Inferidelity Ch. 02

This started after the first incident.

My wife and I made rabid, devouring love with one another every night, sometimes twice in a day, for weeks. For two working parents with a kid, that's an impressive feat. The mind games she played with me took a truly devious mind to conceptualize. Perhaps you'd have to be inside my head at that point in our marriage to know what I knew....but, for the record, I never once took her seriously. My wife was the type of person who was a resident assistant in her college dorm, the permanent designated driver, and our neighborhood HOA president. But, she was always, always, a closeted pervert. And her favorite hobby in life was trying to get a rise out of me. This was merely her true self, coming to life.

One night, I caught her on her tablet reading about raising a "Desi" baby as a white mother. Another night I caught her rubbing a dirty men's sock against her pussy. She made a show of nervously hiding it from me, and she claimed it was Patel's...(it wasn't, Patel didn't wear a cheap pair of Fruit of the Loom rubbed rather lazily in the dirt in our backyard). Another time, she left a list in plain sight on our kitchen counter, a "pros" and "cons" list of whether she should leave me. "Pros" were Patel's money, obedient nature, and his 'horse' cock. "Cons" included our daughter "having one of her Christmases with poor people."

Like I said, she was creative.

Buying into the fantasy certainly did fuel our passions. Somehow putting all that at risk, while living a life where we practically had no risks, made us animals. On some level, we felt alive again. I don't know if that was "good" or "bad."

But on a deeper level, I was suppressing strong feelings of territorial jealousy and anger. I know that the conversation we had the morning after that tenuous night was at least party sincere on her part. She certainly didn't love him, but she was dealing with some kind of primordial bonding they shared. But I also knew this was a test to see how much abuse I could take. Like I said, I was the "Gary Cooper" big silent type...it's what she loved the most about me.

Behind that strong-silent-type veneer laid some deeply inconvenient emotions. Sometimes she would be washing dishes, or enjoying a drink on our patio, and I would have the overwhelming urge to grab her by the hair and slap the shit out of her. Never once in my life had I ever thought of hitting a woman until a particular moment came to being: when I was walking away and saw Patel jam his cum-covered cock back inside her.

There was some subliminal moment, a wayward glance at her reaction, where I knew she belonged to him. I still didn't know what occured after I left her with him. Maybe she pushed him away and got dressed. Maybe he came in her ten times. None of that phased me. The image that had me fantasizing about knuckle-dragging violence was much more mundane. I envisioned her, kissing Patel, while he was inside her and they were completely alone in the dark, with a certain glint in her eyes. It was the look she sometimes gave me that made me feel wanted. If she gave that to him, which was a state that she seemed to be moving towards when she closed her eyes and let him back inside her without a full throated protest, then I was truly betrayed that night.

But, I walked away. And it was probably the right move.

When her period came, she was visibly let down. I knew her disappointment didn't lay in not being pregnant, but rather that the game was no longer afoot. In bed one night, she was laying against my shoulder, contemplating.

"You know it was all a goof, right? I was just having fun..." she said, looking up at me devilishly.

I didn't say anything in response. I knew my silence just made her more titillated.

"I hope this doesn't mean we go back to normal..." she purred, as she started groping me.

"Did you stop texting him?" I asked nonchalantly.

She was quiet, "Is it time to put this whole thing away...?"

"Mmmhmm."

She writhed a little, "OK, fine. I won't toy with him anymore."

We made small talk and eventually made love. It was quiet, and heated, but on some deeper level, we felt like something was lost.

--

This started six months after the first incident.

No pregnancy, no second baby. Our morale was getting low.

Our sex life started to feel the same way it did before the incident...rather pedestrian. As before, it was sufficient, but I had a lot of passionate, carnal, rage-filled sex in my short-term memory. I tried to brainstorm ways to bring the passion back, and the fantasies always led back to one place: another man. More specifically, seeing my wife dragged out of the cocoon of our marriage into the forbidden and the strange. The disgust and the jealousy, no matter how I hid it, stemmed from having that rather unkempt, undeserving man inside my wife. I tried to find ways to invite the same intensity back into our lives without someone simply defiling her.

