Cheating on a Cheating Wife

The clothes she was hanging out at the moment were her school blouses, tee-shirts, jeans and the like, but things got more interesting when Montana reached into the basket and pulled out some of her bras, hanging out the white, pink, light blue, lemon, pale green, lilac and apricot brassieres on the line. My erection grew as I looked at Montana's bras and thought about the fine teenage boobs they encased every day.

Then out of the basket came Montana's panties. Like Libby, Montana seemed to be a fan of cotton bikini briefs, which I thought hotter than thongs or sexy lingerie. Montana's knickers like her bras were simple in color -- white, pink, light blue, lemon, pale green, lilac and apricot -- although some of her white panties had flowers on them and another pair were seascape panties with shells, starfish, seahorses.

Seeing Montana's teen panties hanging on the line was a huge turn-on as always, my erection proved this, but I would have loved to get into Montana's clothes hamper to look at and sniff her underwear before she did her laundry. In my imagination, I often fantasized about going into the house next door and taking Montana's unwashed knickers out of her laundry basket, looking at and admiring her cunt stains on the double cotton of her panty saddle, and sniffing the young girl's musty feminine fragrances from between her legs into my nose.

Back in the 1990s it might have been possible to turn this fantasy into reality, but the 1990s were long over and nowadays people often had security systems with surveillance cameras, so the probability of me being caught as a panty-sniffing pervert would be higher. So I would often get Libby's knickers out of the clothes hamper and sniff them while jerking off, pretending they were Montana's knickers instead. Although other times I would sniff and masturbate over Libby's knickers simply because I liked smelling my own wife's cunt on her panties.

Montana finished hanging out her clothes on the line then went back inside, and I lingered behind the blinds perving into the garden at the wonderful sight of a line of a pretty teenage girl's panties. I thought about Montana's BFF Bailey, and wished I could see the pretty red haired teenager's panties on the line at her house.

Of course I didn't know the address where Bailey and her family lived, and even if I did I might get arrested by the police if I snuck into their back garden to look at their teenage daughter's knickers on the line on washing day. If I was arrested for perving on a teenage girl's panties, would Libby pay the money to bail me out? Knowing my wife, I think Libby would simply hang up the phone.

My erection went down as I went downstairs to the laundry, but I was still so distracted by Montana's knickers that I didn't see where I was going, and tripped over Libby's clothes hamper that was next to the washing machine.

Crash! I went sprawling, and the laundry basket tumbled over, Libby's dirty knickers and her bras going flying over the floor, me landing on top of them. There was another loud crash as I took out the ironing board as it tumbled over too, and a bottle of fabric softener also hit the floor, the plastic splitting and the blue liquid going everywhere.

I had assumed Libby was still in the kitchen, and had no idea she was on the toilet behind the closed and locked door of the laundry lavatory. However, as everything went crashing, I was alerted to my wife's presence when she yelled out 'Fuck!' and let out an enormous fart, the sound from Libby's anus turning into a squelching noise followed by what sounded like an avalanche of shit going everywhere in the toilet.

Libby flung the toilet door open, and I felt like a fool as I lay sprawling on the laundry floor on top of my wife's underwear. I looked nervously at Libby as she glared at me with her cold blue eyes, leaning forward on the toilet, the high pony-tail in which she wore her long blonde hair making her look even stricter. On her top half she wore a fitness top showing too much of her cleavage, and on her bottom half Libby's lycra leggings and her white panties were down around her ankles, white running shoes on her feet.

"Jeff, what the fuck is going on out there?" Libby snapped. "What are you doing on the floor, and what are my knickers doing on the floor?"

"Sorry Libby, I um tripped over your clothes hamper and fell over," I said, blushing as I got to my feet. "Did I scare you?"

"Of course you scared me Jeff, you fucking retard!" Libby spat. "You scared the shit out of me, literally! I nearly leaped off the toilet and I lost control of my bowels. Now there's shit everywhere thanks to you!"

Hearing Libby 'sharting' on the toilet when I tripped over and with the smell of her girl poo now filling the laundry it was clear my angry wife was not exaggerating, and I cowered in the face of her fury. "Is there anything I can do to help you, honey?"

