Cheating on a Cheating Wife

I could see Libby wanted to get onto her running machine in her home gym on the ground floor, but first she took the list of chores she had set for me today to make sure I had done everything, and to the standard she required.

As usual, I was nervous as Libby checked every task she had set for me, thinking I had forgotten something. Then I heard Libby's voice, and she didn't sound very happy. "Jeff!"

"Coming, Libby!" I nervously went into the laundry, where Libby stood next to the toilet. "Anything wrong, sweetheart?' I asked.

Libby stared at me with her pale blue eyes, which contrasted so sharply from Montana's big dark brown eyes. Annoyance was all over her pretty face as she pointed at the lavatory. "Simple question Jeff, how many toilets do we have in this house?"

We had three toilets in the house. There was this laundry toilet on the ground floor, another toilet next to the main bathroom upstairs and in the ensuite bathroom attached to the master bedroom Libby and I shared there was a third toilet. "Three," I said.

"Yes, so was it too much of an effort to clean this one too?" Libby again pointed at the toilet.

I thought back. I had indeed cleaned and scrubbed the two upstairs toilets this morning shortly after Libby left the house, but had been distracted and forgotten this one. "Sorry Libby, I'll do it right now."

Libby snorted with derision and rolled her eyes. "No, don't worry about it Jeff, I'll do it my fucking self. How fucking hard can it be to clean a fucking toilet? Jesus Christ! You give me the shits Jeff, you were told what you had today and I have to come home after working my fucking arse off and do it myself."

I cowered slightly under my wife's attack. Despite Libby being much shorter than me -- she stood five feet six, myself six feet -- I was afraid of her, and did not want to cop her sharp tongue any more than I was going to.

In a bad-tempered huff, Libby collected the cleaning materials and toilet brush and set to work cleaning the toilet, continuing her carping criticism of me the whole time. "It's easy for you guys," she sneered, while glaring at me with her unblinking blue eyes. "You lift up the seat, piss all over the toilet and don't leave enough toilet paper for us to use. What do you care if the fucking toilet is dirty? You know what would happen if I sat down on a dirty toilet seat to take a shit? I would get a thrush infection in my cunt. Do you want me to get my fanny full of some fucking fungus because you were a lazy prick who didn't clean the toilet properly?"

I just stood there and took it as my wife berated me, wondering if Todd was subjected to this type of dressing down at work if he did something wrong and it pissed off Libby. Or maybe it was just me? I then realized that Libby had finally stopped talking, and was glaring at me waiting for a response.

"Again, sorry Libby," I managed to say.

Libby sneered at me. "Sorry Libby," she repeated in an exaggerated wimpy tone. "You are pathetic, Jeff, absolutely fucking pathetic. What are you? Pathetic! You wonder why I come home and get so cross with you, just look at today! You give me the fucking shits!"

With the toilet clean, Libby put the brush and cleaning supplies away and washed her hands in the laundry. I followed her into the kitchen as she strode in front of me still in a huff, and I thought about how foul mouthed my wife actually was. When at work she had to be all sweetness and nice, but she sure as hell made up for it at home and she had no filter on her potty mouth, barely able to put a sentence together without using a four letter expletive starting with S, F or C.

It was another reason I was glad Libby and I never had children. If we did, we would probably up the school all the time to deal with complaints about our kids swearing, having picked it up from listening to their mother's foul mouth. When I first met Libby I was turned on by her bad language when we were enjoying ourselves in bed, but now more than 16 years later I wished that when Libby was a kid her mother had dragged her into the bathroom and forced her to eat soap to punish her daughter for fucking swearing in every second fucking sentence.

In the kitchen, Libby flung open the refrigerator. In there were a number of bottles filled with a nasty looking green mixture -- Libby's health shakes, which she blended herself and stored for later. There were lots of things that went into the blender that I thought should never be used in the same sentence as shake; kale, kiwi fruit, cucumbers, spinach, celery, cabbage, sprouts and fuck only knew what other disgusting combinations of fruits and vegetables.

To give herself an energy boost before hitting the treadmill, Libby drained one of her shakes, holding the bottle up to her mouth and sculling it, wiping the green residue from her mouth with the back of her hand and washing out the glass bottle.