A dozen google searches later, I felt like I found my plan of action...

--

This was a month later.

We were in a big box warehouse store, browsing a patio furniture set. Or...something. I was so excited I barely remember. The kid was with her grandparents. My wife was jabbering on and on about something she was looking at.

"Why did you make me wear this sundress?" she suddenly asked, laughing. Her words kind of cut through a fog. "It's kind of low cut for...groceries..." I just ignored her questions, Gary Cooper style.

We walked for awhile. "You're being weird..." she noted.

She was looking at a piece of produce when my phone dinged. I looked, and saw it was time.

"Listen," I said in a hoarse, low voice, "Keep your eyes on the fruit...act like we're just talking...no matter what you do, act normal."

She gave a confused look, but followed my instructions. I grabbed the space between her ass and pussy with authority. I started rubbing into her.

"A man is going to walk up to you. He's your new husband. For two minutes."

I rubbed my index finger into her slit.

"He's a loving husband that wants to kiss his wife. If you don't do what he says, I lose $600. If you satisfy him, we get $600."

I kissed her on the back of the head with intent and then walked away. She didn't call after me or move. I turned a corner and could see the back of her head as she jostled with the produce and tried to remain calm. Her shoulders and back heaved as she breathed deeply in anticipation. I knew the chemicals in her brain were flying all over the place. I had blindsided her.

When he walked up, I recognized him from the pictures on the app. He was older, maybe early fifties, with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He wore a red polo shirt that was untucked and sloped with his uncontroversial gut. He wore tennis shoes with jeans. His pace was a little hurried, but nothing that would raise eyebrows in public. My phone started to record him on his approach. There must have been a dozen or so people hovering around the area, lazily shopping and pushing their carts.

He came up behind my wife and gently rubbed one of her exposed shoulders. She froze in place, placing a piece of fruit down. I could see his hands as she sort of moved slightly to the side. One side of her face was visible to me. In a truly brazen but calculated move, he brought his hand down to her cleavage and placed his left hand directly into the lining of the dress. He started to massage her ample breast, in front of dozens of unaware people. It was a slow, methodical kneading of her nipple, but so terribly vulgar given the setting. My arousal shot up when I watched people pass idly by, not noticing my wife being groped. He spent a good twenty seconds, arduous and long, laying into her flesh. After what seemed like a surreal eternity, a middle-aged woman noticed, and outwardly stopped and scoffed. She looked at my wife and her assailant for some kind of recognition that they were aware of how inappropriate they were, but to no avail. My wife stood stoned off her rocker with lust and shock, staring into space. The woman hurried off with her cart, visibly upset.

He took his hand out from her dress and nudged her to turn around. When their eyes met, her eyelids fluttered as she tried to engage with the emotional tidal wave. The sensuality, mixed with her discerning his features, mixed with the public, mixed with the taboo...was overwhelming her.

The kiss started slow with a pec. He established the bond, pulled back, and looked her in the eyes. The next kiss laid into her, he wrapped his hands around her waist, and started something passionate. I sat and recorded my wife as she let her reluctance melt and lost herself in a terse, deep kiss. As strange as it sounds, the kiss attracted far more attention than the blatant groping. All the strangers that surrounded their makeout session just looked on with casual curiosity, but they had a crowd. I had to tense my toes to keep my cock from growing to inconvenient lengths in my pants.

--

This was in the car, afterward.

My wife's lips were pouty and her eyes were drained. I think his final twist of her nipple as he pulled away really set her off. The looks on the faces of the more observant shoppers as we went through checkout were something to see. After an intense makeout session in the middle of the store, she was exiting with....me. Some dope who helped her unload her cart was by her side, while her new romantic tryst was nowhere to be found.

"You're fuckin crazy," was all she could mutter as we walked out the door, "All of our neighbors shop there! What if they saw me?! You're fuckin crazy."

"You're so fuckin crazy," she murmurred one more time for good measure as I slammed the car door shut,. The car was eerily silent and the air was still. I pulled out six crisp $100 dollar bills from my pocket. As I did, I saw the message on my phone through the app.

Tits like Jamie Lee Curtis...adorable, timeless face. Please tell me she'll be back in the store. Thank you for sharing.

