Cheating Pool Table Slut

*** Disclaimer ***

This is a FICTIONAL cuckold/cheating/voyeur themed story. If this might offend your delicate puritan sensibilities, then I advise to not read further. If you choose to and it reminds you of your own failings as a husband/boyfriend, keep that in mind before you're compelled to bombard me with poorly compiled illiterate "We don't tolerate your kind around here..." hate mail.

And for anyone demanding that I "stop writing stories", my response to you is: No :-)

***

When I started dating my wife, Alexandra ("Alex" to her friends and family), I knew she was going to pull me out of my comfort zone in more ways than one. She was an athletic girl. One of those gym rats who would go for a morning run (even in the bleakest winter days), hit the gym after work, and attend a weekly social sports league (sometimes dodgeball, sometimes volleyball, and sometimes softball-- it always rotated).

She was a tomboy at her core, having grown up with three older brothers, she played a lot of sports, wore minimal makeup, and could crack vulgar jokes and curse like a sailor when the mood struck. She could throw down beers at the bar after her games, bond over cars, and immediately call out her friends on their petty personal drama. She wasn't a passive-aggressive girl. If someone acted pouty around her, it was usually met with a "What's your problem?"

I was very different. I always thought I was in good shape until I met her. One of our first dates involved a rugged hike up a mountainous trail. I was huffing and puffing after only a hundred yards, while she was practically jogging in place, urging me on with comments like "Get tough, pussy." (She never meant it in a mean way, and we both clicked for sure with our sense of humor.)

I ate poorly, whereas she counted carbs and fat. I gave little thought to my appearance-- dressing in basic jeans or khakis and a t-shirt, whereas (despite her upbringing) she knew how to dress herself. And I don't begrudge her that. She worked hard on her body, and she knew how to package and present it well. She was tall, 5'9", and hard and fit. She wasn't the bustiest girl-- sporting a pair of B-cups-- but boy were they perky, and when it was warm out, her nipples were puffy and pink. She had a flat tummy, complimented by a naval piercing, a firm round ass (an asset that she was known for and often spoken of), and long smooth legs with just the slightest hints of muscle definition.

I had drinking buddies who used to argue over which actress she most closely resembled. It was narrowed down between Hilary Swank and Jennifer Garner. I could see the resemblance to both. She had straight brown hair that was usually swept to the side and often covered one of her brown eyes. Her mouth was her dominant feature. It was complimented by perfect white teeth and big dimples.

Alex was also a very social girl. I was a bit of a loner-- monogamous to my comfort zones. Most of her activities involved other people-- drinking, parties, shenanigans, and discovering new places. The types of simple things that most people shied away from-- organizing get-togethers, Captaining sports teams, and asking bosses for raises, were the sorts of things that she didn't hesitate to do.

I'd like to say we were an odd couple, with my shy personality, but the truth was that I was pretty malleable, I was never bored, and she got me to come out of my shell and try new things. She was going to do them anyway... I was just the guy that she wanted to bring along for the ride.

She was also different from me in another way. She willingly volunteered that she was "promiscuous" in her younger days. Her early twenties she had amassed a collection of lovers... one night stands and long term boyfriends, alike. Almost all of them ended abruptly, and I used to speculate as to why...

...until about a year ago...

She had purchased a brand new car, and the attractive salesman (one of those meat head jock douche bags who only wanted to put notches on his belt) had played a pretty expert seduction game with her. I want to say that Alex fell for it, but she's not a moron. She knew what was happening from the start. She let herself be wooed.

I had done my own investigation in private, learning of the exchanges of text messages and belittling jabs that this guy took at me. And finally, after a night of sleuthing, I'd caught them fucking like rabbits in his car. Well... not so much caught as secretly saw. I never confronted Alex about it.

As a guy who's been cheated on in the past, I have to say that this was literally my worst nightmare-- here I finally had a great girl who checked all of the boxes in what I was looking for in another person-- smart, sexy, practical, sense of humor that perfectly matched mine, tough, independent, dominant Alpha-female type. And now she went behind my back and behaved like a common slut.