She passed me as she went out of the kitchen, opened her mouth, and belched a massive burp into my face, continuing on her way without excusing herself. I was left getting the smell of various vegetables, plus the evidence that Libby hadn't brushed her teeth from some hours, out of my nose. The consumption of the green health juice had a decidedly unfortunate effect on Libby's digestive system, and as well as swearing like a sailor she could easily beat a group of beer-swilling male bogans down the pub having a burping contest. Libby would sometimes burp in my face to amuse herself, sometimes it would be to assert her dominance over me as no way would she ever put up with me belching in her face and other times she did it because she was pissed off with me. Tonight was definitely in the latter category.

There was one thing for me to be happy about however, and this was that at least that this time it was from that end of Libby's digestive system, and not the other. I was premature in my relief. In the kitchen doorway, Libby casually farted as loudly as she could, the sound of my wife passing wind probably audible all the way across the Bass Strait to people in Tasmania.

Again without excusing herself, Libby left the kitchen. When I first met Libby, I would not have believed that she actually farted, but now she had no restraint on farting in front of me at all, not embarrassed by the noise or the smell. I wished she would give up the green health shakes which were a major cause of my wife's gas issues, but there were so many other foods she ate that caused her flatulence that I don't think it would have solved the problem completely.

As the terrible smell of my wife's fart filled the kitchen and went up my nose, I thought of Todd. Did Libby berate, belittle and swear at him if he did something that irritated her? Was he also subjected to my wife's burping and farting? One thing was probably true. The way Todd fawned over Libby, I think he would only smell pleasant things like roses, jasmine or freshly baked cookies if she farted in front of him.

*

If found myself on the wrong end of Libby's temper again today at dinner. We were eating lasagna -- not proper lasagna, vegetarian lasagna with zucchini taking the place of the pasta when I happened to look at my wife the wrong way and commit the terrible sin of staring at her while she was eating. Libby banished me to the kitchen to finish my tea in there, and afterwards buried herself in work in her downstairs office.

I went to my office upstairs, but was not doing work. The room was in complete darkness, allowing me to see across into the neighbors' house and into Montana's bedroom. Montana's curtains were open allowing me to see into the teenager's illuminated bedroom from my positon peeking through the blinds at her. There wasn't much to see, Montana was still wearing her school uniform and absorbed in her study books. Being 18 and in Year 12, she had plenty of study.

Most nights I wished Montana would forget to close her blinds and would undress in front of the window, me getting to see the young girl in her bra and her panties, then completely naked, but so far she had never messed up in this regard. I continued to spy on Montana studying in her bedroom, until she got up and left the bedroom. I then saw the light in the small frosted window next to Montana's bedroom illuminate.

I knew what that room was; it was the toilet. Our house and Brad and Will's house had a similar design, two toilets upstairs and one downstairs in the laundry. The toilet next to the main bathroom was the one that Montana mainly used.

A few weeks ago, Brad, Will and Montana had invited me inside their house and upstairs to look at some new artworks they had purchased recently. While the art was nice, I kept discretely looking into the small room that housed the toilet next to the main bathroom, weird and perverted thoughts running through my mind.

I looked at the toilet seat, thinking about how Montana's bare bottom sat on it whenever she went to the toilet. The roll of toilet tissue on the holder next to the toilet was Montana's toilet paper that she used to wipe her bottom. When Montana finished on the toilet, she would press the handle on the cistern to flush her business away. On the cistern sat a can of toilet freshener for the teenager to spray around to get rid of any smells she left behind herself after a visit to the loo.

In the adjacent bathroom I looked at the vanity and sink, imagining Montana's bare breasts reflected as she did a monthly examination on her mammary glands to feel for lumps. I looked at the bath and the shower, imagining Montana's naked teenage body either immersed in the tub enjoying a soapy bubble bath or having a shower.

Tonight I obviously could not see Montana while she was on the toilet, but my imagination took me into the house of her gay fathers and into the upstairs toilet, where Montana was sitting on it, her little tartan school skirt up around her waist and her white knickers down around her ankles clad in knee-length white school socks and black school shoes. I imagined looking down at the saddle of Montana's panties, and seeing the creamy colored pussy stains from her vagina self-cleansing during the day.