Somehow this made me even more horny. This man was just dying to tear into her, and I held all the power.

"I think you get the gist of what the app is about..." I said, "But the money was my idea."

I counted out the bills on the center console.

"A good slut just does her job and takes her money,"

My wife furrowed her brow, "I'm not a slut."

I nodded my head, "Well, a slut wouldn't want to know about the man who just groped her, right? So..."

I set the timer on my phone.

"You can take this money, and we go home. Or, you can go back inside in three minutes..."

I traced my index finger down the center of her cleavage.

"And make $1,200 more dollars. And be his wife again..."

I pulled her face up by the chin. I could feel the heat flushing into her face as she realized what I was proposing.

"For ten....quality minutes."

I pulled away and sat back against the car door

"Fuck me," she panted, "Just fuck me."

"No," I deadpanned. I don't think she was disappointed, but instead it amped up her level of feverish arousal even more. I pointed at the money.

"Every yes or no question about him will cost you $100. When the timer goes off, you decide."

I looked at the timer and stated what it read: "Two minutes. There's no shame in being a good, efficient slut."

Her throat quivered as she gulped and focused.

"Uhhmm...does he have an STD?"

I took a bill from the stack, "I have no idea."

"A wife? Is he married?"

"Yes, thirty years together," I said.

"Does he....does he have children?"

"Yes, two," I said, and took two bills.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh my God, that's so wrong..."

I cleared my throat, "You have a husband and a child, and it didn't stop Patel's cum slimed cock from jamming itself inside you.."

She glared at me, panting, "Fuck you."

"One minute," I declared.

She was getting flustered, "Just tell me his name. Please? Just...fuck you, tell me his fucking name."

I stayed quiet.

Her head shook in anger, "Has he had a vasectomy?"

I almost laughed. Two bills remained. "No."

She rolled her eyes, "Can he put a condom on?"

"No."

"Can... what about..." she stammered, looking for what other tidbit she could use to rationalize what she was about to do. When the light clicked, and she found the question, I knew her horniness level had hit a fever pitch. She was all in.

--

She leaned on a beautiful, real-wood desk in the corner of the store, near a bunch of office supplies, and spread her legs, waiting in an odd but not inappropriate position. I perched behind a shelf and began recording. When he walked up, it was once again nonchalant. The man was a decent actor.

Using his body to cover the proceedings, he ripped her panties off, but then turned her around to face him. She wasn't prepared for that reality. I watched her facial muscles contort as she tried to suppress her conscience and let the uncontrollable lust take over. He presented his cock and exposed balls from the fly of his jeans confidently, as if he was presenting a delicate gift to her. He rubbed the head of it a handful of times on her pussy. From my recording angle, the man appeared quite adept for the job. The way he slammed his cock into her with almost no warning was so utterly unnatural. When he entered, there was no resistance. Her pussy was on fire.

The sex took off in a hurry, and they rutted hard. Her beautiful, fleshy breasts jostled as he laid into her. The skirt covered the skin-on-skin contact, and he kept his belt on. It wasn't readily apparent, from a distance, that these were two people making love. Eventually, we had our first shopper walk into the aisle. My wife was staring deeply into her new lover's eyes, but I could sense he was averting making eye contact.

The shopper came up on their coupling, and was initially very confused. She thought the man was assaulting or hurting my wife. Even once she figured out what was happening, she looked to my wife and asked: "Oh my....are you...are you ok?"

My wife, flustered and jostling as she was rammed by the strange man's cock, simply nodded yes without averting her eyes from her lover's face. The lady ran off in a huff. My wife clenched the sides of his arms as she collapsed into passion.

--

This was about two minutes later.

At this point, my wife was sweating bullets. A small crowd of onlookers were keeping their distance, their mouths agape, watching with a relative mix of horror and amusement as my wife was bred in front of them. One of her tits had popped out of it's loose home inside her bra and was bouncing with the stranger's strokes. Her eyes were closed and his hand was gripping the back of her neck. Her bangs were matted to her forehead.

She had peaked already. I don't know if she came, but she was no longer on her way to the mountaintop. Now, she was waiting, patiently, for him to finish. Like a good, considerate lover.