But I'd also be lying if a shameful part of me wasn't so incredibly turned on. It had been the most intense night of my life. Feelings of dread, rage, jealousy, humiliation, and my own personal insecurities had grown into a monster, and it's name was arousal. I was actually aroused by what she was doing. Was I devastated? Yes! But was I just fucked up enough to stay with her? You bet! I'm an introspective person, and deep down, a guilty part of me rather enjoyed the abuse as much as I hated it.

I looked the other way on the whole night, and our relationship continued as usual. She played it off as though it never happened. I knew better. But I was also hyper vigilant, and was aware that it had been a one time thing with this guy. She had no interest in him long-term. She had been turned on by the thrill. So had I for that matter.

It stayed with me for a long time. She hadn't cheated since. But that was about to change. It was going to happen again. I wasn't sure if I'd feel differently if I caught her in the act again. Would I be more hurt? More into it?

The answer is... I felt exactly the same as before... completely destroyed, and more turned on than ever before. My emotions were at their most raw and primitive. It was like a drug, and I was hooked...

***

It was that time of year again. The time when we'd receive half a dozen invitations to half a dozen different Superbowl parties being hosted by our assortment of friends. When it comes to football, I'm was capable of watching it, understanding it, enjoying the game, but otherwise I'm relatively indifferent on the outcome. Alex was about the same. For us, the excitement was in the party itself, not watching the game. I was in it for the food and booze. She was in it for the friends, company, and conversation.

Our friend Don was the first one to invite us to a party, so his was the one that we picked. He was a pretty quiet mild-mannered guy, but he was a one of those consistent faces at every social sports league that Alex participated in. Sort of the social center of everyone, without having to be loud or boisterous. The "Mayor" of dodgeball. For that reason, he had tons of friends who we never met, and the majority of get-togethers hosted by him were comprised of strangers. Fine with Alex, she didn't mind meeting new people.

He was also one of those perpetual bachelors, so he certainly had the house for hosting parties: massive entertainment center, leather couches, a fully stocked wet-bar, beer pong in the garage, a finished basement with a pool table. He always had a ton of food and booze.

Tonight's party was what we expected. It was a decent turn-out. Alex and I arrived with a bottle of wine-- one of those inexpensive jumbo bottles meant for quantity over quality. "We brought a bottle of Chateau de Cheapo," I grinned at Don when he greeted us.

"I feel like that's not the first time I've heard that joke," Don said as he shook my hand.

"Yeah, it gets old," Alex chimed in, grinning widely. "But he's cute, so I'll keep him."

"What the hell?" I asked, letting my voice raise to a comically high pitch.

Settling into the party, I was at ease to see a few familiar faces. Sara and Andy I knew from dodgeball. Alex greeted each of them with a hug. "Well well, don't you look amazing?" Sara said, then grinned. "You look okay too, Alex." She teased.

This earned a blush from me. "I'm not sure how to respond to that," I admitted.

We made the rounds greeting the handful of familiar faces, but the majority of them were either passing acquaintances, or total strangers. True to the dodgeball league, the majority of them were younger than us. Both Alex and I were in our late twenties, though she was about three years older than me. Many of the heavy drinkers and enthusiastic party-goers were 22 to 25.

Despite the age difference, Alex still turned a few heads. She didn't dress slutty, she dressed classy. Tonight she had on a pair of nice dark jeans that hugged the curve of her hips and butt. A black top. It was breezy and playful, not figure-hugging, but not frumpy either. And a pair of black healed boots gave her a boost of height until her head was almost even with mine. She kept her hair down tonight, and a long sweeping bang occasionally fell across half of her face.

Like I said, not showy, but she looked good.

Her boots clacked their way around the party as we helped ourselves to food and various dips. I found the beer collection and clung to it heavily-- since this was definitely not my scene. I was never at home in parties in the first place, but especially ones where I barely knew anyone. A beer in my hand rapidly became my comfort blanket.

Playing the role of good host, Don kept tabs on us. "Did you guys see the finished basement?" He asked.

"Finished?" Alex asked.

"Well getting there," he admitted. He explained how he still needed to finish the ceiling tiles and lighting.

