Inferidelity Ch. 03 - Sleaze

The look on her face was despondent, so Dugan let the drama build a little.

"Did you use protection with these other guys?"

Quietly, with a stir behind her eyes, she slightly shook her head.

"No condom, no birth control?"

Again, the sheepish head shake, "It was just a few times..."

Dugan's voice got low and caring, like he was touching on something delicate. "Didn't you want to be careful when you cheated on your husband? What if he caught something?"

Her brow crossed, "I guess I lost control...a little. It wasn't totally cheating..."

"Yes it was," Dugan said. He said it was such force that I felt some kind of kinship with this cretin. He was trying to dominate her, mentally, like a good pimp.

"Answer my question, what if you took a load and got knocked up on the side? Would your husband divorce you? Does he know you're doing a porno right now? Who is this poor fuckin' guy?"

I had a friend in college, a smart guy who claimed he we would never marry. At a frat party, he told me the concept of "hamstering." It was when "bitches say whatever they need to say to justify their crazy shit." He compared the flow of their words, and the insanely flawed logic that linked their current reality to their desired goal to a hamster running mindlessly on a wheel to nowhere. At the time, I thought he was just being a masochistic jerk.

Nope. He was actually a genius.

"Love doesn't really know right or wrong. My husband and I have a deep understanding where, like, I don't need to tell him about certain things I do to express myself sexually because he knows the intensity of those feelings increase when they're kept private. And I wasn't worried about using protection or anything, because that gets in the way of me really immersing myself in the experience, feeling the thrill of it, giving my lover all of me. The risk is a turn on, sure, I get really hot off it for weeks. My husband wouldn't divorce me, because he knows me, and we know each other, and there's things I don't need to say to him."

I could hear Dugan shift in his chair and turn to his cameraman.

"Cut out her bullshit in post, this is making her look like a loopy slut. We need a grounded, innocent housewife."

Nicole looked over, unsure of what he said. She still looked so fresh and innocent under the studio lights and the high quality cameras. I felt like I should hate her.

"Did you ever have feelings for these other guys?" Dugan asked. It felt, to me, that he was asking this question on behalf of his financial benefactor: Patel. But, then again, maybe he was just being risque.

She gave a half smile and looked in Patel's direction, "Good feelings, yes."

"Did you think about leaving your husband for them?"

She sort of straightened in her seat and looked over to Patel, holding her smile.

"Well?" Dugan said, humorously, "Did you?"

She laughed nervously, "No comment."

"So the other guy was good in bed..."

She swallowed and blushed, averting her eyes. I was having flashbacks of when I saw her make eye contact with Patel as they made love. The jealousy felt like hot lead sloshing around in my skull.

"So how come you want to get started in the industry?"

She laughed a bit, "Well, I don't want anyone to see these videos. I just want to make them. These are a present from....my friend."

Dugan sort of chortled, "Oh, ok then."

She jostled in her seat and clutched her hands.

"I just love the new connections I made with the other men. I love experiencing new men, and I want to get paid to feel that sort of freedom, and newness, and to be pleasured. I think it makes sense for me, at this point in my life, right now."

"And your husband understands this?"

She nodded, "He gets me."

"So we have a disease-free, mother and housewife, perfect body with not so much as a stretch mark or a saggy tit, fertile as an Iowa corn field, waiting to take a bare cock on camera...her fifth dick....ever! Now about that, folks? Are we psyched?"

Everybody laughed. Things were celebratory...outright positive....people clapped. A male model came out, a well-toned man with curly hair and a nice beard. He was only wearing a pair of athletic shorts. He introduced himself to my wife and shook her hand before sitting next to her.

"I like your eyes a lot," he said as he looked over her face, "Hi, I'm Ryan." His expression and demeanor was very welcoming and innocent. He started to rub her back as Dugan made random cracks about how hot they looked together.

"Look at this angelic little housewife, getting wet for a new stud. She's gonna love it! They'd make a hot couple."

When the man sort of motioned to sit closer to her, she put her hand up in a "stop" signal and asked: "Do you have those papers we talked about?"

The man looked perplexed. In response, my wife looked to Patel, and a crew person walked over and handed her a piece of paper.

"He's clean, baby," Dugan boomed in his sleazeball voice, "It's all good."

