My Hot Wife - The Transition

I was speechless. Feeling too uncertain of the situation to argue, I did as KK said. On making my exit, I said, "Let me know if you need anything..."

KK said, "I need you to get the fuck out of here."

I felt mostly dejected and despondent, along with a nice slice of terror. I left KK there, went puttering around, uncertain about what was to come.

Around 5:30pm, KK showed up in the den. KK was wearing some sexy jeans, a button-down blouse, with hot-pink heels. I'd been trying to read, but fundamentally was too distracted.

KK said, "I'm hungry. You're taking me to dinner. Go clean your sorry ass up - you're still in your shorts! What's that stain there, by your sorry little weenie? Have you been playing with yourself? Did you jack off, and make yourself cum? What a sorry little bitch! Go take a fucking shower and get dressed. I'm hungry, and I don't want to wait much longer."

I rushed through the shower, feeling angry and humiliated.

During dinner, the conversation was strained. I mentioned to KK our missed planning session at morning coffee. KK said, "Oh well, fuck that, and fuck them. Turns out I have other plans that night anyway."

I was stunned. I asked, "What other plans. You know we're co-hosting that event, as in 'we', right?"

KK said, "You're on your own. I just told you I have other plans. Don't you ever fucking listen?"

I wasn't ready to give up, and kept pressing, "This is important. We can't bail on the program, it's for charity."

KK retorted, "I can do whatever the fuck I want, just like you. You can't even deal with a simple request. I told you to stay in your study this afternoon, and I find you creeping around, you dirty perv. Did you listen, did you hear how good he was fucking me? Did you jerk your nasty cock while you listened? Fuck you. I'm not going. It's not up for discussion. I'm getting bored, if you don't finish your dinner, I'm calling a cab to take me home."

Other diners noted KK's loud response, and I turned beet-red. That was certainly conversation closed, at least on that topic. The ride back home from dinner was in silence.

When we got inside, KK said, "You can go to your study, or if you are too tired from all your jacking off, you can go sleep in the guest room. I just don't care. I don't want to hear from you until I text you tomorrow to make me breakfast."

I was being kicked out, banished from my own bed!

I paused, trying to extend the monolog into a conversation, but KK wasn't having it; she glared at me, eyes like ice, and said, "I already gave you your options. If you're not happy with either, just get the fuck out. Now leave me alone, go about your business."

My phone vibrated in my pocket - unfortunately KK noticed. She gave me an intense, angry stare and said, "That'd be your stupid little whore. You can go fuck her if you want, but I'll find you, cut off your whore-fucking cock, and choke her to death with your disgusting wandering dick. Your call... I should take your phone, go find that little cunt, and shove it sideways up her dirty ass... you mother-fucker..."

KK's rage was palpable - I almost ran to the study. Indeed, the text was from Bev, pleading for me to come over. I ignored the text. That was followed by a string of ever-escalating texts, some provocative, some desperate. The last was a photo, a bizarre, terrifying selfie, Bev was holding a little .38 revolver to her own temple, with an accompanying series of texts threatening suicide if I didn't "get over there right now."

Things seemed to have spiraled completely out of control. I did what I thought was right, called Bev, trying to to talk her down. I had to fight off the urge to go to Bev, if for no other reason than to disarm her. That fight was tempered by KK's threats of harming Bev. I figured it was all theatre anyway, but I was still concerned enough to be scared for her, and for me. In the end, I talked Bev "off the ledge" trying to buy time.

I spent the night exhausted, fitfully sleeping in my recliner. The saving grace was no texts or calls from Bev. I felt isolated, afraid, and terribly confused. I was also overwhelmed with guilt, feeling like all of this crumbling shit was entirely my fault.

The next week to ten days were pretty awful. KK was barely cordial, and would not let me sleep with her - sex was out of the question. Banished from my own bedroom, KK forced me to work around her use of the space so that I could shower or dress. In effect, I was camping out in my own study.

Bev was going through sequential melt-downs, each increasingly more dramatic, threatening suicide, threatening to show up at my house, or KK's studio. Any of those things would have been an outright disaster.

KK held her ground, refusing to participate in any form in the holiday event planning. She continued to taunt me about her "date," but every time I tried engaging her in conversation about it, the "who" and "when," I got stonewalled, icy stares, and "None of your fucking business you dirty whore-fucker" responses.