Of course, this had Alex's attention. Lately she had gotten on this HGTV kick. Apparently this is a woman thing, and I assume it's less about the home renovation and improvement aspect, and more about the male-model pretty boy contractors who swing sledge hammers for the camera. I knew she had a thing for the "Property Brothers" and would often fuck my brains out after an episode. Hey, whatever worked, right?

But the dangerous elements of such shows is that they present a major six-month renovation in the condensed time span of an hour, and women start to think that ripping down walls is easy. As it turns out, Alex is quite handy, and (with the powers of youtube) taught herself construction. In the last several months, she tackled the bathroom, the back bedroom, and the upstairs landing of our house. Between her attention to detail and her obsessive type-A personality, each project only took about a week... thank god. Because I am neither handy, nor do I enjoy stepping over tools and watching clouds of dust roll through our home and coat all of our possessions. During such projects, she would get home from work and throw all of her time, energy, and attention into the project while I kept us fed and stayed out of the way.

Those were times when she would get 'tunnel vision'-- so focused on what she was doing, she would completely tune out and ignore what was going on around her... including me. I've only seen her get that way a few other times... usually when she's drinking...

Lately, her home renovation addiction had cooled off... for now.

"If you need help finishing," Alex said, sipping her beer, "I'd be glad to assist."

"Yes! Please god yes!" I nearly begged. Delighted that for once she'd be making a mess of someone else's house.

"Plus I look damn good in a tool belt," She added with a laugh.

I shook my head. "Miss Modesty."

Don took us downstairs, and I must say, the rec room was pretty impressive. Despite the half finished space, the room was well lit and pleasant. A couple of couches and an entertainment center stood off to one side, the football game was on down here as well. A back-lit wall of alcohol bottles on display lined another wall, as well as a small counter and a row of bar stools. The center of the room was dominated by a pool table. There were a few guys drinking and bantering over the game that had just concluded. There was a lot of shit-talking on the part of the winners. The guys who lost the game made for the basement stairs with their tails between their legs. Nobody was paying much attention to the Superbowl on TV.

I realized that I immediately liked this area better than the upstairs. It wasn't nearly as crowded, so my social anxiety wasn't through the roof. "Guys, this is Alex and Sean," Don introduced us to the pair of guy-friends.

They were young muscular type guys, probably not even a day over 22. They gave us a disinterested nod-- at the age where they were more enthralled by a meaningless game than social interactions. But that doesn't mean I didn't notice their eyes as they assessed my girlfriend. She was the only woman in a roomful of competing men, so maybe they thought a quick evaluation didn't hurt. And aside from her good looks, (as one of my friends once told me) Alex looks like a girl who'd be wild in bed-- acrobatic, aggressive, and rough. I took it as a compliment.

Alex also caught sight of these guys-- particularly how spry and fit they were. "Your new recruits for dodgeball?" She asked.

Don merely shrugged, being coy.

"Well in that case, I might have to head hunt a few. God knows Sean brings nothing to the table," she commented. I wasn't offended. Alex captained her team, and one of her biggest challenges was to find subs to fill in when teammates inevitably called out at the last minute. I've filled in on occasion, but I'm terrible. Can't throw, not very athletic, and not especially coordinated. Like parties, I'm in it more for the food and drink.

The guys overheard and chimed in from the table, following Alex's sarcastic quip. "Oooooh! Burn!" One of them remarked.

"I like her. She's fiesty," said the other.

"You guys want to play?" One of them asked, chalking up his pool cue.

"That's Justin and Mike," Don said. "You don't have to humor them if you don't want to."

Mike and Justin were typical 'bro' types. They were both muscular gym rats. Justin was taller but Mike was better looking. The former was one of those guys who was naturally tan all year round. His face wasn't much to look at. He had a narrow head, like a track runner, and a long crooked Owen Wilson nose. But he had perfect white teeth-- a feature that Alex definitely notices and appreciates. Dirty blonde hair that was spiked, and big muscles with a visible vein jagging its way down his bicep. He was wearing a polo shirt-- the kind of pale pink color that makes you want to just punch him.

