Now What?

I'd had the kind of day no guy wants to talk about, remember, or bore others with. The usual 12 hours of problems, questions, fires to extinguish, and personnel issues that drive a manager crazy. It was late, after dark, and all I wanted to do was get home and eat and hit the sack. More of the same tomorrow on the way so no need to rehash it in my mind.

I found my car in the lot, fumbled the keys out of my pocket, and cranked her over. As the engine fired, the radio blasted on which I quickly shut off along with the a/c that was needed this hot desert morning. Silence truly golden and desired for the quick ride home.

All day my wife had been emailing about a plumbing issue. Apparently, the downstairs toilet was acting up again, this time with gusto, adding clean up work to the repairs that were gonna cost me big time I know. I already knew the plumber would be there putting in OT since it was a last-minute request, and the thought of shelling out an extra couple hundred bucks on top of service fees, parts, and labor was chafing to say the least.

As I neared the house I decided to wheel into the local quick mart to grab some beer. Might as well take the edge off before trying to drift off as quickly as possible. Since the mart was only about two blocks from my house, it wasn't any sweat to make a pit stop.

On my way in I noticed a utility van parked in the outside area of the lot, near the phone. "Van's plumbing, 24-hour service," emblazoned on the side. The driver looked conked out like had been there a while. I figured he was waiting for a service call and was hanging by the phone. Briefly registered that there still was a payphone at a quick mart, but that's how things are in my neighborhood, where time seems to stand still and everyone knows everyone's business.

Grabbed a sixer of some IPA (on sale), snagged a lotto ticket (you never know), and soon was on my way home again.

Pulling into the drive I noticed more lights than usual on in the driveway and around the porch. Irked somewhat, I unlocked the front door and turned them off. Wish she could see the electric bill and have to handle it like I do.

I twisted off the lid and took two big gulps. Scratched my ticket, checked the phone and no luck. Ah well. I kicked my shoes off into the living room (Mags gonna bitch about that but I can't obey all the rules all the time...and she has a lot...) and plopped down on the couch.

I figured she was asleep. My wife is what you would call a "restful woman" who needs her sleep. Goes to bed early, sleeps in, gets cranky when awoken. I try to be quiet in the mornings because I don't need that grief.

After a few minutes I drained my beer and figured that was enough for tonight. The house was unusually dark, I'd had a tough day, and wanted to get to bed so I could get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

Before turning in though, I wanted to check the toilet downstairs. This fucking thing was really annoying me and if it wasn't fixed I was going to demand some answers from Mags and the plumber, especially seeking a refund. I hoped I would find work undone so I could complain to the company and to Mags, just to get some satisfaction and maybe a little money back.

I clomped down the stairs without turning the light on since the switch had gone out weeks ago. I headed to the bathroom and something caught my eye in the guest bedroom.

Not gonna sugar coat it. Just report the facts.

Across the tan oversize ottoman Mags made me buy against my wishes last December (ugly, expensive), I could see my wife of 20 years stretched out with her legs sticking off one side and her head and breasts over the other. Her white naked skin reflected what little light was coming from the window which concentrated moonlight and also a night light we kept on for security.

Much harder to see was the darker, very large movement behind her. I couldn't make out all the details, but I could hear the clear and rhythmic sounds of skin on skin. My eyes adjusted and my senses heightened. Hearing, sight, even smell were all elevated as I stood in the shadow of the door.

As clarity ensued, I could see my wife's giant tits flopping against the ottoman as her hair also bounced in rhythm with her body.

Her legs were wide apart and occasionally she would bring her heels to her buttocks in muffled squeals.

The floor underneath her, where her pussy obviously hung over the ottoman, was slick and shiny in the light that was reflected from the window. The widened pool of liquid was at least a foot in diameter.

As the room came into focus I saw a blue shirt and pants crumpled near the door. I could make out 'Van...plum" on the name badge.

As I took in the scene, suddenly Mags bucked up and whispered "I'm coming again." Wordlessly the dark shape increased his tempo, and after both stiffened and emitted controlled whimpers, I noticed the pool of liquid on the floor widen, and I smelled the sharp aroma of semen (I am a jack off pro).

Mags and the plumber (Van?) collapsed on the ottoman and I could tell he was still inside her.

I waited to see what was next. Anger, confusion, distraction, all boiled in me.

Soon she whispered, "again."

Being careful to not make noise, I ascended the stairs and this time plopped hard on the couch. I kicked my shoes into the entry way which I knew would be admonished. I cracked a beer. I could not hear what was happening below but my powerlessness to intervene seemed overwhelming. What was I to do?