My Hot Wife - The Transition

It was awful! My head was pounding, I had difficulty standing, weak-kneed, wobbly, feeling gut-punched and overwhelmed. There was one wash cloth left, the only remaining clean bath linen, which I ran cold water over, to wipe my face and chest. I wrung it out, and rinsed it again, hanging it over the shower curtain rod.

I was lost for what to do. KK was clearly bombed, from the looks of things, she'd either been fucked senseless by a guy with amazing stamina, or she'd been used by more than one man. It wasn't at all obvious what had transpired, other than drinking and crazy sex. It crossed my mind as a positive that whoever had been fucking my wife had at least used condoms - KK hates them, and would never have "made" someone use a rubber.

Before I left the bathroom, in the pause of feeling like I was going to die or puke, I kicked off my shoes, managed to take off my piss soaked socks, my suit pants and boxers. I rinsed the one sock that had taken the brunt of it, and hung it over the shower rod. The pants were another story - I shook them over the tub to knock off the vomit, made sure the pockets were empty and put them onto the shower rod along with the wet sock. I stood there naked, shivering slightly, which oddly made me feel a little better.

Leaving the bathroom behind, I went back into the main part of the suite. The first thing I did was root through KK's cosmetics bag, until I found a bottle of Advil. I took four, went back to the bathroom, using my hand to get a gulp of water, as all the cups were dirty. After I downed the Advil, I returned to the suite. My original intent was to start cleaning things up. It took less than 30-seconds to figure out I wasn't going to complete that task in any meaningful way - I was feeling too ill, the mess was overwhelming, nasty, basically disgusting.

I dragged one of the soiled towels from the bathroom, spread it onto the floor, kicking various chunks of trash onto it. I managed to get most of the crap onto the towel without having to touch it, save for the used condom on the bed next to KK, and another I found in her shoe!

I ended up with a towel full of condom wrappers, spunk filled rubbers, three empty champagne bottles (I'd found a third, partly filled bottle half way under the bed, which had spilled onto the carpet), cups and Kleenex, which I dragged to the bathroom. I rounded up the remainder of the trash in that space, filling the trash receptacle to almost overflowing.

Staggering at that point, I made one more scan of the room. In one corner, I found a man's dress sock, brown. Under the desk, wedged between the leg and trash can, I found a pair of men's "tighty-whities," and near the foot of the bed, almost out of sight, a men's white athletic sock! The evidence spoke for itself - there had to have been at least two men KK'd been entertaining that night!

I felt another wave of nausea coming on, so I paused, hoofed it back to the bathroom, took some deep breaths, splashed my face with water, taking another gulp from my palm, until the sickness passed. That was all I could do - I looked at my watch, noting it was after 4:00am. We had a noon check-out, and a 2:00pm flight - it was going to be ugly.

Back in the main part of the suite, I collected KK's shoes, her dress, laid the dress on the back of one of the chairs, setting her shoes on the desk. Setting the alarm for 10:00am, I was done. I turned off the last of the room lights, and collapsed on the bed next to KK. My head was spinning, I was dizzy, even lying down the room was spinning.

Incongruously, my cock was hard! Not rock hard, booze and fatigue were interfering with a proper erection, but I was still erect, turgid. KK was naked, passed out, and I'd not had any sexual release in weeks. My alternatives were few - I managed to get off the bed, found a small tube of complimentary lotion in the basket on the bathroom sink. I returned to the bed with it, uncapped the tube, slathering up my cock with the cold gooey lotion.

I was beyond horny. I stroked my cock like a madman, until I blasted jets of cum all over my belly. The whole of the time, I was imagining, visualizing what must've happened in that hotel room in my absence; the fucking, sucking, fingering, unhinged sex that must have transpired, my wanton wife getting banged by two or more men. The longer I stroked my cock, the more men I imagined in the scene, two, five, ten... who knows.

My pathetic erection was persistent - even after unloading what seemed like a gallon of cum, I was still aroused. Still feeling conflicted over the situation as a whole, I decided to go at it again. It took me forever to cum, but I was determined to pump all the cum from my aching balls as I was able, fueling my mad stroking with the visualizations of KK, penetrated by strange men.

