Husbands Always Want to Know

Husbands always want to know "the details" from their cheating wives. When did it happen? Who was he? What was she wearing? What was she thinking? On and on the questions swirl in the mind of the poor husband, tormenting him. Paul is a typical husband and he wanted to know and so here are the details, all of them.

Let's begin by describing your wife, Monique. She a 30-something professional about 5.6, weighing in at 124lbs on the morning she first cheated (she stepped on the scale in the bathroom while you scratched about in the back of the kitchen cupboard for the coffee filters). Her hair is brown with copper highlights cut into a bob. There is a certain darkness to her eyes that gives her a look of intensity although when she smiles her face illuminates and draws you in. She winds and contorts her body into yoga poses in her home study most mornings and visits the yoga studio a few times a week. She toys with Buddhism and meditation but never really commits to either. You don't see it but she's restless after seven years of marriage.

When you finally reached the coffee filters lodged at the back of the cupboard, swearing under your breath, Monique sensed your irritation wafting up through the house and she shrank back into her skin a little. It had become so familiar, your irritation and her feeling boxed in. When she stepped off the scale your wife looked anxiously at herself in the mirror. She tried to see herself through other's eyes, specifically through the eyes of one particular man. She felt a tightening in her stomach as she remembered the way he'd looked at her the day before as if she were something to be plucked, sucked on and spat out. It was a look that almost demolished her. Her nervousness spread from her stomach to her hands which shook a little as she squeezed a strip of toothpaste onto her brush. She bared her teeth to the mirror and while she rhythmically brushed she replayed in her mind the story of her new situation.

Do you want to know what her thoughts were, Paul? Of course you do.

You've met her lover (yes, your wife's lover) at one of those work parties you attend under protest. This was before they were lovers of course. You shook his hand. He introduced himself as Blake. Yes, he's the one, Paul. Now you know. The story of Monique and Blake begins after work one dark late winter evening in a bar in town. Monique and a couple of girlfriends are having a drink. Denise, who is single, is dating a friend of Blake's and says:

"So, the guys are sitting around and someone, James I think, asks who in the office would you fuck? And they choose the predictable ones, you know, Natalie of course, and Angie. They have no imagination these guys; it's all big tits and young girls."

All the women laughed in agreement. Monique wasn't paying much attention really. In fact, Paul, she was thinking that she needed to get home and was regretting staying for another drink. So much rests on such small decisions. If she'd left the bar earlier perhaps nothing would have happened. But she leaned in with the others as Denise, in almost a whisper says, staring directly at your wife:

"But Blake apparently said that he would love to fuck you."

You would have recognized the flush of red that instantly appeared at Monique's throat. She was surprised but secretly pleased, feeling once again the schoolyard thrill of being named the object of a boy's interest. She thought of Blake as arrogant and standoffish and as far as she could recall he had hardly ever said anything to her. She left the bar soon afterwards.

That could have been the end of it but a second piece of bad luck (for you) was that the next day at work while Monique was standing at the printer Blake appeared at her side. When she saw who it was she blushed and stammered a greeting. He smiled and made a small joke. Your wife noticed his hands as he reached for the papers. They were big and looked strong. Her eyes travelled up and rested on the twist of defined muscles on his forearm. She snatched her eyes away and turned, suddenly panicked by her brazenness. She found herself facing the coffee machine and imagined his eyes examining her. Then Blake spoke to your wife:

"The coffee here is crap. I usually go down Main Street to the coffee shop. You should try it."

"Which one is that?" she replied, turning to face him.

"I'll show you if you like," he said casually.

"No it's okay," she said quickly, "I'll find it."

"I'm usually there about three. Maybe I'll see you there."

With that he left your wife, her knees a little weak and her heart pounding. It took several days before she took the afternoon walk down Main Street. Do you remember the evening you came home late and Monique was lying on the couch with the television on low? It was then that she finally decided she would meet Blake. She debated with herself but she was finally convinced by the argument that it was only coffee and there was no reason why she shouldn't meet someone for coffee. Besides, Blake would probably not be there and this was all a lot of fuss about nothing. But she also knew she wouldn't tell you about it, that she would keep her trip to the coffee shop a secret. This was her first betrayal of you.

Blake smiled his broad smile when she pushed her head around the door of the coffee shop and he summoned her over with a lavish wave. He was a few years younger than your wife but his height and confidence gave Monique the sense that she was the inexperienced one. She ordered her coffee and settled in on the hard chair opposite him. I will give you just a few snippets of the conversation to satisfy your morbid curiosity.

"So, you're married I hear," Blake says leaning back as if to take all of her in.

"Yes, I am."

"How's that then?

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"No, great, it's really great."

"Glad to hear it," he said, betraying a tone of doubt. He held her eyes and until she looked down.

"It's okay," he said, "marriages go through rough patches. At least that's what they tell me. And your husband is a very lucky guy to have such a sexy wife."

"Don't be silly," Monique whispered.

"I'm serious. You're smart and hugely sexy."

It went on like this for nearly an hour. When they left together he held the door open for you wife and as she passed through his hand lightly touched the small of her back. This was the first time he touched your wife.

They met again the next day and the following day. The following exchange took place at about four pm on Thursday while you were on the phone to Bill arranging a poker evening.

Blake leaned across the table, pushing aside her coffee cup. "The office will empty tomorrow afternoon," he said. "We could talk there."

"Blake, I'm married. We can't."

"We don't have to do anything. I just want to be alone with you. Away from all these people." He reached out and took your wife's hand. She told herself she felt alive for the first time in years, frightened but alive. She left her hand in his, resting her skin against his.

"I've imagined you so often," he continued. "Sexually I mean. You don't mind that?"

"No," your wife replied. She paused, the red blush spreading at her throat. "How have you imagined me?"