I wasn't sure if Montana only needed to pee in which case she would turn off the light soon, but she must have needed a poo because she took more than five minutes, my erection throbbing as I imagined the teenager doing personal and private things on the toilet, and pondering if she scrunched or folded her toilet paper when she wiped herself. I would never know, but I had fun speculating, my erection proved that.

The toilet light went off and then the bathroom light was briefly illuminated for Montana to wash her hands. I saw Montana re-enter her bedroom, adjusting her knickers through her skirt as she did so, hoping the young girl was feeling better after her poo. Evidently it did, the teenager immediately went back to her study and applied herself to her books.

This continued for another hour or so, before I saw Montana turn off her PC, put away her text books, yawn and stretch and go to her drawer, where she removed an oversized tee-shirt with a cartoon frog on it and a clean pair of knickers from her underwear drawer. Montana left her bedroom and the bathroom light came on again, remaining illuminated for about five minutes presumably as the teen showered.

This was confirmed a few minutes later as Montana returned, now barefoot and wearing her oversized tee-shirt. I saw the young girl put her worn bra, knickers and socks into her clothes hamper, then she sat on her bed her legs crossed. She was some distance away but I could still vaguely see the clean white knickers she wore under her sleep shirt as she brushed her long brown hair.

Then Montana drew her curtains, and my view of her was gone as I saw the light turn out for her to go to bed. I felt a little guilty about my voyeurism, especially as Montana and her two dads were such nice people. Even though the girl was 18-years-old now, she was born in 1997, my last year of university. I celebrated my 21st that year, and had yet to meet Libby. The Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys were the top music acts. Bill Clinton was US President, Tony Blair and John Howard Prime Ministers of the UK and Australia respectively. We said goodbye to Princess Diana and Mother Teresa among others. The movie Titanic was released, and there was a terrible disaster in Australia, the Thredbo Landslide in the Snowy Mountains in New South Wales. The Melbourne Docklands were still pretty much under construction, still full of old warehouses awaiting demolition and the stadium in the precinct just an oval shape pegged out. The Southern Cross Station was known as Spencer Street, just train platforms and a few bus stops, and the Eureka Tower not even planned, let alone built.

My reminiscing about the year 1997 made me feel like even more of a Humbert Humbert, and again I reminded myself that Montana was 18, I wasn't teaching at her high school and I was only looking, not touching. I doubt my wife would have seen it that way, but Fitness Queen Libby was too absorbed in her fitness empire and her toy-boy Todd to notice my little crush on the girl next door young enough to be our daughter. Still, I had to be careful, one false move and a very pissed off wife not to mention a freaked out teenage girl and two upset fathers.

When younger, Libby and I had showered together all the time, but it had become infrequent in more recent years, my wife no doubt preferring to shower with her boyfriend rather than her husband. This afternoon Libby had taken her shower after an intense workout on the treadmill, and I had mine just before bed.

I was in the ensuite bathroom brushing my teeth, wearing a pair of boxer shorts before bed, when in walked Libby also ready for bed, my wife barefoot and wearing an oversized tee-shirt over panties, much like Montana was earlier.

Without a word Libby stood next to me, and started to brush her hair. She looked me up and down, and then said, "Jeff, get on the scales, I want to check your weight."

"Libby, it's not my day for a weigh-in," I protested.

"Just fucking do it, Jeff," Libby snapped, putting down her hair brush.

I sighed, and went and stood on the scales, Libby right behind me. "Jeff, 71.5 kilograms!" she exclaimed. "I told you to lose that extra kilogram, and what's happened? You've put weight on! Fucking unbelievable."

"Sorry Libby, I don't know how that happened," I offered.

"Well, while I go to the toilet, we are going to work it out together." She pointed at the bench that was directly opposite the toilet. "Sit!"

Not for the first time feeling like a dog, I obeyed my wife's instruction as she walked to the toilet on her bare feet. Too late, I realized I had left the toilet seat up, something that did not impress Libby.