I crashed, still feeling ill, my head pounding, stomach churning - I could feel my pulse thumping in my temples, hearing it in my ears.

When that wretched alarm went off, it seemed as though only moments had passed since I'd laid down. Sunlight was blasting through the open window - I'd neglected closing the drapes. KK was still out, rolled on her side, facing away from me, snoring away.

My head felt like I'd been in a prize fight, my mouth tasted like booze and vomit. The room was cold, I was shivering, naked and covered in goosebumps. When I had my bearings, I called housekeeping, requesting two sets of fresh bath linens.

The room still smelled of sex and stale champagne. I got some sweats from my bag, putting them on, in anticipation of housekeeping arriving with towels. The room was an absolute disaster - I was going to have to leave a big tip for the housekeeping staff, because there was no way to disguise or otherwise cover up the horrible mess. The towels arrived, I scrounged a ten-dollar bill out of KK's purse, exchanging it through the partly open door of the suite for the linens. The housekeeper's face screwed up, likely from the awful smell, and she went on her way.

I let KK continue sleeping while I showered, doing my best to pack things up. It finally dawned on me that the rental car was still in the titty-bar parking lot! That was going to be a bitch to explain, and would be a pain to retrieve. My suit jacket and tie were still in it, and I couldn't remember if I'd left anything else in it - for a brief period, I considered sacrificing the jacket and tie, just calling the rental car company to go pick the damn thing up. I decided against it, scrawled a note for KK, and went to the lobby to get the concierge to round up a cab ride - while I waited, I got more cash. Fortunately traffic was light, I made the trip in just over a half hour. I had the valet hold the car, since it was nearing noon.

When I got back to the suite, KK was just getting around. She was completely hung over, bitchy, crabby, somewhat disoriented. I told her there were fresh towels in the bath, that if she could manage, there was time for a quick brunch before we had to catch our flight. I was rewarded with the sound of KK retching, as she tossed her cookies onto the floor... it was definitely going to be a rough morning and afternoon. I managed to get her cleaned up, dressed, and packed up, but we were 30-minutes past our scheduled check-out time. I couldn't find her hotel key, but I tossed mine into the express check-out box as we exited, dumped our bags into the rental car, and I tipped the annoyed valet an extra twenty for holding the car.

KK was silent on the drive to the airport, looking almost green from being hung-over. Somehow we got through the airport mess, and on the plane without further incident. KK was too hung-over to eat, so we skipped that. KK slept the entire flight, slumped against the window.

The flight was on time, but it was early evening before we got home. During the drive from the airport to home, KK never said a word - each time I tried talking to her, I got a nasty stare and grimace.

When we got home and into the garage, KK said, "Take care of the luggage. I'm going to shower and go to bed."

As she exited the car, I asked, "How about dinner?"

KK's only response was a head-turn, stern look, and gruff "No!"

She went in through the garage entry, leaving me to unload the car. I hauled her purse, and all the bags in, temporarily dumping them in the hallway near the door. After I got everything in the house, the garage closed up, I went to check on KK. The master bedroom door was locked. I felt a combination of anger, anxiety, disappointment along with discouragement. I felt like I was at least owed some sort of explanation. I waited at the bedroom door for a while, but there was no sign that KK was going to invite me in.

I trod down the hall, noticing the pile of bags in the floor, including KK's purse. I picked it up, intending to take it to my study to snoop. I hoped to find some clue about KK's "hotel date" - her phone was inside the bag, but she'd locked it with a PIN code. I tried a few things, until the phone would no longer respond. That was a dead end.

There was nothing else readily offering a clue, other than there was a strip of three wrapped condoms, and a little tube of lube in one inside pocket of the bag. While I probably should have felt some little sense of relief from that discovery, it only made me more anxiety-filled and angry.

The condoms and lube were clear indicators of KK's intent - she had been planning, prepared for sex.

I put everything back the way I found it, and returned KK's purse to the entry hall table where she usually leaves it.

I did the same routine with her overnight and roller-bag, each in turn, rifling through them in the privacy of my study in case KK ventured from the bedroom. There was nothing of interest in the overnight case; cosmetics, "girly junk" like her shampoo and conditioner, a card from the hotel spa, a small spray bottle of her perfume, and a couple of panty-liners. A bust..

