tagLoving WivesJohn and Chloe Morton

John and Chloe Morton

byMatt Moreau©

The party was okay as parties went. Well, it was except for the fact that I was all but an outcast at it. I'd known I would be. I knew no one, Chloe knew everyone; hell, she worked with them all at Sunset Properties and Real Estate. And, as usual, she floated around interacting with them all after abandoning me. Was I upset? In principle yes. What I mean is that I didn't like the people, and since I was certain that they didn't care all that much for me either, it was nice to not have to interact with them. But, that said, it rankled that my wife of twelve years would care so little about me as to abandon me and to blow me off when, after some little time, I'd had the temerity to mentioned it.

"You're exaggerating John. Stop being crazy. Get yourself a drink and chill." And just like that, like I said, she blew me off.

I could see the clock on the wall in the kitchen from where I was sitting. It read 10:30. It looked to be a long night of nothing for me. Patience not being my middle name, and with nothing else going for me, I decided to get some air. I took my drink—straight gin—and went out back to the patio.

I heard some voices, soft, coming from behind a tree to my left some twenty or so feet away. They were evidently taking a smoking break.

"Chloe looks good enough to eat," one of the two men said.

"Yeah, but she bought mister boring with her; we won't be getting any tonight," said his compadre.

"Never say never. All we have to do is get him talking, interested, about something, sports maybe. I heard him trying to talk to Nadine's husband, Mark, about the Cowboys, but Mark lost interest pretty fast. I think good 'ole John might be distractable if we went about it right," said smoker number one.

I headed back in. I was mulling over what I'd just heard. There was nothing said that would have specifically indicated that Chloe had ever given in to these assholes. But, fact was that their words left me thinking that such was not beyond the realm of possibility. That said, at the very least their confidence that they could corrupt her was disconcerting. My wife had, it's true been less than attentive to me tonight, and that was a pisser, but, cheat on me, and with losers like the guys I'd just heard bonding with each other; I hardly thought so. That said, I decided to let them take their shot. Not because I wanted to test Chloe; I didn't. No, I wanted to be able to put the rascals down—at some future date—having collected evidence of their failure. At any rate I was prepared for their little ploy, and I hung around in the living room waiting for one or another of them to come to me. The ball was in their court.

Now for a little background, background that is necessary to understanding what ensued at the aforementioned party and the days that followed immediately thereafter.


Chloe and I met in a bar, The Blue Fox. I was cruising; she was cruising, and damn if the twain didn't meet. We had a few drinks, we danced a few dances, had coffee at a nearby Bob's Big Boy, made out in the car in front of her apartment building, and were married six months later. How's that for being succinct?

Chloe was tall at five-ten, and the body was a work of art. The voice was a lilting contralto, the hair the blond of legend; oh, and her smell that of a female in constant heat. And her heat engendered heat in me that threatened my health. Chloe was thirty-eight years old the night of the party just alluded to. And me...?

I'm five-seven, medium build, been told that I'm handsome; and, if it matters, I'm possessed of a formally documented genius for numbers. That, I suppose, is my primary excuse for becoming an accountant. I'd done some interning early in my career, but now I was the successful entrepreneur: owner and operator of Morton Records and Accounting Ltd.

Chloe graduated from our local junior college—A.A. degree—with an emphasis in General Business. She'd signed on with Sunset at a job fair sponsored by the college. Her initial position had been as an office assistant. But, after having passed the state real estate licensure exam, she'd begun rising in the ranks of sales agents. She was now their number one producer.

Me? I graduated with an MBA in Business Administration from the University of Chicago with an emphasis in—well yeah—Accounting.

Professionally, we were, the two of us, doing quite well, thank you very much. Our home life? Not so much.

When first we'd met at the Blue Fox, we'd both been into our careers for nigh on two years. The only reason for mentioning this last was the common fact that we were, likewise, both busy trying to make a name for our respective selves in our professions which kind of put the boff on us doing a lot together. Still we did have our moments, and we did get along.

Family? We'd had no children though of late we had talked about maybe going that route; well, the clock was ticking. Parents and siblings? Mine lived in Southern California, hers in Chicago. We saw them on the big Holidays: Thanksgiving at the one and Christmas at the other, and occasionally other times. We'd settled in Springfield, a couple of hundred miles from her parents; and did see them a sight more than we did mine due to the geography of the situation.

As noted above, we generally got along pretty good, that is we had—emphasis on the past tense. In recent months, things had been a little on the what—chilly—side. Sex had been sporadic and while not exactly rare, it's been too rare for me. We'd talked it over, she and I, and things'd improved, but I was beginning to get the feeling that she was more or less just going through the motions, and it bothered me—a lot. A bored partner was a major turn off; well, it was for me.


I was milling around the room holding my martini and smiling a lot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man talking to another man while furtively glancing in my direction. I smiled; the game was afoot. Would she or would she not? That was the question. She sure as hell was going to get the opportunity, about that there was not a scintilla of a doubt.

The man approached me. "Howdy. Charles," he said, introducing himself.

"John," I said.

"You seem a little lost," he said.

"Lost? No, not really, my wife works for the company; and, the party, she informed me, is kind of a command performance," I said.

"I see," he said. "Which is your wife?"

"Chloe Morton. She's around somewhere schmoozing the powers, I guess," I said.

"Chloe, yes, one of our best," he said. "So the Giants gonna win it all?"

"Football?" I said.

"Yeah, the Superbowl."

"I'm kinda partial to the Patriots. But, the Giants might do it if they find a runner in a heck of a hurry," I said.

We talked for some little time, refreshed our drinks and talked some more. Every once in a while another guy would join us for a moment or two, and then drift off leaving us once again alone. It was clear that Charlie, good 'ole Charlie, was running point for the gang of seducers. Still, my plan, my test, per my wife's fidelity, required that neither he nor I make an issue of the fact. And, for the hour and four minutes that we were engaged with each other, Chloe had not once made an appearance.

Over the course of the conversation with Charlie, and with the alluded to parade of company minions, I'd drawn a couple of conclusions. One Charlie was a moron. Capable of tying his shoes I was sure, but not much beyond that. Two, the parade of minions were not even up to his standards! Of course they were but four of the probably forty souls at the party, so any generalization as to the intellectuality of the Sunset Enterprises workforce would have been premature. Nevertheless, had I been in charge of their HR division, I would have been more than a little worried.

All of the above being true, the world still turns on its axis; and at length Chloe did return. Her face was flushed, her makeup not quite smeared, her hair was now tied in a ponytail, and the buttons on her blouse were misaligned: Jesus! she must think I'm blind as a bat, I thought. She'd been fucked, probably, by at least four different men.

Charlie was standing by me when she came up. His face initially signaled some little alarm—even Charlie could see that Chloe was a mess. This was my moment. One that I had mentally prepared for. I had planned for either of two outcomes; this was outcome B.

"Hi honey," she said. "Ready to go home?" I was smiling to beat the band.

"No-no, not yet. Charlie here has kept me busy for the past hour or so; and we're just now getting to know each other well enough to consider ourselves close acquaintances," I said.

"Huh?" she said. Now, Charlie began to look even more uncomfortable than he had been. Even so, he was clearly not quite getting it.

"Yes, of course. Hi, Charlie. So, you and my hubby have been getting to know each other?" said Chloe.

"Why yes, actually..." he started.

"Well, not exactly, dear," I said. "I've been getting to know him, but he hasn't a clue about me." My wife knitted her brow and spread her hands in a whaddya mean gesture. She knew me, and she knew what my tone presaged.

"Well, dear, actually he's been keeping me occupied while you were getting screwed by three of the four musketeers, you know: dickhead, butthead, asshole and jackass," I said. I was making a leap to judgment here that the three minions, who had earlier joined Charlie and me for conversation, were the ones who were banging my woman and hanging horns on me; and, Charlie of course had to have been the fourth; I wasn't sure how he'd managed it, but I was sure he had.

"What are you saying!" said Charlie, now clearly understanding why he was feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm saying, Charlie, that you have been keeping me busy while your buds screwed my wife.

"Isn't that so, dear?" I said. My demeanor was very obviously keeping my wife off balance.

"What are you talking about!" she said. I smiled and stared at her. She started to switch her weight back and forth between her legs. You can't talk to me like that! I have done nothing wrong."

"Hmm..." I started.

"What makes you think you can talk to me, accuse me, like this and get away with it!" Charlie said, his voice rising a noticeable decibel or two.

"Well, Charlie, because my IQ is six points higher than Einstein's, and yours—well—isn't," I said.

"Now, wait a minute you arrogant bastard!" he said.

"Yes, I'll wait. I don't want to go home yet. It's still early. I want to stay a while yet. And, Charlie, I've gotta tell yuh, man; you stink! What is that awful cologne you've got on. Where did you get it? The dollar bin at Wall Mart?" I turned away from him to pay attention to my wife. I think his mouth was hanging open.

"You okay with hanging around a little while, dear?" I said.

"No, I'm not okay with that. How dare you accuse me of cheating on you! I repeat, I've done nothing wrong," said Chloe.

"Chloie, Chloie, Chloie. Why did you change your hairdo, dear, and your makeup is very different than when we arrived, and your blouse is mis-buttoned; and, I really hate to bring it up, dear, but you smell like Old Spice. And, I'm betting the farm that your undies, if you're still wearing any, are not in the same condition as they were when we left home earlier tonight!"

"Well..." she started and stopped.

"Well what, dear?" I said.

"John, I..."

"Yeah, Johnny baby, you try anything, and you might have a problem," said Charlie, now almost frothing at the mouth.

"Try anything? Why would I want to do that? I'm not into fisticuffs," I said. He sneered.

"That's what I thought. You're a wimp, aren't you, Johnny baby," he said.

"Quite possibly," I said. "And, you're a moron."

"John—please, can we go home. We need to talk. I mean right now," she said. I was howling inside.

"No, anything you've got to say to me can be said here in front of my new bud, Charlie." I said.

"I ain't your bud," Charlie said.

"Now, now, Charlie. I'm not mad. Only dogs get mad. A little disappointed in myself. I mean I thought I had it pegged that Chloe would send the lot of you home with cases of blue balls, but I clearly misjudged her in that.

"How long have you been hanging horns on me, dear?" I said. "I'd really like to know." She looked away.

"Jesus, that long?" I said. "I had no clue. Well, as they say, love is blind."

"What are you going to do?" she said, looking me straight in the eye. I looked around. We were actually standing inside the formal dining room, of her boss' house. No other folks were immediately nearby, but we had gotten looks from the occasional pass-througher.

"Depends on you. You wanna stay married to me?" I said. Her look brightened slightly.

"Yes!" she said.

"Well, okay. I can live with what you did—been doing tonight—but there is a price. Actually, a small one in your case," I said.

"Okay?" she said.

"We make the rounds here, now, tonight, and inform all of the wives of the fuckwads you did it with exactly what you did," I said. Her eyes got as big as dinner plates.

"John! No! I'll lose my job! John, anything else, please!" she said.

"Look, John, she's right. No harm no foul, bud. Please. I'm asking you too. Those guys; they were only after a good time. There was a bet..."

"Oh ho! I'm your bud now?" I started. He quailed.

"A bet! Hal and Murray and Bill and you bet you could do me, Charlie!" said Chloe, now my wife was pissed.

"Well, the boys, well they thought it was kick—you know to try and do you while your hub...John... was..." said Charlie

"You bastards!" said Chloe.

"Yeah, they did, Chloe," I said. "I heard two of them talking when I went out to get some air. You weren't around, and I was bored.

"The two guys I heard talking didn't know, at the time, that you were already boning her though, did they Charlie?" I said, as I pinned him with my look. I was guessing, but it made logical sense.

"Listen, John, please, we could all lose our jobs. Please, don't do this. I'm begging you," he said.

"Hmm, that would be tragic. Tell you what. You guys are all married right. Kids? The whole nine yards, right?" I said.

'Well, yeah," he said.

"Well, okay. This is the deal. You fellows screwed my woman, my wife, the love of my life. And yes, Chloe, there has never been anyone but you in my life, my heart. My god how I love you!" She started to cry.

"Still, Charlie, you and your friends—and I mean all of you—need to pay. You, Charlie, are going to manage things. You are going to set it up so I can have a shot at your wives—all of them." His eyes glazed over.

The two of them seemed almost catatonic. "Wha...?" said Charlie.

"I'm not speaking Greek, Charlie. I'm gonna fuck your wife and Hal's and Murray's and Bill's. Got a problem with any of that, Charlie?" His mouth was hanging open. He seemed frozen in place.

"Here's my card, Charles. Call me, by tomorrow.

"Now, I think we can leave. Coming, dear?" I said.


I watched her disrobe. She was angry or scared or something. Scared was the most likely.

