch Michelle in the act of adultery – perhaps now more than ever. My plan had been simple in the extreme. I am usually a creature of habit; leaving for work each day at much the same time and – normally – returning in the same regimented fashion. But a man could change. Couldn't he?

I had told my office that I would not be in at all that day and that I would not be contactable – they could survive without me for one day, I reasoned. As far as my wife was concerned it was a normal day. 8am found me kissing her cheek goodbye, taking my briefcase from the hall stand, patting my pocket for keys and closing the front door securely behind me. But I wasn't going to work. I wasn't going to walk the half-mile to the railway station and catch the 8.30 express to the city. I had left the back door unlocked and, while Michelle took her morning shower, I crept surreptitiously back into the house.

I could hear the running of water from upstairs stop just as I padded silently into my den and closed the door. I had been just in time, I guessed. My mind was a turmoil of thoughts. Two days previously, my wife had received another of her secret telephone calls and I had overheard her arranging a meeting with someone for early that morning. Of course, it could have been completely innocent; a girlfriend perhaps. But I doubted it. If the call and subsequent appointment was without guilt, then why all the secrecy?

I didn't have long to wait before I found out the truth.

At a clearly pre-arranged time, Michelle descended the stairs and walked straight to the back door. She had dressed in a nice silky black shirt and black slacks. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly in a pony-tail and she was bare-foot. I had to admit she looked very sexy.

I heard the glass door slide back effortlessly on its runner and then muffled voices. Slowly and carefully I opened the door to my den – just a crack. I still couldn't see the back door but I could hear the voices better and also had a good view of the lounge.

I felt my heart beat faster as my wife returned to the lounge. Her visitor was just behind her, their hands clasped together like teenaged lovers. Damn! It was that same son-of-a-bitch plumber that had grinned at me all those weeks ago. I could feel the hackles on the back of my neck rising and had to calm myself physically. There was no point in confronting them yet, there was really nothing to confront them with.

It was obvious that the young tradesman had not come to work on any of our kitchen appliances. There was no sign of any overalls or tool bag and he had dressed casually for the warm weather: light coloured shorts, sports shirt and sunglasses. He also sported a pair of leather sandals, which he kicked off and left by the door. For a moment I was stunned by the paradox: he was clearly not concerned about fucking my wife but seemed more anxious about scuffing my carpet with his shoes!

I watched silently as Michelle led the young man into the lounge. They embraced in the centre of the room; their arms entwined about each other's bodies and their lips mashed together lustily. It was also a noisy kiss. Tongues darted in and out of mouths and slurped greedily.

Suddenly Michelle broke the kiss and stood back. She had a wicked look on her face and stared straight at her lover as she slowly unbuttoned the front of her blouse. Neither the young tradesman or I could keep our eyes from straying from her body as slowly - oh so slowly – Michelle shrugged the silken garment from her shoulders and revealed to us both her wonderful, large tanned breasts.

Still standing in the centre of the room, barefoot and now topless, Michelle grinned at the other man.

"You now." She said coolly. "I can already see you want me."

Michelle was not wrong. I followed her gaze to the front of the young mans shorts and quickly saw that he was sporting a large, hard bulge in the front. And he was not alone. The aching sensation from my own groin told me that it had happened again: the sight of my wife with another man had given me a hard-on!

I watched as Michelle reached out and touched the front of her lovers' shorts. The bulge twitched and a low moan escaped the young mans lips. His trembling hands caressed the soft slopes of her breasts as she squeezed gently at his crotch and his fingers flicked – not too softly, either – at the swollen pink buds of her nipples.

Both Michelle and they other man were moaning now, seemingly lost in their own lust for each other. They kissed again – more fervently this time – their hands exploring, fondling, groping. Michelle was breathless when at last the wet kiss was broken. "Let's get naked!" she panted.

I could see her breasts heaving and a sheen of perspiration already coating them as she virtually tore at the expensive designer slacks that she had bought on our last shopping trip. I had never seen her wear them before and now I knew the reason why. I wondered how many other items of clothing she had bought that were intended to please her lover (or lovers?) rather than me.

When the adulterous couple were finally completely naked, I watched them again fall into each other's arms. It seemed that they could hardly keep their hands off each other and for Michelle's part her fingers went straight to the solid erection that was standing proud between the young mans legs. He groaned again – deeply this time – as her cool fingers wrapped around his thick shaft. His hands, that were resting on her shoulders, began to push her downwards. Michelle knew instinctively what he wanted – as did I – and with a little crooked smile she dropped to her knees in front of him.

My own erection ached beneath my suit pants as I watched the young tradesman's head roll back and his eyes close. Michelle's fingers were working him expertly; gently pulling back his foreskin and stroking up and down the length of his shaft with careful, practised motions. I massaged and squeezed the front of my pants and groaned inwardly. The feeling of lust was beginning to encompass my whole body.

As I watched Michelle kneeling on the floor at her lovers' feet I unzipped my suit pants and pulled my cock out. I felt so hot and turned on that I couldn't resist squeezing the head gently.

The young mans cock looked inflamed and swollen as Michelle caressed it. She gazed at the turgid weapon with a look that belied her excitement, opened her mouth and then guided the whole length between her soft, painted lips. The young man cried out his ardour and his hands went to the back of her head, pulling her towards him and burying half the length of his shaft deep in her throat. Her hands were on his balls, stroking and teasing the sensitive flesh and she tilted her head back just a little further and I watched his entire cock disappear inch by inch into her windpipe.