The roller-bag was only slightly more interesting in terms of contents - some sexy black lace panties and a matching bra that seemed unfamiliar, a pair of unworn heels, wrapped in tissue - I think the heels may have been new; black velvet with sparkly stuff embedded in the fabric, another cocktail dress, one I recall having seen KK wear before, but no other clues about who, or how many "dates" she might have lined up for the hotel tryst.

I slept alone that night in my study, in a combination of despair and lust, reliving in my imagination what KK might have been doing in the hotel room, while I stroked my hard cock. I could see her in my mind's eye, sucking strange cock, bouncing on hard, glistening penises, the object of several men's attention, sucking, fucking and being used by many men. It was fodder for three good jerk sessions, before my balls felt empty. After the last session, I contemplated calling Bev, but fought off the notion.

Laying in the recliner, I felt simultaneously angry, in despair, and horny. I felt desperate for sexual release, somehow empty after my stroke session, using thoughts of KK being fucked by strange men in our hotel bed. I thought about picking the bedroom door lock, a simple thing to do, and going to reclaim KK in some sort of dramatic scenario, but I knew that would probably not go in my favor. I slept it off as best I could.

I had early meetings the next day. KK begrudgingly awoke, let me into the bedroom so that I could shower and dress, then returned to bed while I completed my routine.

I had difficulty focusing throughout the workday. My thoughts oscillated between visions of KK bouncing on a hard cock, being man-handled by strangers on the hotel bed, and simmering, seething anger and jealousy. It seemed an eternity before the day was over and I could depart for home.

When I got to the house, it appeared that KK must've taken the day off. Her luggage was cleared from the hallway, the house was orderly, there was a scent of roasting meat and vegetables - perhaps a pot roast. There was some music in the background, and when I entered the kitchen, I found KK sipping wine, and preparing a tray of rolls for the oven.

KK was wearing a pair of cotton draw-string 'short shorts', socks, and a crop-top tank without a bra. Her nipples were protruding through the thin material of the top, distinct, like she was aroused. The shorts were inappropriate for wear in public, KK's ass-cheeks were almost visible under the hemmed leg openings, and the shorts were tight on her skin - KK had a visible camel-toe, an indicator of no panties... It was an arousing sight.

I went to her for a hug, a kiss, and a grope, but she responded only with a peck on my cheek, pulling away from me, while wagging the knife she held in her right hand toward me, a slight smile on her face, and what I took as a joke, "Don't make me cut you..."

I stepped back, in retreat, as KK said, "Dinner in about half an hour... pot roast, taters, and carrots... yummy! Why don't you have some wine and relax until I call you?"

With her suggestion, I retrieved a glass, poured some wine from the bottle on the kitchen counter, and went to the den. I decided to play along, rather than press KK for anything, particularly the need to bend her over the kitchen counter and satisfy myself.

Dinner was uneventful - certainly enjoyable, but there was an air of artificiality, an "elephant in the room," plastered over with mundane conversation about work and general life bullshit. I was distracted, finding myself ogling KK's ample tits, nipples protruding under the thin cotton of her tank top, while visualizing her bouncing on some dude's hard cock - I only half-listened to her chatter.

The remainder of the night would best be defined as deliberate, low-level sexual teasing and torment, with KK parading around in her too-short shorts and crop top, bending over, stretching, and showing herself off knowing that I was on the edge of tossing her onto the den sofa and taking her. It was nothing short of torture, and KK knew it. Around 10:30pm, she announced it was bed time, and asked me if I needed anything out of the bedroom before she retired.

I felt angered, after her deliberate sexual teasing I was going to be shut out again. After a pause, I told her I'd just be a minute, and asked if she'd reconsider and let me sleep with her in our bed. Her retort was curt, harsh, "No, none of that. You're on your own."

I went, dejected, and rejected, down the hall to the bedroom to change into some sweats, sorting out whether or not I'd challenge her. In the end, I wimped out, and stayed another night in my study, left with nothing other than my thoughts, and the opportunity to jack off using the photos from KK's overnight encounter to soothe myself.

The days passed along similar lines, and with each passing day, I got hornier, feeling blue-balled at KK's sexual neglect, along with a simmering hostility - fixated on her infidelity, her rejection, her secrecy and refusal to discuss any of it with me. KK cut me off at every avenue, outright telling me more than once to "fuck off, none of your business."