A man in a security uniform walked up. I'm certain he has never seen anything quite like this. I felt myself tense as the outside world had quite clearly made its way into the fantasy. He placed a hand on the pepper spray on his belt,and walked towards my wife wife and her breeder with an outstretched hand.

"Excuse me, please disperse and walk away from one another."

My wife opened her eyes and saw the circus that had surrounded them. From her expression, I could tell the novelty had worn off, and she was now a slab of beef being manhandled in front of a crowd. She was visibly cooling to the experience, but her lover intensified his work.

"Sir, please, right now, step away from the desk!" the security officer yelled.

My wife placed a compassionate hand on his chest. Still panting slightly, she said something to him. Along the lines of, "Hey, let me up," or "Let's stop."

She motioned to maneuver away from him, pushing back until his cock was ready to fall out from her sodden pussy. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the tension of living with the thought of another man's sperm inside my wife wasn't nearly worth the erotic scene I'd experienced.

I could almost see the tip of his cock exit her when he took her in a chokehold by the neck. With their noses nearly touching, he let out five or six quick humps and then grunted as he finished in her. This was the first time he had deeply locked eyes with my wife since their first kiss. The crowd let out sort of an "oooo" sound as it was apparent to all around that he had finished while violently grabbing my wife's delicate throat. A groan of pleasure escaped her lips. With a methodical, slow, action he withdrew from her, and a thin, lazy stream of cum seeped it's way out of her. The crowd looked for a moment as my wife sat sunken-shouldered, one sweaty tit revealed to the world, the stranger's gism pooling between her thighs.

My wife's lover quickly turned and scurried towards a fire exit, hastily zipping up his pants. In what could only be described as a somewhat adorable gesture, my wife reached out to him lazily, trying to get him to stay. The security officer followed after him, and I saw an opportunity to help her escape.

"Honey," I said. She looked at me in a daze, "Come on, we have to go."

I took her by the hand and rushed her away from the onlookers. "What the hell..." one man exclaimed. The emergency alarm went off as the stranger from the app tried to elude interrogation. His sperm ran down my wife's leg as she ran out of the store, sans panties.

--

This was in the parking lot across the street.

My wife was riding my dick as she looked out the back window of our car. As she rode me, I could see the lights of the police car flicker in her eyelids. I could feel the cold sperm of her lover as she writhed against my cock. I wasn't sure if I was enjoying it, but I felt the irrepressible urge to cum in her as fast as possible.

"We're ssssooo fucked up, oh my God," my wife exclaimed as her orgasm built.

--

This was three days later.

I woke up to another frantic message from the stranger.

Once again, I loved the experience, but I need her again...please...

We were sitting, having morning coffee. Our kid was fast asleep. My wife was wearing a white cotton robe that barely covered her beautiful breasts. The sunlight was soft and cast a warm spectrum of orange and red on the kitchen. She looked white as a ghost.

I asked her what was wrong.

"Just..." she said, nearly in tears, "Just tell me his name."

I leaned over and put my arm around her. I softly tickled the space behind her neck with my fingers.

"Please," she pleaded as she began to cry, "All I can see is his face. Just tell me his first name. I want his first name."

Some mix of withdrawal, regret, and indignity was swirling inside her. I really didn't know if this was part of the game. And I actually hoped it was genuine, because my jealousy was reaching the same angry levels I had felt when she ripped me apart after the Patel affair. I wanted her to hurt.

"No," I deadpanned straight to her face. When she winced and cried harder, it made me feel aroused. I moved my chair as close to her as I possibly could and took one of her pale breasts in my hand. I reached around and gripped the back of her neck, the same way her lover held her in the store.

"What will you name his baby," I whispered in her ear. I felt a teardrop land on my fondling hand and another touch it after running down her jostling breast. My hand rubbed into her neck as she continued to sob, "Your little slut baby."

"Stop," she pleaded as her red eyes winced with tears, "Stop..."

I kept massaging as I shushed her protests. "Your slut baby is trash. He wanted his cheap thrill. He wants you to kill off that slut baby before it can feed off these tits. Get rid of that trash. Get-"