I personally dislike all of the obligations, external to family things, that are part of the holiday season - the overload of work, professional and social events that feel obligatory instead of voluntary. The day of this particular holiday event, I awoke to find KK packing her bags.

I panicked. I started asking questions, all of which pissed KK off. I think she was enjoying my terror. After a series of belligerent responses, KK closed the discussion, "Look... I fucking told you already. You do your thing, I'll do mine. It's just an overnight. I'll be back if you behave. You keep in mind that if I find you with that fucking whore, we're done. And I'll kill her. We don't have anything to talk about right now, you're just pissing me off, and making me late."

I gave in, feeling dejected and terrified. An hour later, KK got a text. She called out, "It's my ride. I'm outta here. Don't call. Don't text. I'll be fine."

With that, she was out the door, purse over her shoulder, overnight bag in hand, dragging her roller bag. I watched her get into a cab and depart.

It was a horrendously long day. I whiled away the hours until it was time to get ready for the gala, forced to attend solo. The excuse-making to acquaintances and colleagues was awkward - I held to a simple lie, a story line that KK was off to address a family need.

I had my phone on silent, throughout the evening, I kept getting texts/sexts from Bev, imploring me to "come over right now," a stream of naked selfies, taunts, teases and pokes designed to push my buttons. To this day, I've no idea why I didn't break down and go for a round of sport-fucking Bev - other than pure terror that KK would make good on her possibly legitimate threat.

The gala seemed to have no end. I exited at the earliest opportunity, feeling ill at ease, completely stressed out, like I wanted to run away, destination unknown. When I got to the car, I texted KK, ignoring her request not to bother her. I waited, no response on the drive home, no response at all. I still had a sporadic chain of texts, voicemails and naughty sexts from Bev, to the point I was wrestling with the idea of going to see her.

I fought it off, using a bottle of wine and some good pot as a crutch to take the edge off, before finally trailing off to sleep. KK never responded, while the last text from Bev was accompanied by a close-up of her little hand, gesturing "fuck you," middle finger raised.

The following day was anxiety filled - still no word from KK, no texts, no nothing. Bev on the other hand was unrelenting. The stream of texts and calls started just before 11:00am, growing increasingly desperate, threatening, sad, and taunting - all over the map. I finally turned off my phone. Around 5:00pm, KK still absent, I turned my phone on again, and a few seconds later a flood of notifications came in, missed texts, voicemails, all from Bev. I deleted them all without looking.

I heard the honk of a car horn, but before I could get to the entry hall to see what was going on, KK came in through the front door, dragging her roller bag in one hand, juggling her purse and overnight case in the other. She looked like a wreck! KK had on some workout wear, yoga pants and a warm-up top, her hair was loose, flying about, she looked tired, exhausted. I tried a warm greeting, despite my low-level anger and disappointment at KK having abandoned me the prior evening, despite her being AWOL. My attempt went nowhere. Instead, KK said, "I'm fucking exhausted. Why don't you make us some dinner while I go shower?"

KK's facial expression and tone was clear - she was in no mood for discussion or debate. I muttered in agreement, telling her I'd go put something together for dinner, suggesting a half-hour to forty-five minutes. KK said nothing, trudging down the hall toward our bedroom.

There was no meaningful conversation at dinner, with my every attempt at gaining insight into KK's overnight adventure admonished by an angry glare, met by silence. My smalltalk about the charity event garnered no interest or comment from KK. Finally, toward the end of dinner, as I got up to clear the table, KK asked, "Did you fuck your dirty little whore last night? I bet you did. I bet you just couldn't resist!"

I assured KK that I'd come straight home after bailing from the event, and that I hadn't spoken with, or seen Bev. I delivered the most sincere, convincing response I could muster, but KK's response was just another stern glare, a pause, and "All righty then... you know there's a time coming, I'm gonna gut that little bitch and make you watch."

Then she stormed off, leaving me with the kitchen mess. KK disappeared into our bedroom - I trailed her by several steps, by the time I got to the door, she'd locked me out.