Libby pointed at the toilet roll, which was running a bit low on paper. "I'm in an absolute mess, and because of you I now don't have enough toilet paper. Seriously Jeff, do you dream up new ways at night to piss me off? You get me new roll of toilet paper, and then you get upstairs, wet down one of my washcloths and bring it back to me."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"I need to use it to wash my bottom, what else do you think I'm going to use it for?" Libby glared at me. "No amount of toilet tissue is going to get me clean after you scared me like that."

"Sorry Libby, I'll get you some more paper and a cloth," I said.

I opened the laundry cupboard and retrieved two rolls of toilet tissue, which I handed to Libby and which my wife snatched from my hands. Running upstairs, I grabbed one of Libby's washcloths which was pink with purple flowers and wet it down, running back downstairs to give it to Libby.

Libby again snatched it from my hand without any thanks. "Now get my panties and my bras off the fucking floor and get the rest of that mess cleaned up before I finish on the toilet!"

The still furious Libby slammed the toilet door shut, farting hard on the loo as she did so. I collected Libby's knickers and bras and put them back in her clothes hamper, put the ironing board back in its place and got a mop to clean up the fabric softener.

The whole time I could hear Libby's private toilet noises from her bottom, and my bad-tempered wife frequently unwinding toilet paper from the roll. I heard her changing the toilet tissue at one stage when she used the last of the paper from the existing roll.

Libby flushed the toilet as I got the last of the fabric softener cleaned up, and I heard her put down the toilet lid and spraying toilet freshener liberally around the small room. 'Good call, Libby' I thought to myself as the door opened and Libby strode out, carrying an empty cardboard toilet roll tube in one hand, and the cloth in the other.

My wife put the cardboard tube in the recycling bin, then thrust the damp pink washcloth at me. "You disinfect and wash it when you do the laundry," she commanded me.

Somewhat reluctantly, as the cloth absolutely stank of my wife's shit and was smeared by her skid marks, I took hold of it at one corner as Libby washed her hands at the sink. I watched as she dried her them then she adjusted her panty lines around her bum, her knickers seeming to be riding up from when she pulled them up after finishing on the toilet.

"When you go to the supermarket Jeff, I need more sanitary pads for later this week," said Libby. "Make sure you add them to the list. You know what brand I use."

"Sure sweetie, did you need regular sanitary pads or overnight ones?" I queried.

Libby glared at me. "Isn't it obvious, Jeff? I asked you to buy sanitary pads. If I had wanted you to buy me overnight period pads, I would have asked you to buy me overnight sanitary pads, wouldn't I? It seems pretty fucking obvious to me that I need regular period pads."

"Sorry Libby, I'll get you some regular pads," I said. "How about tampons? Do you need some more tampons?"

More glaring from Libby. "If I needed tampons, I would have asked you for tampons, wouldn't I? Jesus Jeff, what is it with the fucking stupid questions you're asking me? And this after literally scaring the shit out of me when I was on the loo? Fuck Jeff, just keep your mouth shut and stop fucking annoying me! It would be less fucking irritating if I got fucking fiberglass up my cunt!"

"Again, sorry Libby," I called out after my foul-mouthed wife as she flounced out of the laundry and presumably back to the kitchen.

I looked at the cloth used to wash Libby's bottom when she finished on the toilet. I felt like taking the cloth in its current state around to Todd's place. If he saw and smelled what had come out of Libby's arse this morning, maybe he would keep away from her vagina from now onwards, given the close proximity to Libby's anus.

But of course I did not, and for the second time in three days I set to work cleaning something that was covered in my wife's shit. On Thursday night it had been the toilet in the ensuite, and today this washcloth. There were roses on the dirty cloth, and while roses smelled nice, this cloth sure as fuck didn't.

Cleaning away Libby's excess poop from the soft floral flannel and disinfecting it, I threw the washcloth into the washing machine, then put Libby's bras, knickers and other light colored clothes into the machine, put in some powder and set the cycle. After the laundry it would be the busy Saturday morning supermarket.

Still, it had its advantages. Libby wasn't going to be there, sometimes we did go grocery shopping together but this was infrequent. And if I timed my shopping run right, I would meet a certain young lady and her two fathers who also did their own shopping at the same time ...