She handed the paper back and then sort of sat up straight. The look on her face showed she was psyching herself up to move forward. Ryan put a few fingers on her cheek and nudged her head to face him. He leaned in for a quick kiss and then moved his hand to her shirt. Like a sheepish teenager, my wife sort of lept up and shook her hands around as she withdrew from his advance. Laughing gleefully through bright white teeth, she exclaimed: "I'm so nervous!"

Ryan smiled and looked to Dugan for direction.

"Relax! It's ok. Everything is going to be fine. Here, how about you be the first to kiss and touch him? You're in control."

My wife settled in and looked him up and down, blushing nervously. She kept laughing and trying to add levity to the situation, but it was eventually wearing thin with her audience. Around the third or fourth time she made eye contact with Ryan and prepared herself to make the first move, he simply reached forward and scooped her breast out of her shirt.

Everyone laughed.

Ryan, perhaps taking direction from Dugan's rapid teardown of my wife earlier in the afternoon, took her nipple between two fingers and started to kneed it. Her laughing smile slowly faded and a glazed over expression washed over her face. With just two fingers, her new lover was able to wash away her neurosis and flood her with pleasure. As he began to palm her, the bottom of her lip dropped and she started to pant as she looked deeply into his eyes.

"You like that?" he muttered.

"Yes..." she whispered.

He leaned in and gave her a meaningful kiss. Her resistance totally melted away. As soon as he withdrew, it was apparent in her eyes that she wanted more.

"Take it out..." he said. They kissed some more.

"What..?" she inquired as he pulled away.

He placed her hand on his engorged shorts.

"Take it out."

With a jerk of his hips he gave her the leeway to pull down his shorts. She complied and his cock sprang free. She wasn't physically coerced in any way shape or form. My wife was just wantonly, consciously betraying me on every level.

What followed was, unsurprisingly, one of the most unremarkable blowjobs you've ever seen. After taking his cock in her mouth, my wife started to haphazardly move her head and robotically massage his balls. It was serviceable for a common housewife, but for a porn...it was...boring. Her head motions were so forced it just didn't look like it was pleasurable. Even the actor couldn't fake a reaction. I felt time slip by and my fury of emotions that welled up as she held her interview subsided into a quiet boredom. I felt like it was my duty to watch it to its conclusion.

"We..." Dugan grumbled quietly to someone behind the camera, "We gotta do something to save this. This aint good."

He must have motioned at some of his other performers, as two men walked up slowly to the bed, taking off their shirts and unbuckling their belts. One man was black with a shaved head, another a hispanic man with tattoos and facial hair, both were in incredible shape. Because of the camera angle I couldn't really see their faces. They both approached my wife as she haphazardly blew the other man, putting their unzipped flies in her face. The black man rubbed the back of her head.

"Take it out, baby," he said softly.

With a slurp, she removed the cock in her mouth and looked over at the man. The other man sat beside her and started to kiss her neck and palm her breasts through her shirt.

"Who are you?" she asked the black man.

"Come on, take it out," he said, motioning with his eyes and head at his crotch.

Her first assailant knelt and removed her breast from the camisole and began to suck on her nipples. The other man moved from her neck to her cleavage, preparing to take her other tit in her mouth.

"What's your name?" she asked, "Do you have paperwork?"

Her eyes were fluttering and it was apparent that her line of questioning was some last ditch attempt at dignity. The black man just nuzzled her neck a little and stroked her cheek.

"It's ok baby, everything will be ok, just take it out."

She sort of trembled and cooed. One of her lovers must have hit a pleasure spot. She reached forward and effortlessly fished out the man's half erect cock. The Hispanic man stood and presented his junk and she pulled it out without protest. Two more men entered the frame, stripping as they walked towards the scene. She took the Hispanic man in her mouth and he gently pushed her to lie down. Ryan straddled her tight tummy as the other men kissed and caressed her chest and body. One of the strange men, who's face I couldn't see, wormed his way inside her legs. With a rough motion, his pants dropped and he started to push inside her.

"Who's..." my wife said, "Ooohhhh....."

Her legs split and she trembled as she adjusted to her new lover. Her hands stopped touching the other men as she had her last dash of modesty. I saw her wedding ring appear as she wrapper he hands around a man's back.