That night I slept, if one could call it that, in my study - fitful, anxiety filled, curious about what KK had been up to, who she'd been with, if she'd been getting fucked, a stream of images flowing through my head, a blend of visuals that featured KK sucking cock, taking it in her pussy and ass, like a porn slut gone wild. The only bonus that night was the endless stream of texts and calls from Bev had come to a halt.

When I got up the next morning, there was a post-it note on my study door; "Gone to work, early shoot. Be home late this afternoon. Make dinner."

I had coffee, puttered around, finally deciding to go shave and shower. Before I made my way down the hall, I got a text from my admin at work, telling me the morning meetings had been cancelled due to attendee travel problems. In all honesty, I'd forgotten completely about this, so it was a relief. I texted my admin that I was going to take the day off.

When I got to the bedroom, I saw that KK's roller bag was still out, in one corner of the room. Having prior experience that snooping sometimes paid off, I picked it up, noting the heft, an indication it was still probably packed. I laid it on the foot of the bed, then opened the zipper. It was a jumble inside - KK's never been particularly organized at packing a bag, especially on the return trip.

I rifled through the contents. I was initially struck that the bag was under-packed given KK's normal predilection for taking along a veritable steamer-trunk wardrobe. There was a rumpled up pair of her jeans, a pair of unexciting "every day" panties and a bra, a blouse, and a pair of worn socks - that was it for street clothing.

Underneath that mundane stuff, I came across the clues I was hoping to find; one of KK's shoe bags, a mesh lingerie bag, and most unexpectedly, her Canon G-series PowerShot camera. KK's shoe bags are one of those "girl things." She has these nylon bags that hold a single pair of shoes, KK's obsessive thing is wrapping each shoe in tissue to avoid scuffing, then they go in the bags. In this one was a pair of KK's "fuck me" platform pumps - black patent, six inch heels, which have no practical purpose unless one happens to be a stripper, domme, or something along those lines. I could see that whatever was in the mesh lingerie bag was black and shiny.

I set the camera aside - KK normally takes it everywhere, but for whatever reason had left it behind in the roll-aboard bag.

I unzipped the lingerie bag, finding something that made my cock harden - KK's merry-widow, a prior year anniversary gift I'd given her. The crotchless, cup-less black satin and lace garment always got me hard when KK wore it; finding it in her bag, for whatever had transpired on her overnight getaway had my head spinning.

The merry-widow and shoes had only two purposes so far as I was concerned - making KK feel sexy, and getting someone's cock hard. My cock was now throbbing, painfully hard. The mesh bag's sole contents were the merry-widow, and a pair of black stockings. I unfurled the nylons for examination, finding one had a big runner on the inside of the thigh, while the other was intact. With my thoughts racing, I stuffed the garments back into the mesh bag, zipped it, and laid it on the bed.

I went through the rest of the roller-bag's contents, but didn't find anything else of interest. I stuffed everything back into the jumble, except for the camera. My heart was racing, my head pounding, my cock was throbbing. I had more or less forgotten why I'd even come into the bedroom to begin with. I decided to see if anything was on the camera, but its battery appeared to be dead.

My solution was to take the camera to my study - it used a now old-school large format compact flash card. I opened the little door, ejected the card, fumbling around my shit until I found a card reader and cable, finally getting it connected to my computer. I made a folder, selected all the files on the card, and copied them to my hard drive. I decided to pause, to restore KK's stuff to the bag in case she came home unexpectedly. It took a few minutes for me to compose myself, and get everything back in place like I thought I'd found it.

I went back to the study to see what the camera image files might reveal. I was shocked by what I found. There were probably a hundred or so images. The first I looked at was of KK in what appeared to be a hotel room, or perhaps an apartment - the scene was in daylight, with KK partly in silhouette in front of a plate glass window. The background was washed out, out of focus, so there was nothing that gave a clue as to the location. KK was wearing the jeans and blouse that I'd found in her bag. The furnishings were contemporary, the room was neat, but otherwise unremarkable. To one side of the room, there was a bed. On the other, a chest of drawers. Whoever was photographing KK was on the opposite side of the room, maybe 10-feet or so from her.