*

My luck was in this morning. I was in the supermarket aisle which most guys try to avoid, the one where the feminine hygiene products were kept when around the corner came Brad and Will pushing a shopping trolley, Montana beside them. And there was an added bonus. Accompanying the fathers and their daughter was the daughter's best friend, pretty redhead Bailey.

Like Montana, Bailey was a theater kid at school and the two BFF's shared the same taste in retro clothes. Today Montana was still dressed in her cute knee-length denim overalls, white tee-shirt and sneakers and socks, while Bailey had donned a polo-neck shirt, cargo pants and sneakers. Seeing a hot teenage girl wearing cargo pants took me back to the late 1990s, and to my delight as Bailey turned around as we all said hello to get some tissues, her cargo pants had a visible panty line. I obviously couldn't see what color Bailey's knickers were, but from the shape they were the same bikini brief panties favored by her BFF and by coincidence, my wife.

We all said our hellos and were talking about the weather and the like, and I remembered that I had better get Libby her period pads before I forgot. The brand of napkins she wanted was right there on the shelf next to me so I reached across to pick up a packet, and experienced the most awkward moment possible as Montana reached up at the exact second and put her hand on the same packet of sanitary napkins.

Montana and I looked at each other, with Bailey, Brad and Will looking on with amused expressions, and I pulled my hand back and fast. This would have been embarrassing enough had it happened with some random girl, but this was my secret crush young enough to be my daughter, right in front of her fathers and her BFF.

Immediately I blushed, and then began babbling. "Sorry Montana, you go ahead, I'll get another packet for me. No not for me, I'm a guy, I don't need them. They're for my wife, my wife Libby Larson, you know Libby my wife, the one with blonde hair, my wife who is a woman, the fitness lady. She needs them for next week because she's going to be menstruating."

A stern-faced looking grandmother with her two grandkids came into the aisle, and was clearly concerned about a middle-aged man standing next to the feminine hygiene products babbling to two teenage girls and two gay men about his wife's menstrual cycle. She took the two kids by the arm and led them away from the crazy man.

Montana seemed amused as she took the packet of pads and placed it in the trolley. "Thanks Jeff, I think I already worked out they were for your wife not you. Like these ones, definitely for me, not my two fathers."

Will laughed and said, "Yes, next week is the week that Brad and I are walking on eggshells all week trying to prevent Little Miss Montana's hormones getting overworked."

"Will, make sure you get our daughter plenty of chocolate from the confectionary aisle," Brad joked.

"I'm not that bad am I?" Montana laughed in response, as Bailey reached over and also took a packet of sanitary pads, a different brand to the ones Montana was buying and the ones I was getting for Libby, placing the napkins in the basket she carried.

"Well, it's double trouble when I'm over next week," Bailey quipped. "Our cycles are synchronized, remember? It often happens with friends."

"I guess neighbors too, if you count my wife," I said.

"Bailey and I have always gotten it at the same time," said Montana.

"We're kind of like sisters like that," agreed Bailey. "My brothers don't understand, nor does my Dad and Mum is one of the lucky ones who's never had any female problems. All they know is that next week their sister and daughter will be replaced by some angry redhead who eats chocolate like it's going out of fashion, snaps their heads off if they look at her the wrong way and cries over sad girly movies."

Bailey's sister's comments was quite accurate for her and Montana's friendship. With Montana an only child and Bailey having three brothers -- one older, one twin, and the other younger -- the girls had sort of become the sister each never had to the other.

Bailey laughed once more. "My Dad and three brothers still act like I've got TB, rabies or leprosy when I've got girls' problems."

With all this talk about periods, I had ironically forgotten the thing I came into this aisle to buy, and that was period pads for Libby. "I'd better not forget these," I said, picking up a packet and putting them into my trolley with a laugh. "Libby isn't very forgiving when she gets PMS."

Probably I shouldn't have been talking about my wife's periods, but if one looked at Libby Larson online vlogs and blogs, there were several giving tips to women and girls advice about how to get motivated to exercise and beat sweet cravings when menstruating. Libby talked about and described her periods in some detail in these, so I guess me talking about this to two gay men and two teenage girls didn't seem so bad. After all they, could just click on her website and watch them for themselves. The only thing my wife seemed to omit from these videos was one of her favorite strategies for dealing with her hormone imbalances when pre-menstrual -- shouting at her husband.