"Who's inside me?"

Nobody answered. After a few humps from the man between her legs, she responded by thrusting her hips in kind and resumed caressing the other men around her while groaning in pleasure. I fast forwarded through the rest of the video file, only to find it was nearly an hour of multiple men moving as a sea of bodies around my wife. Besides her lewdly spread legs and the occasional glance at her exposed pussy before another suitor planted himself, I didn't see her flesh again. She was buried beneath them.

"Hrrrgghhh...." she bellowed, either in pain or pleasure. Though she was loud, her grunt was barely audible through the sea of bodies. I tried to follow the audio, but the soundscape was a hodgepodge of shuffling feet, slurping, balls slapping against her skin, and whispering voices.

The scene cut out mid-coitous with no conclusion.

In the depths of my anguish, I realized where my pain was its strongest. I was most upset that I didn't know the slightest thing about the men I had just watched cum inside of my wife. I didn't even see some of their faces....and neither did she. My wife let a pack of dogs descend on her and fill her from head to toe for a handful of cash. And that was just in the first hour of her week-long hedonistic vacation.

She was such a piece of shit.

---

Spats of extreme anger dominated me for the next three days. I screamed for no reason in an empty house. I snapped at my kid and shouted at every driver on the road. There was so much misery and loneliness compounding inside of me...I felt I could barely breathe.

Then, one day I opened the door, and she had returned. Sitting, in our family living room, dressed in a long sleeve shirt and pants and wearing a coat despite a day full of warm weather. When she turned her head to look at me, her eyes were sunk into some nowhere place, distant but aggressive. Her face was pale with bags hung low beneath her eyes. It was apparent she was either recovering from some kind of chemical or hadn't slept in days.

"I know it's hot but I'm cold," she blurted out, like a hungover teenager.

I just nodded in shocked response, "Ok," I said, "You look like you could use a nap, do you want to head upstair?"

Her face contorted in an unnatural way and she shouted, "Fuck you! I'll do what I want."

I knew, instinctively, that this wasn't my wife in the room. Her flesh was balmy, her eyes were bloodshot, her lips were chapped...even her hair looked somehow thinner. Unkempt from head to toe, she looked to be deeply sick. Luckily, she headed upstairs and passed out in our guest room without further discussion. She slept there for four days, only coming down in the middle of the night for food. Our daughter stopped in to say hello at one point, and my wife exchanged a few pleasantries. Beyond that, she only slept, recovering from whatever she had put her body through.

--

After putting our daughter to sleep later that week, I took a shower. Upon exiting, with only a towel wrapped around my waist, I was startled to see my wife seated at the edge of our bed wearing a black bathrobe. She seemed cognizant and alert, staring at me as she waited for me to say something. The room was dark, with the only light emanating from the bathroom.

"We're getting a divorce," I said. Quite frankly I was disgusted that I had let her stay in our family home for the last few days given the things she had done. She didn't respond to me, instead preferring to keep eye contact. Our bedroom had a deep windowsill that doubled as a seat. I sat across from her.

"Nicole, do you hear me?" I asked. She continued to stare. With a flick of her shoulder, the robe fell away and revealed her naked body.

Something wasn't right...the first thing to catch my eye was the nipple ring. A bar was pierced through her right nipple, a piercing she had never discussed at any point in our marriage. Beneath it was...and I can't convey my shock strongly enough: a tattoo. Words were written across her abdomen in a foreign language that I didn't know.

"What the fuck...." was all I could muster. My heart started beating quickly. It was one thing for her to be scrambled eggs on the inside...maybe there was a chance of healing and redemption. But this was external...the depravity was scrawled on her body...pierced into her flesh.

She rose and stood over me. Her breasts were such a sight for sore eyes. I missed them so much. I hadn't been laid in weeks...

"You're a piece of shit," I said, speaking from my heart. Her baby blues were gazing right into my soul. You really can't hide anything from your spouse.

"We're not going to talk about what happened unless you're inside me," she stated, brazenly.

Was she insane? I suppose I had the ace in the hole since I had visited the house, so I kept my towel tight to my waist.

"I know you came out to the house," she said, " And I know you want your questions answered..."