"I'm a guy," Blake laughed, "it's pretty much x-rated."

"I like that you've imagined me," Monique replied.

"Does it excite you?"

"Yes."

"Even the x-rated stuff?"

Your wife smiled. "Especially the x-rated stuff."

"We could make it real."

"I'm married."

"He'll never know. Live for once, it's your life."

Your wife didn't promise anything but her mind was made up. She told herself there was no harm in meeting a colleague in his office but she knew she was lying to herself.

The night before while you thought she was asleep when you came to bed her eyes were closed and her mind was racing. She left her back to you, unable to face you, not trusting that she could speak even. And so we come again to the morning of the day when she cheated.

Paul, your wife is standing naked in your bedroom in front of her panties drawer. There's still time perhaps. If you rushed up now and folded her into your arms and said how much you loved her you could rescue the situation. But no, you're pouring yourself coffee, not even pouring one for your wife as you did when you first got married. You're more intent on the morning news squeaking out of the radio than on hearing your wife's voice. Right now she is selecting the dark blue see-thru thong panties and matching bra you bought her last year for Valentine's Day. Yes, Paul, she took your gift and displayed herself in it for another man. It didn't even cross her mind that it was a gift from you. She only cares how she will look for him. She can't stop imagining what he has imagined about her. The dirtier her imaginings the more alive she feels. She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on a pair of thigh-hi stocking. She likes the way they bite a little into her flesh. You hear her walking about upstairs while you drain your morning coffee. She's strutting in front of the full-length mirror, looking at herself and he would look at her.

When she comes down the stairs she's wearing the woolen dress that hugs her ass and a tight-fitting green top that accentuates her breasts. You look up from your breakfast bowl and compliment her and she smiles vaguely, not catching your eye.

God, you notice nothing, Paul. Here is your last chance, say something. No, you go back to your breakfast and she leaves quietly, your wife about to become another guy's piece of pussy.

You are in the Friday sales meeting when Monique knocks on Blake's office door. She's felt lightheaded all day and only now does her nervousness and doubt creep back in. She could turn away but Blake's soft voice draws her in. She closes the door behind her and they listen to the gathering silence as the other offices empty early on a Friday afternoon.

"I shouldn't be doing this," your wife says softly, her voice barely reaching across the room. She leans back against the door looking at him sitting on the edge of his desk. "I'm married. This is crazy."

"But you want this, I can see how badly you want it," he says.

"I love my husband."

"Maybe, but this isn't to do with love."

"What is it then?" Monique asks.

"Come here," he whispers reaching out his hand.

Your wife takes his hand allows herself to be pulled towards him. She looks up at him, his mouth poised above hers. Monique's lips part, opening herself to him and he gently, softly kisses her. This is the first time she's kissed another man since you meet her eight years ago. She accepts his tongue in her mouth, her hand on his neck. His hands are on your wife's hips, the tips of his fingers beneath the fabric of her top seeking her skin. She explores his mouth with her tongue, their teeth clash. She feels one hand on her breast and the other now reaching into the top of her skirt his fingers skimming the flesh of her ass.

He pulls her closer, their mouths separate, and he unzips her skirt which falls in a pile at her feet. He pushes her away so he can see her. Monique stands there exposed in her panties, her breath catching in her throat as she submits to his engulfing gaze. Blake tells her to take off her top which does obediently no longer able to resist his eyes, his hands, his command of her. Your wife now stands in front of him like a common whore. She sinks to her knees no longer able to withstand his gaze and crawls across the office carpet until she reaches up and unzips his pants. She can smell his cock as she scoops him out and holds his stiffness her palm. She looks up, her brown/green eyes submissive, and tentatively, softly wraps her lips around the head of his cock, her tongue tasting him.

When his cock reached the back of her throat you had left the meeting and you were preparing to leave work, shrugging your coat onto your shoulders while your thoughts bounced from one small matter to the next. Your wife had a mouthful of cock while you pondered some trivial domestic matter. Her nervousness has disappeared and now she's eager to please him. Her mind has shrunk to a single dimension of sexuality.

He pulls her up and roughly twists her around, bending her over his desk. He pulls her panties aside exposing her ass and cunt. His fingers quickly find her wet, eager fuckhole. Your wife lets out a gasp of painful pleasure. You are entering the subway stairs when his engorged cock first penetrates the folds of your wife's pussy. You looked up at the sky and wondered whether it rain later, an ordinary thought at an extraordinary moment. Your wife's cheek is pressed against the varnish of the desktop as Blake thrusts hard into her, pressing her clit against the hard edge of the desk. Low moans now escape her throat as her belly hardens and she flies towards a quick orgasm. The bruises she will hide from you are already forming on her hips beneath his fingers. Her back arches, her head raises and her mouth opens and for a moment she is completely still and then wave after wave of pleasure passes through her body.

For a moment everything is still before Blake resumes fucking her more urgently now seeking his own satisfaction. He thrusts into your wife's pussy using her until she feels the gush of warm cum spray inside her. He steps back and Monique stands, turns and falls once again to her knees and takes his cum covered cock into her mouth. She sucks him until he hardens again and orgasms, a dribble of cum falling from her chin onto her tight-fitting top. Later you will notice this stain but think nothing of it.

Afterwards they both lay in the carpet of the office, your wife cradled in his arms while she looked at the world from her unfamiliar angle. She felt her entire world had taken on the upside down appearance of the office. She had not felt so much herself for years, suddenly separated from the 'we' of her marriage (to you Paul) and her own person again. She hated the thought of going home and pretending to be a good wife.

Blake playfully snapped the elastic of her panties. "Next time we'll have to take these off," he said.

"Yes," Monique says, already knowing there will be a next time.

So there it is Paul, all the details. You wanted to know and so you can only blame yourself.