I thought back on the morning's events and laughed. "Plus, I'm already in the dog house with my wife today. I managed to trip over a clothes hamper in the laundry when Libby was in the toilet, and scared her half to death. She wasn't very happy."

Will laughed. "Brad and I can empathize with that. One day last month we were moving a small cabinet upstairs, and it fell over with a massive crash. The cat freaks and runs off in one direction growling and hissing, but worse still we dropped it right outside the upstairs loo, and behind the door there's Little Miss Montana sitting on the toilet having a poo-poo. She wasn't too impressed with us when she came out, believe me."

"Can you blame me?" Montana laughed. "I nearly jumped right off the toilet seat and hit my head on the door. Try explaining that one down at casualty if I'd gotten concussion."

"You should try growing up sharing a bathroom with three brothers," said Bailey. "They just seem to exist to annoy me whenever I go to the toilet. The seat left up, no toilet paper left for me to use, answering my phone and telling whoever called that I'm on the toilet, knocking on the toilet door either as a prank or ahead of asking me some inane question that couldn't wait five minutes. Ugh!"

"I understand Bailey," said Montana. She good-naturedly gestured to her fathers. "I think my two Dads decided to have a daughter so they would have somebody to change the toilet paper, because I'm the only one in our house who does it. Plus 18 years and they still haven't figured out that when there's a girl living in the house that putting down the toilet seat is a good idea. Like the other night I woke up in the other night and needed to go to the toilet, and I nearly sat down on it before I realized the seat had been left up."

Brad and Will feigned dismay. "What us?" Brad gasped. "Never!"

"However could one accuse one's own fathers of such terrible crimes?" Will asked, clutching his heart.

We all laughed, before wishing each other a good day and going on our way. I looked into my trolley at Libby's panty pads and was thinking about how the three packets of pads were going to have different fates. The ones I had selected would next week be adhered to Libby's knickers for her blonde pussy to bleed into, the napkins Montana had selected would be adhered to Montana's panties for her brunette pussy for her to bleed into and Bailey's pads would be adhered to her knickers to catch the blood flowing from her redhead pussy.

Not only did I think about Montana and Bailey's panties, panty pads and pussies, but I kept getting mental images of young Montana sitting on the toilet with her knickers around her ankles and nearly jumping off the loo when her fathers dropped the cabinet outside the lavatory door. I also kept thinking about her pretty redhead BFF Bailey sitting on the toilet at her own house, her panties pulled down as her brothers knocked on the door to ask her dumb questions.

The kinky mental images of two attractive teenage girls on the loo weren't exactly unpleasant, and I was in the fresh fruit and vegetable section when I realized that I was developing an erection. And I was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, no jumper or jacket to cover my embarrassment. Shit! Hastily, I stood behind the melons my groin pressed up against the display, just as the grumpy grandmother from earlier came around the corner.

She scowled as she looked at my odd body posture and somewhat guilty expression on my blushing face. "Hi!" I blurted out, giving her a wave.

The old woman scowled at me and went on her way without a word, grumbling and mumbling as she did so. I think her opinion of me as being some sort of weirdo and pervert did not change!

*

Had the grouchy woman from the supermarket known how I was planning to spend my Saturday evening, she would probably have been justified in her assessment of me. I watched as Brad and Will left with their daughter and Bailey in tow, going to the improvisation comedy night where Brad and Will performed. While I had been to the comedy show and liked it not least because Montana was usually there, I wasn't going there to spend time with my crush young enough to be my daughter.

So what were my plans for Saturday night? Stalking my wife of course. I had become pretty good at stalking Libby in recent times, and knew very well that what she said she was doing on Saturday night -- a quiet girls' night with two of her cousins - was not what she was doing in reality.

It was hardly a girls' night, as only one person attending -- Libby herself -- had a vagina. The other attendee -- Todd -- did not have a vagina, unless he had had a full sex change as day surgery today.

Setting up my alibi for tonight had started earlier in the week. I had said I was going to see a movie on Saturday night. Of course I was not going to see the movie, what I was going to observe would only feature in a movie that could never be shown in a mainstream cinema. However, I had to know what the movie was about in case Libby asked me about it so on Tuesday I had secretly driven some distance to Oakleigh and watched the 9.45 morning session with some pensioners and some very strange man who slept through most of the film.