The next image was like getting gut-punched. KK was standing in the same spot, however she was attired in the merry-widow, stockings, and fuck-me pumps! My wife's big tits protruded from the open cups of the satin merry-widow. Despite the distance from KK to whomever was photographing her, I could see that her nipples were erect, spiked up hard, she was smiling seductively at the camera.

I felt like I was suffocating - unable to get my breath. My heart and head were pounding, and despite being seated at the desk, I felt dizzy, off-balance like I was falling. My cock was agonizingly hard.

The next several images were marginally executed by whomever was photographing my provocatively dressed wife - kind of standard figure poses. The sequence ended with a single shot of KK on the bed, legs spread wide apart - she was finger-fucking herself on camera! My eyes burned, tearing up, while I experienced waves of incongruent lust thinking about the scene captured in the photograph. I fumbled around, taking my throbbing cock in hand, stroking it while I stared at the image of KK masturbating on camera.

I lost track of time, stroking and staring at the image of my wife, my darling, engaged in an obscene scenario, entertaining, performing for some unseen stranger, allowing herself to be photographed. She was looking at the camera, a sly, dirty, knowing smile on her face, fingering her pussy for her audience.

Finally I advanced to the next photo. What I saw stunned me - I felt as if I was going to black out from the wave of combined emotions that the scene provoked:

KK was obviously kneeling between a pair of male thighs. Her right hand gripped an enormous cock! KK fingers wrapped around the erect organ, at its base, exposing at least another hand's length of penis shaft up to the circumcision scar, which was capped with a plum-size glans, pink-red, engorged. My throat was closing, I felt unable to breath - KK's hand on this monster cock was enough by itself to evoke conflicting feelings of rage, jealousy and unmitigated lust.

She was looking at the camera, smiling, with wide eyes, clearly pleased with the thick, long cock in her grasp. KK's tongue protruded slightly, curled against her upper lip. I knew what was coming - I'd see her mouth taking that monster meat in, I knew she was contemplating pleasuring that cock-meat with her tender lips and wet tongue.

I stared at the shot, my cock throbbing, my entire body trembling, sweat forming on my brow, my disbelief at what I was seeing in the image was a gnawing in my core, tearing at my gut.

The next several shots were as I'd predicted, depending on my oscillating perspective, worse, or better than I was able to imagine. KK was between the man's legs, giving his monster dick a dirty, naughty, totally perverted sucking and licking. The final shot in the sequence was probably the most erotic. One of KK's hands was not directly visible, probably squeezing or manipulating the stranger's balls, or possibly she had a finger in his anus - the other hand grasped the horse-cock at its base, as KK had her pretty red lips wrapped over the cock-head down to the coronal ridge.

My cock was beginning to leak, semen dripping onto my hand as I stared at the perverted scene while I stroked myself. I forced myself to advance to the next image, trying to distract myself from blowing a load of cum all over myself, my desk and everything nearby. The next several images were some sort of train-wreck - whomever was handling the camera was distracted. The images were out of focus, disoriented, useless. There were a dozen or so like that, which proved enough of a distraction to bring me back from the edge of an explosive orgasm.

The two final images were the most stunning, simultaneously heart-breaking, yet totally erotic. The penultimate shot was in focus, framing KK's torso, and her lover's torso just as she was lowering herself on the enormous hard cock - the stranger's cock-head was almost, but not quite in contact with KK's obviously wet labia, her pink-red pussy lips were slightly parted to receive him. I found myself salivating, burning with sweat and denial of what was obvious - my wife was going to sit on this cock, impale herself on it!

In the final shot, the logical, inevitable conclusion, KK had managed to take the entire gigantic organ totally, she was impaled on the enormous cock, it was buried inside her, they were pressed together pubis to pubis. The image was otherwise free of context, just a man, and a woman, my wife, coupled intimately together. I ejaculated, spraying cum all over as I was overcome by the provocative sight.

In that moment of terror and orgasmic delight, the world around me went black, first a blur, then dimming, then total darkness. I can't fully describe the experience - otherworldly, out-of-body, like I was momentarily snuffed out of existence.

At the point I regained my composure, I found myself panting, unable to catch my breath, hot, dripping sweat, yet feeling chilled to the bone, shaking, my eyes tearing up, feeling alternating waves of anger, hurt, lust, and disgust. My own spunk was covering my hand, and my cock was still turgid, twitching.