I shook my head. There went my bargaining chip....she was in control. I still pretended to have a backbone. I tried telling myself I would be exposing myself to untold diseases, not to mention destroying my pride, maybe forever. At the least, I wanted to stab her with some choice insults.

"If you think I'm going to stick my dick into that wet ashtray hanging between your legs, you're dreaming."

She was unphased. Without breaking eye contact, she walked forward and started undoing my towel. I half-heartedly held my hand over it to try and prevent her advance.

I kept trying to inch away from her, and shaking my head. She knew I couldn't live without those tits and her beautiful face. My erection told her that her decadence was turning me on. It felt like I was a bystander as I watched my dick disappear inside her. It was swallowed up by a pussy that had now fucked dozens of men, many of whose faces she had never seen.

Marriage is wretched.

She started rocking back and forth and I reluctantly wrapped my hands around her abs. They were tight, her skin was smooth, and her beautiful breasts were back in my face. I felt like a huge weight was rolling off my shoulders. She placed her hands on my chest and it was apparent that she rhythm. Her pussy didn't feel different in the slightest.

She stared at my face silently, waiting for me to talk. Her face still didn't look right. It was like she was herself but...off. My cock was feeling incredible, even if it was exposed to the leftover dried semen and diseases of...

"How many?' I asked.

She humped slowly and closed her eyes.

"I only remember...forty," she said. My spine tingled and I felt my throat dry out. My erection hardened. I was sick. We were earnestly fucking, and she let out a whimper.

"Did you ever use condoms...?" I continued.

Her hands were behind my neck. She humped me a few times before answering.

"Sometimes..."

I ran my hands up and down her sides.

"You're a stupid slut," I deadpanned. She closed her eyes and kept fucking me.

"Are you pregnant?" I asked.

"I don't think I was ovulating," she muttered.

"Fuck, Nicole, are you pregnant or not?"

She threw her head back, "It'll be ok..." she gave, a total non answer.

I ran my hand over the scroll of words on her abdomen.

"What does it say?"

With a deep breath, she looked at me: "The fire I put inside you burns forever."

I felt my eyes flutter. My skin felt cold.

"Who is it referring to?"

She was silent. She placed her hands on my wrists as I clasped her sides.

"Is it Patel?"

She shook her head, "No. What we have isn't like that."

I just became more astounded at her ability to have any definable emotions for other men, at all. Her mind and heart had to be a garbled mess after what she did to herself.

"Did you see him again after the night of the party?"

More reluctant silence. To concentrate on Patel would seem ridiculous at this point, given her week of insanity, but it mattered. Mentally, I had to find the tipping off point where she crossed into total betrayal. The moment Patel came inside her, in private, without my knowledge or permission, is when she stopped being my loving wife. Eventually she looked at me. Somehow there was suspense even though I already knew her answer. My dick felt incredible, but my heart was in a sunken place.

"Yes."

"How many times did you see him?"

She thought quietly and moaned a little.

"Three," she said. Since Patel was in the room when she confessed to Dugan to sleeping with him six times, I knew she was lying to me.

"That isn't true," I said. I was somehow feeling the ghostly presence of Patel's hands running along my wife, filling her with mixed emotions and, convincing her she needed to lie to me about how he made her feel so she could experience him again, let her feeling develop, and bond with him. Over, and over, behind my back. The lying meant he must have been....good.

"Six..." she muttered, ashamed.

"Six? Nicole....jesus....."

I rocked into her as I let her stew in her guilt.

"Did he cum in you?" I asked, seeing if she would continue to be dishonest.

Her eyes went downward as she kept humping into me. I looked at the freckles and blemishes along her nipples.

"Yes..." she said, trailing off.

Something about hearing her mention another man cumming inside her, a man I knew and spoke to, shook hands with, talked to....while I was balls deep...it was disconcerting in a strangely pleasurable way. Even before her week of total self destruction, she had hidden things from me.

"Jesus..." I stammered, "You piece of shit."

She just kept humping, her face sullen.

"Did you kiss him?" I asked, "Did he mean something real to you?"

I could see the start of tears in her sunken eyes. She pressed her arms together, swelling her tits.

"He was the first one to mean something. I didn't find him disgusting anymore. We kissed a lot. We held each other. I tried to understand why he is the way he is."