By the time ten days of this treatment elapsed, I was beginning to feel desperate, my anxiety level off the chart, combined with the feeling of being 'starved' sexually. Off and on, I considered calling or texting Bev to arrange a hook-up, fortunately I didn't act on the impulse, fearing what might happen if KK became suspicious or concerned.

On a Friday night, I came home from work a little late. I was pressed for time the whole of the day, and when I made my way in through the garage entry, I found KK in a mood. It seems I'd neglected to respond to one of her texts, and I'd failed to let her know I was going to be late getting home.

KK turned that into an imaginary scenario in which I'd almost certainly been in a clandestine hook-up with Bev. She was enraged, angry, vicious toward me, and I got the third-degree interrogation, trapped between the garage entry door and my angry wife - I was experiencing a fight-or-flight reaction as KK chewed on me, accusing me of backsliding with Bev again.

I did my best to convince KK that nothing was going on, that I'd just gotten busy at the end of the workday, ran a little late, and apologized for being inconsiderate and neglectful. It didn't seem to take.

KK spun on her heels, down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind her. I felt sunk, hollow, yet angry and annoyed - by this point, I'd not had any interaction with Bev in weeks, certainly no sex or physical contact, while in the same span of time, my dear wife had been defiantly, blatantly fucking some collection of strange men.

There was no sign of dinner, so I optimistically decided to prepare something, hoping that KK would cool down, and better heads would prevail if there was something good to eat. I went to the kitchen, then to the wine cellar, returning with a bottle, which I uncorked and poured. I found some suitable ingredients for a meal; greens for salad, some left-over dinner rolls, and a couple of filets that I could grill.

I got dinner ready, assuming KK would appear, and hoping that she'd changed her outlook after having time to cool off and digest my apology. Hearing the distinct click of heels on the tile floor was the first sign that my optimism was unwarranted.

KK stood in the kitchen entry, and I'm fairly certain my heart skipped a beat. She was wearing an outrageously hot leather dress with a zipper front, her lace bustier visible beneath the partly unzipped bodice, black hose, and a pair of 'fuck me' platform stiletto pumps. KK's hair was down, her lips shimmering, bright red, luscious - she'd done her make-up to maximum effect, and the whole look was 'bend me over and fuck me.'

KK said, "I'm going out. You're on your own. Maybe next time you'll have the simple courtesy to call. If I find out you lied, that you've been fucking that dirty little whore, I'm going to cut your balls off and feed them to her, choke her to death on them. Don't wait up!"

KK turned on her heels, and exited via the garage door. I was stunned, at first more or less paralyzed, so it took me a few seconds to respond. I bolted for the door, intent on stopping her, but she was already in the car, backing out even before the garage door was fully raised. The tires on her X3 barked against the garage floor as she backed up, barely clearing the bottom of the garage door on her way out. The last thing I saw was the fury, a glare in her eyes as she flipped me off.

In the process, I burned the filets - a small grease fire on the grill turned them into cinders. Somewhere in the shocking turn of events, I'd even managed to drop my wine glass - it lay broken on the floor in a puddle. I had enough snap to snuff out the grill fire, pausing long enough to catch my breath.

After cleaning up the mess, I was no longer hungry, and my optimism was eroded completely - I was in a state of despair, near overwhelming anxiety, fear, anger, frustration, and a twinge of lust, occasionally visualizing KK in that fuck-me leather dress and heels, thinking about what she might be up to, fueled by her anger.

I texted KK a couple of times, about an hour apart each time, but got no response. Shortly after midnight, I got a text - it wasn't from KK - instead it was a '9-1-1-' from Bev. I didn't respond, and predictably within a few minutes, Bev called. Against my better judgement, I answered the call:

"You fucking bastard! Your psycho fucking wife's outside the house, throwing shit at the door. She's with some amazon red-head bitch, and I'm pretty sure they're both drunk. You got ten minutes to call the crazy bitch off, or I'm calling the cops!"

The phone went silent, and Bev ended the call. I was enveloped with a feeling of dread and panic. I went looking for my car keys, and couldn't seem to find them. While racing around the house, my phone rang again - it was Bev: