Learning to Sin

"He tried to convince you?" I asked, then added, "What did he say?"

A smile came to her face and she looked like she was about to giggle when she answered, "He pulled it out."

"His cock?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Did you touch it?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Just a little," she giggled.

"Did he touch you?" I fired back.

"Just my breasts," she giggled, again.

"Inside or out?" I asked.

"Inside...oh, honey go faster," she whined, as the talk reignited her passion.

"You are a bad girl. I should send you to him," I said, quickening the pace.

"I'm not bad..." she whimpered in a faux pout.

"Yes, you're my bad girl...my naughty girl," I whispered into her ear.

"You want to send me back?" she whined, letting me know where her head was.

"After I finish with you, I'll send you there so he can have you, too," I challenged her.

Now, my wife was totally into our mating and was passionately returning my thrusts. She had closed her eyes which made me wonder what she was thinking, although I had strong suspicions. It was going to be a race to see which of us climaxed first, and although it took several minutes, I was able to hold off just long enough.

"Ohhh...oh Pat...oh...oh...mmmmm...mmmmm..." she moaned.

It was a nice orgasm for her, not as big as the first, but since she rarely achieved two releases, I was very pleased. Watching and hearing her climax put me over the edge, and with her body still rolling sensually, I let go.

"Ohhh...hell yes...yes...oh damn...damn, baby..." I grunted, as my seed fired.

Finally done, we were both spent, and quickly we were drifting off into a pleasant sleep.

"Are you back already?" I asked her the next morning when she walked into the kitchen.

She was dressed in her robe, and her messy hair gave her a waifish, but sexy look. She gave me a puzzled look in response to my question while I handed her some coffee.

"What do you mean?" she queried.

"Back from Winston's. You were supposed to go," I teased.

"Haha...very funny," she responded.

Amazingly, after that brief exchange, we left the subject of Winston behind for the rest of our alone time. We did almost everything together, and even during the week, we would leave work early, so we could have more time. The following weekend, which would be our last, I thought about bringing up the subject of dancing and Winston but decided against it. Our time alone had been great, even with the strange encounter, and I wanted to finish it out in a low-stress, positive way.

Sunday arrived too soon, and we had a brief discussion about Trish riding out with me for a short visit, but she finally decided against it. She had a pre-planned visit coming up, in two weeks, so she didn't think there was a compelling need. So, just after lunch, I took off for what I expected to be a five-hour round-trip.

When I arrived, everyone was in good spirits, although I could tell in their eyes that both parents and kids were ready to return to normal. After loading up, I went to my mom's place for a visit, but the kids were getting antsy and even that had to be cut short. Finally, we were on the road, with a much more subdued set of kids than the outward journey.

I was about a half-block away from making a turn that would lead to our street when I saw Trish's car whiz through the intersection. I arrived just a few minutes behind her and saw her car in the driveway. The kids bolted for the house as soon as I unloaded them while I grabbed some things, and when I got inside, I found them banging against the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in a second sweetie," she called out to our daughter.

"Are you okay?" I asked, stepping closer, and hearing the shower running.

"I'm fine. It'll be just a sec," she replied.

The kids, apparently happy with her words, ran to the other end of the house, and it was while I was turning that I saw the pile of clothes thrown next to the bed. On top were her jeans, and I could see her blouse underneath, but when I kicked at the garments, I saw her black thong. For some reason, my instincts told me that something was going on and I should look.

I could smell the semen before I saw it, but finally turning it inside out I could see the thick, mucous-like material that covered the fabric from top to bottom. My wife had unquestionably been fucked and filled, with the evidence now in my hand.

"Open the door, Trish," I said sternly.

"Just a sec," she replied from the shower.

"Trish, I'm holding your panties," I replied.

There was a long silence, and then I heard the door unlock. When I stepped inside, my wife was standing with wet hair and a towel in front of her looking at me with fear.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, almost in tears.

"Drop the towel," I demanded.

With only a brief hesitation, she let go of it and it fell at her feet revealing her naked body. Instantly, I spotted numerous marks on each breast.

"How many times did you fuck him?" I demanded.

"Three," she whispered in a tiny voice as her eyes fell to the floor.

"His semen is in you," I challenged her.

Trish's bad time in her cycle had started several days prior, and we had been using condoms, so I was in shock she would let him near her uncovered.

"Yes," she said, then added, "I'm going to take the pill."

I thought about slapping her. After all, I had given permission and even arranged for an encounter, so I didn't expect nor understand the sneakiness. I thought about fucking her. Right there, right then. Just push her against the wall and add my cum. In the end, I remembered the kids which brought my emotions into check.

"Take your shower, your children are waiting," I said in disgust and left.

I was in the living room, watching cartoons with the kids, when Trish finally appeared, which brought screams of joy. They hugged and kissed, and began telling her stories about their adventures. That's when I got up and left.

For the rest of the day, until the kids were in bed, we avoided each other. Finally, with me in bed reading, we came face-to-face and had to confront the issue.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"No, Trish. You're sorry you got caught," I replied.

"That's not true!" she responded.

"How long did you plan it?" I asked.

"Since yesterday," she answered much more quickly than I expected.

"So, you had plenty of time to talk to me," I stated, then a thought occurred to me and I demanded, "Let me see your phone."

Reluctantly, she took it off the nightstand and handed it to me. It only took a few seconds to find the text string, and what I found most shocking was that their communication went back to the prior weekend. It was flirty and filled with loads of sexual innuendo, along with several pictures of Winston's cock. When I scrolled through the prior day's messages, I could see where it began to get serious about meeting, and the texts left no doubt that my wife was an equal and eager participant in setting up the rendezvous.

"I'm sorry," she said once more when I put the phone down.

"Well, I guess you really are a bad girl," I said in a very judgmental tone.

"Honey..." she started before she broke down in tears.

For the next few minutes, I watched silently as she stood and cried. I think she was hoping that I would come to her rescue and comfort her, but I remained still. Finally, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. It was while she was gone that I forwarded the text string to my phone.

I had the lights out when she finally returned and she crawled into bed without saying anything. However, after several minutes, she spoke.

"Are you asleep?" she asked.

"No," I replied.

"I'm sorry. I messed up. I know it was sneaky, but...I don't know...it just seemed...easier...and I thought...you were okay with it," she forced out.

There was a tiny sliver of truth in what she was saying but, by and large, she was merely rationalizing her sordid behavior. When I didn't reply, her hand reached out and seconds later she scooted next to me.

"Say something," she pleaded.

"You know that's not true," I said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You wanted to do it that way because it was dirty and bad, and you like being dirty and bad," I told her.

I felt her body tense and heard her take a deep breath, then she said in a barely audible whisper, "I don't."

"Trish, tell the truth. After all these years you had a chance to be bad and you loved it. When we were there, I had to make you get off his cock. You've become a slut for a black man and you want more. When were you going to meet again?" I said, no longer holding back.

She let go of me and started sobbing again, but she said nothing. I let her go on that way for a couple of minutes before I challenged her once more.

"When are you supposed to meet?" I asked.

"I'm not," she whimpered.

"When, Trish?" I pushed.

Her answer came in a feeble choking voice, "Wednesday..."

The following week I purposefully avoided the subject of Winston, although several times my wife tried to start a conversation. My demeanor had her very worried, and she went out of her way to be the supportive, doting wife. Needless to say, there was no rendezvous on Wednesday or any other day, but when the weekend finally arrived, I decided it was time to talk.

"Trish, get a drink. I think it's time to talk," I said, as poured a whiskey.

"Uhhh...okay..." she let out with a surprised squeak.

When we met in the living room, she sat close to me on the couch. I sipped my drink and let almost a minute go by in silence before I spoke.

"Have you talked to him?" I asked.

"We...I...texted him. I said it was a mistake and to leave me alone," she answered.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she reached for her phone and tried to hand it to me. I knew her intent was for me to read the messages and validate her statement, but I waved her away.

"I'm not going to look," I said, and then paused before continuing, "Are the hickeys gone?"

The tension between us during the week had resulted in no sex, and Trish had purposefully worn nightwear that shielded her body from my view.

"Yes..." she answered in a low voice while nodding her head.

"So...here we are. We're all back to normal. No one knows anything about what happened and we can just go on with things and keep it as our secret," I started, then paused for a sip before adding, "Although, I won't be able to forget what I learned about my wife."

"Look...just look. Don't act so high and mighty. You started it...you pushed it. Yes, I messed up seeing him on Sunday, but you were involved, too," she fired back.

I could tell by the way she delivered her message that it was something that had been churning in her head, just waiting for the right opportunity, and in truth, she was correct. However, she had misread the direction I was going.

"I can't argue that," I replied calmly.

"Then what are you saying?" she asked with a confused look.

"It's simple. You can either choose to stay as merely Trish, the conservative wife, and mother, or naughty Trish, the girl that occasionally gets bad," I explained.

"I'm not doing anything again. It was wrong and I feel guilty and weird," she quickly responded.

"Fair enough," I answered.

Like my wife, I had thought long and hard about all the events and what I learned during the week. I couldn't deny that I had found it all quite erotic and arousing, but much like Trish, I felt it came with a lot of angst. Thus, I decided that if anything further was going to occur, it needed to be something she wanted. I knew I could handle my feelings, but I didn't want to have to deal with hers.

"So, you're not mad?" she asked.

"No, I'm not mad," I said and put out my arm so she could move closer.

"I thought you were really angry," she said as she snuggled close.

"I just needed time to think," I replied.

Over a minute of silence ensued, as we sipped our drinks before Trish spoke, and when she did, it came out in a nervous tone, "What do you want?"

"I want you to be happy. Not feeling weird or guilty," I answered.

With that, she pulled away from me and turned until we were looking directly into each other's eyes, "You're saying that you're okay with it? You're okay if it doesn't bother me?"

"That's what I'm saying," I told her.

"Are you serious?" she asked with a confused expression and then went silent for several seconds before she stated, You're not serious."

I guessed she thought I was setting a trap so I looked her straight in the eye and said, "I'm very serious."

"My God, Pat...I mean, my God..." she whispered, and then after a pause, she added, "It would be so...doing it like that...my God...what would my dad think?"