"You really going to fuck other women? Cheat on me?" she said. I started to laugh.

"Is that a serious question from the woman who only an hour ago was busy making me her cuckold. Humiliating me with the people she works with? Is that it?" I said.

"Well I..."

"Exactly. Fair's fair, right Chloe?" I said.

"John—honey—I screwed up, okay? I did it, and I'm sorry. But, well, two wrongs don't make a right. Please don't do this. Those women might not even do what you want anyway, and having those men ask them to will only tip them off as to what their husbands did. Yes, I admit it, and me too," she said.

"Tell me, Chloe, what would you have me do? Just forget about it and go on as though nothing happened?" I said.


"Go on, convince me. Tell me what to do," I said. "Because I am not into being the laughingstock of your company."

"John, if you will let this go. Just forget about it like you said; well, I would be very grateful. And I will do more than my level best to make it up to you. We can start right now. Let's go upstairs, so I can make the first installment on my promise. Whaddya say?" she said.

"You're actually offering me sloppy seconds. You're going to actually have me couple with you while you're full of cum from four different men? That's your idea of making it up to me?" I said. She paled.

"Well—no—I mean, I wasn't thinking, of course I'd shower and clean up first," she said. I smiled.

"Let's go," I said. "I'm pretty sure none of them had your ass. I'll dump my load in there. Okay?" I said. She looked at me, horror painting her face.

"John, I never, I mean you and I have talked..." she started.

"You turning me down, Chloe? Your 'never' ended tonight as far as I'm concerned," I said. Her face was sheet white, she was shaking her head, she'd backed up a couple of steps: she was actually afraid of what I was suggesting. "Never mind. I'm kinda turned off anyway with all of this talk and with what all happened tonight. I'm tired. I'm gonna just go to bed."

"Wait, wait. Okay, John. My ass, take my butt. I owe you that much at least," she said. I wasn't smiling now as I answered her.

"No, Chloe. I don't want to anymore. For these last many months you haven't been interested in having sex with me at all. Oh, when I really pushed, I've been able to get you to spread for me. But your heart hasn't been in it. The fact is you've been bored with me. And, as a result you've been boring. I need more from my woman than just tolerance. I need excitement, love, enthusiasm. What I've been getting from you, frankly, has not been enough. So no, your butt's safe from me, Chloe. You have nothing to fear," I said.

"John, I'm sorry. Please, give me a chance. I know I can make this right with you. I will do my best to change—no—I will change. It will be like it was when we were first married. Just give me a chance. Please, John," she said. She'd just said the magic words.

To anyone else it might have seemed too little and too nothing. But, when we were first married the things we did were scorching hot! I did want that back. I wanted it back more than anything. More even than getting revenge on the five sinners."

"Okay," I said. "But, I'm not messing around here, Chloe. If I suspect that you're faking it, if I find out that you are spreading for anyone else, I will lower the boom on you and them suddenly and without remorse. No second chances."

"John, thank you-thank you-thank you.

"John, can I ask for one favor?" she said.

"What favor?"" I said.

"Can I call Charlie and tell him that he doesn't have to—set things up? Please." I nodded, but with narrowed eyes. Did she have Charlie's personal phone number. And if she did, why did she have it?"


"No, don't suck it. Tickle it. Tease it. Play with it," I said. She scooted down the bed a little ways and began doing what I'd asked of her.

She was driving me crazy. It was something we hadn't done for years and now we were again. Her touch was so light, so soft. It took a little while, but I shot a rope three feet into the air. I lay back gasping for breath from the tension.

She switched positions and got up on her knees. She pushed her butt back at me. I started licking her pussy, yes even with their cum still in it, my nose grazing her anus. She was woman and she was sexy and she was mine. She was mine for at least this night; I was sure of it. She wasn't faking it. She was trying a little too hard, but how do you fix something like that on the fly; I sure as hell had no clue; so, I let her keep trying.

"I knelt up and rubbed my cock against her slit. I started to push in, but she stopped me.

"John, I want you to take my ass. I won't kid you, I'm a little afraid of it; but I do owe you, and I swear by god that there will be no faking it anymore. Enthusiasm? You want enthusiasm? Well, do me good. Do me like the bull you used to be. Don't mess around okay. But, for god's sake be careful with me this first time. Please," she said.

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byMatt Moreau© 98 comments/ 104528 views/ 26 favorites

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