For several more minutes I watched my sweet bitch wife suck on another mans swollen tool and I have to say that it was one of the most exciting events that I'd ever witnessed. I stroked my own cock in time to her slurping, wet mouth as she devoured the appendage and had to stop and hold my breath on several occasions just to keep myself from climaxing onto the den carpet.

It seemed that the young tradesman was also concerned about cumming too soon. He looked down at my wife as she gobbled him greedily.

"Oh, baby," he panted, "not too much...mmm...I want to fuck you before I cum!"

This, it seemed, was all Michelle wanted to hear. Her own fingers had been busy between her legs as she deep-throated the man and with a muffled moan of excitement, her whole body began to shudder in a series of small orgasms.

"Oh, yes honey!" She breathed as his wet cock sprang from between her lips. "Fuck me. Fuck my tight pussy hard!"

I had rarely heard my wife use this type of language, even during the infrequent times that we made love. I have always been a quiet lover and I had assumed that she was the same. But now, here she was, naked and wanton and begging a young plumber to fuck her hard.

The young man did not need to be asked twice. With his cock swinging menacingly in front of him he bodily picked Michelle up and practically threw her against the low coffee table that dominated the centre of the room.

"You want my cock, bitch?" He almost growled.

By the way that Michelle opened her legs and peered back over her shoulder with a sly grin, her answer was very clear.

"Mmmm! Yes, baby. Fuck me. Fuck your bitch. Fuck your little married slut!

Michelle placed her hands firmly on the table, spread her bare feet apart and pointed her ass upwards. She did indeed look like a slut. If I hadn't recognised her as the woman I'd been married to for the last three years I could have easily mistaken her for a cheap street-whore.

The young man grunted as he moved up behind my wife. He placed his swollen, twitching weapon at the entrance to her shaven pussy and lunged forward. There was no tenderness, no finesse. The man simply rammed his entire length deep into my wife's warm, wet pussy.

At that point I nearly came. It was a close thing and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. But Michelle had to suffer no such self-control and with a high-pitched cry she climaxed again.

Her young lover grinned lewdly as he held her hips and thrust himself in again. It looked like a power trip for him: taking another mans wife and causing her to orgasm as soon as he entered her. But his recent exploration of Michelle's throat was beginning to tell on his face and he was clearly not going to be able to hold back for much longer.

I could hear my wife groaning with every thrust. My own hand was back on my throbbing shaft now and I wanted – no, needed – to cum. I wasn't going to hold back any longer, I promised myself silently. I deserved to cum. Michelle had cum at least twice. Now it was my turn.

My lip was still a little painful from the previous bite but, to stop from crying out, I had to bite once again. I could taste the blood that trickled into my mouth as my teeth closed and my cock convulsed. I screwed my eyes shut and pumped my hand faster as the sperm flew. My fingers were covered and as I slowly opened my eyes I saw a long streak of my own jism trickling down the door in front of me.

"Shit, baby, I'm gonna cum for you!"

The young mans voice dragged my mind quickly back to what was happening. Michelle had disengaged herself and way lying back on the sofa obscenely displayed with her legs open wide and her breasts heaving up and down. In a flash her lover was beside her. His cock seemed to swell to mighty proportions in his hand as he leaned over my wife and jerked himself furiously. I don't think I had ever seen another man cum before – at least not "live" and in front of me like this – and, perversely, I seemed unable to take my eyes off him.

And then it happened. With a cry of triumphant satisfaction, Michelle's lover pulled back hard on his tool and pointed it directly at her heaving, sweat-glistened breasts. For a split second he remained motionless; eyes tight closed as he revelled in that brief moment of luxury before climax.

A single twitch of his cock broke the scene as he came. Jet after jet of thick, white sperm roped from the tip of his penis and splashed against Michelle's breasts. She wriggled and used her hands to smear the gunge over herself paying particular attention to her nipples. She trembled slightly and I'd swear that she had another orgasm right then.

Eventually the cheating couple collapsed in a heap on the floor. Their arms and legs entwined as they gently caressed each other and luxuriated in that post-coital moment. Now I had a choice. The man in me was instructing me to barge straight into the room and confront them – the evidence of the young tradesman's sperm between my wife's breasts enough to convince any sceptic. But my wilted penis told a different story. If I tore into them now, kicked Michelle out of my life and suggested what she could do with her lover, would I ever once again experience what I had experienced that morning? I had some thinking to do, I realised and, leaving my wife curled up in the arms of another man, I slipped out of the house. I needed time to gather my thoughts...

That evening I returned home at what would have been the usual time. The two bites to my lower lip had caused it to swell a little and make my mouth look a little pouty. As my wife kissed me hello I flinched.

"What happened to your lip?"

"Nothing," I replied. "It's nothing."

My mind had been turning over all day with the dilemma that currently presented itself. But now that I was home and I could almost taste the other man on Michelle's lips. My masculinity cursed my body as I could feel an erection once again straining in my pants.

But this time I didn't turn away. This time I was not going to be embarrassed. It didn't take my slut of a wife long to notice.

"Well," she started, as she looked down at my bulging crotch, "this doesn't look like nothing!"

I swallowed hard. It was time to make a stand.

"Then suck it...BITCH!"

I looked into Michelle's suddenly surprised face and wondered how she was going to react. I closed my eyes and waited for a hand to slap my face hard. Nothing came. Instead, I heard a rustling as she dropped to her knees and felt her fingers tremble as they gripped the zipper of my pants and lowering it. And then I felt her fingers; her mouth; her lips as she caressed me exquisitely. The last thing I remember before blowing my load deep into my wife's throat was that I had already made my choice. And it was most definitely the right one!

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