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you to put the toilet seat down Jeff?" Libby snapped. "Do you do it just to piss me off?"

Libby put the toilet seat down, and lifted up her tee-shirt to show she was wearing white bikini panties with small blue flowers on them, which she pulled down to her ankles and sat down on the toilet. Libby's legs were open, displaying me her pussy, and the curls of blonde pubic hair on Libby's feminine mound showed the evidence she was a natural blonde. The slim pink lips of her vagina were perfectly symmetrical.

It wasn't the first time that Libby had used the toilet in front of me. She never did when we were dating and in the early years of marriage, but over time had become more accustomed to it like with her belching and farting in front of me. Libby would not typically go to the toilet in front of me, most usually she would go in there and close and lock the door. However, if I happened to be in the bathroom like I was tonight, then Libby would have no qualms about pulling down her pants to sit on the toilet, whether it be to pee, poo, pass any excess gas from her bowels or when it was that time of the month, manage her period.

Libby began to urinate, her pee splashing into the toilet, and thus began her interrogation of me as to how I had gained more weight when she had ordered me the week before to lose a kilogram. And there was plenty of time for this grilling. Libby's piss was over after about 20 seconds and she got some toilet paper to wipe her wet pussy, but she remained sitting on the loo and her face took on that look that told me she was either going to pass gas or poop.

As it turned out, Libby did both. She sat farting on the toilet, her wind echoing in the bowl, before her anus made a squelching noise and her poo came out of her bottom and splattered in the toilet, the plopping splashing sounds in the bowl very evident as she defecated. And as Libby had her shit, she interrogated me about my diet and exercise this week, trying to find out how my diet hadn't worked.

It was very hard for me to concentrate. I kept looking at my wife's lowered knickers and at her crack, knowing Todd's dick had gone up her pussy today. Then there was the smell. When Libby had farted in front of me earlier, the smell from her bottom was a mere sample of her bowel movements right now. All that super healthy tuna, tofu, green vegetables, quinoa, ancient grains, wheat-germ and soy that Libby put into her mouth wasn't so pleasant after it came out of her bum and into the toilet following a trip through her digestive system.

Within minutes, my wife had stank out our entire ensuite bathroom, and I looked at the can of toilet spray on the toilet cistern near Libby's left shoulder. But no way was I going to reach over and get it and spray it around. Libby often spayed toilet freshener around to get rid of her smell after she went to the toilet, but I had learned a valuable lesson a few months ago.

I was standing at the sink having a shave in the morning, and Libby was sitting on the toilet taking a massive shit, plus she was on her period, so attached to the saddle of my wife's lowered knickers was an overnight sanitary pad, the massive red stains making the napkin look like a crime scene.

The smells of poo and period in the bathroom were so bad that it was distracting me and I was going to cut my face to ribbons. When Libby bent forward on the toilet to sate an itch on one of her bare feet, I unfortunately got to see poo oozing out of Libby's anus when she moved her bowels. Quickly grabbing the toilet spray, I sprayed it around and incurred the wrath of my wife, who was furious that I had overstepped the line and embarrassed her, when she should have had no reason to feel any embarrassment about using the toilet on her period.

Libby punished me by banishing me from the bedroom for two nights. And when this happened, I was not permitted into the guest room either, I had to go and sleep downstairs on the couch.

Not wanting to be sent to the couch this evening, I tried to go through my diet with my defecating wife without annoying her, but every time she got toilet paper and used it to wipe her bottom front to back she succeeded in putting me off food, so maybe this was a strategy of hers to make me lose weight. Libby's soft white toilet paper emerged from her anus smeared in her poo, the residual shit looking like peanut butter, which was ironic as health freak Libby would never allow peanut butter to enter her mouth. One time Libby actually farted on her toilet paper as she was wiping her bum, this happening at the same time as she quizzed me about any sneaky treats on Wednesday.

Finally Libby's massive shit was over and her dirty and smelly bottom had been wiped clean, but as my wife stood up off the toilet and pulled up her knickers, adjusting them around her bum and her box she seemed anything but happy that she had failed to solve the mystery of the extra 500 grams I had gained during the week.