Mike was shorter and a little stockier. But he had a broad chest, five-o-clock shadow, and dark curly hair. He wore a perpetual shit eating grin on his face, a black t-shirt that was a size too small-- clearly meant to display his chest, and baggy white gym shorts. One of those guys who'd wear shorts even in the dead of winter, and nobody believes him when he insists that he's not cold.

I don't like to judge a book by its cover, but these were the kind of guys that I'd ordinarily want nothing to do with. Unfortunately, men like this tended to gravitate to Alex, with her fit body, movie-star good looks, and unfiltered guy-type boldness and sense of humor. And she liked men who worked out. I guess what woman doesn't?

They also reminded me of someone-- that same meat head car salesman asshole who talked her out of her panties... The thought of him, alone, working his 'game' and seducing my girlfriend both made my blood boil and my cock spring to life.

I had to think about something else, before I risked an embarrassing bulge waking up in the middle of this party.

"I'm always up for a game," Alex said, inspecting the rack of pool cues on the wall.

And they inspected her, being much less discreet now that her back was turned to them. They could see the way that her jeans hugged the delicious round globes of her ass cheeks. She reached up and her shirt rode up just a tiny bit, giving us a peek at skin. I began to feel a familiar pang in my gut, knowing they were looking.

It was a pang of jealousy... combined with something worse. The guilty little feeling that I sort of enjoyed the fact that these douche bags were appreciating my girlfriend's body.

Don couldn't stay down there with us. He had a party to attend, but asked us to help ourselves to his liquor collection, and there were more beers in the mini fridge behind the bar. Then it was just the four of us.

"So what are the stakes?" Alex asked, selecting her stick and rolling it across the flat felt surface, to check for imperfections. I watched her long slender fingers rolling the stick back and forth, and I knew I wasn't the only one. There was something vaguely sexual about it.

"Well we weren't really playing for money," The guys responded. "Mostly just to get shit-faced. But I'm sure we can always spice things up if the game gets boring."

Now would probably be a good time to point out that Alex is very competitive. When it comes to watching sports, Alex couldn't care less. But when it comes to participating in them, it's a whole other story. Even board games can bring out her sense of competition. We once played a game of Clue during her nephew's birthday party, and she took to reading everyone's tells, to figure out what cards they were holding (I have an honest face, so I was definitely easy to pick apart). She hates games that she's not good at-- mini-golf, bowling, etc. She fights the battles that she knows she can win. And having grown up with a pool table in her house, and three brothers who are equally as competitive, she figured this would be an easy victory... even if she would be single-handedly carrying our team. And she would... because (in case you haven't figured by now) the only thing I suck at worse than social interactions, are games.

So naturally, I was feeling pulled out of my element, having been volunteered to help back up my girlfriend in a casual game with strangers. And these guys looked like they knew how to do a couple of things-- push her buttons, and relentlessly test the limits of flirting with an attractive girl. These were competitive guys, and as I would soon find out, a boyfriend is merely a foe to be beaten, and a hot woman is a victory to be achieved.

But I didn't know where this was going at first. We were all still mostly sober, so I assumed it would be like any other party. We'd play for a while, until more people would come downstairs and join us, hopefully lose, and let the newcomers play winners so we could finally step away. That was the usual formula.

Tonight was going to be horribly different.

"Teams?" Justin cocked his eyebrow.

"Sean and I versus the two of you," Alex said, as though it was obvious.

"Okay," Justin said in a 'suit yourself' tone of voice. His eyes looked me up and down. "I just wanted to offer to keep things fair." He teased, although I was the one coming away feeling slightly emasculated.

"Don't be a dick," Alex fired back with an easy smile. "Sean might not be the best, but every once in a while he hits a weird winning streak where he makes every shot."

I blushed. "Usually it happens after I tell everyone how much I suck," I admit.

"And the more I drink, the better I get, darlin'," Alex said, throwing back her beer and handing me the empty bottle. "Alex needs another one, Sean," she winked at me.

"Sure thing," I hurried over to the bar.

Mike grinned a broad shit-eating grin. "Do you really get better? Or do just black out and forget how bad you got beat?"