Old Temptations

WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual activity and rough sex. If that offends you, please move on and read something else. There is something for everyone on Literotica.

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Old Temptations

Previously faithful wife succumbs to her lingering lustful desires with her former high school sweetheart with unanticipated consequences.

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Just like clockwork, my wife's cellphone chimed with a message not long after we finished dinner. For the last week, every night at about six-fifteen she seemed to be getting a text message. Acting unconcerned, Gayle waited a couple of minutes before looking at it.

And just as on the previous evenings, she slyly waited a few additional minutes before disappearing into the guest bathroom and closing and locking the door behind her. Later, after returning, she always seemed flustered and on edge.

Usually, I wouldn't have found anything suspicious about it. She often gossiped with the women she worked with at the law offices. I trust my wife and she had never given me any reason to doubt her.

Gayle always had a very strong sense of right and wrong. And she was highly possessive in her own right. She got jealous if I so much as glanced at another woman for a little too long.

On a couple of occasions, she had even confronted me, suggesting that I was cheating on her--which I hadn't! Sometimes she could be downright paranoid. I tried to be patient with her.

Her mother had been especially strict with her as she grew up, often ridiculing her, and there had been issues with her father and another woman, which probably contributed to her fear of betrayal.

What had made me suspicious was the changes in her behavior that I noticed over the previous week after she started getting her evening text messages. She suddenly seemed anxious all the time, even a little jittery. She avoided conversation, and that definitely wasn't like her--she ALWAYS had something to say!

Making matters worse, she didn't want to make love anymore, something we usually did every two or three days. Each night she rolled all the way over to her side of the bed and curled up in a fetal position. If I reached out to touch her, her body would shudder and she'd make an excuse, saying something like, "Not now Kevin! I'm really tired. Maybe tomorrow."

Something was obviously troubling her. But what?

Gayle and I had met and fell in love in college and married after my junior and her sophomore year. We had been the same major and we shared classes and books until we graduated. It took me an extra year since I had a job after I got out of class. Consequently, we walked graduation together.

We've been married eight years but we decided early on to not have children. Neither of us had particularly good childhoods ourselves and preferred one another's company. We were very close and did everything together. We enjoyed each other's company. And we especially enjoyed each other's bodies.

That's why the current situation was so unnerving. Suddenly Gayle seemed a million miles away. After the first couple of days, I tried to talk to her, but it only seemed to agitate her more as she tried to deflect my questions and change the subject. So I backed off.

Finally, after the third day of her strange new behavior, I was concerned enough that I wanted to get to the bottom of it. I was afraid that I was losing my wife.

I had noticed that Gayle had also been spending more time on her laptop at home than usual, and for some reason started taking it to work with her. In the legal office where she worked, she had a desktop computer, so taking her laptop along seemed odd.

I had the sense that whoever it was that she was texting and talking to on her cellphone and probably emailing or video calling from her laptop was probably the source of her strange behavior. As a result, I made the decision to do something that made left me feel really uncomfortable--yet I did it anyway!

I told myself that I was probably being paranoid and silly, but I felt compelled to get to the bottom of my wife's troubling behavior. The doubts that were swirling in my head were eating me alive.

After spending some time on my own laptop, I found two software programs that would allow me to surreptitiously monitor all the calls and texts on my wife's cellphone and another program that would let me monitor her laptop, even recording her keystrokes and passwords.

I had the programs overnighted to my office and when they arrived the next day, I took them home and late that night, after Gayle was asleep, I installed them on her phone and laptop.

Even as I installed the programs, I felt pangs of guilt for doubting her fidelity. Up to now, she had never given me any reason to doubt her. I always felt that if either of us strayed, it would probably have been me.

Gayle came from a family that could probably best be described as upright and uptight. They were obsessed with appearances. Growing up in an affluent suburb in Los Angeles, she had attended church every Sunday with her grandparents, and both they and her parents expected her to be a prim and proper young lady at all times. Being a 'good girl' was drummed into her head.

She took piano lessons, played in the orchestra at her high school and attended tea parties conducted by the Daughters of the American Revolution. Her family were rock-ribbed Republicans, salt of the earth types. Grant Woods' painting 'American Gothic' could have been a portrait of her maternal grandparents who were originally from the Midwest.

Tonight when Gayle's cellphone beeped, she was sitting on the couch in the living room, reading a book while I watched a baseball game on TV as I sat next to her. I tried to peek and see the message, but she deftly had the phone angled away from me.

And predictably, after waiting for a few minutes, just as she had done on previous nights, she quietly slipped off to the bathroom, taking her cellphone with her. The only difference tonight was--I was ready!

That last night, before I ordered the software, I had followed Gayle down the hallway. Listening at the bathroom door it became obvious that she was talking to someone on her cellphone. Gayle was whispering in hushed, though excited tones. She was whispering so quietly I couldn't make out all the words she was excitedly whispering.

It was only when her voice became more excited that she became loud enough for me to make out all the words. Otherwise, I was only able to make out fragments of the conversation from her end of the call. But what I did hear was both troubling and revealing.

"Oh! It's so nice to hear from you and catch up. I'm glad you called again."

"Yes, it has been so long--too long!"

"No, I haven't gone to any of the reunions. Have you?"

"Oh, just too busy, I guess."

"I've been meaning to ask, how did you know how to get hold of me?"

"Oh--Larry, of course! The next time you talk to Larry, say hello for me. I guess his mom must have gotten my number from my grandparents. They go to the same church."

"Oh, that's nice. It's lovely here now. The weather is so beautiful right now. You'll enjoy your stay here. We love living here."

"MEET AT YOUR HOTEL? Oh, no, that wouldn't be appropriate I'm a married woman now, Jerry!"

"Oh, you arrive on Monday! That's nice. Yes, the local Travelodge is a nice hotel. I think it was just remodeled, so you should enjoy it. It has a nice pool."

"NO JERRY! I'm not meeting you at your hotel. I told you--I'm married now!"

"Jerry, please! I work all day, and I spend my evenings at home with my husband. I just don't think it would be possible--or appropriate."

"OK, if you insist! After you arrive we can talk about it again."

"Yes, maybe we can get together for lunch--but no promises. OK?"

It had only been Gayle's end of the conversation, and not all of it. But it was enough to give me a good picture of what was going on. Gayle and I had discussed our previous romantic entanglements before we got married and had compared our previous sex lives as well.

I knew that Jerry was probably Jerry Jenkins, her former high school boyfriend. She had told me that she dated him when she was a sophomore and he was a senior, and that they had done a lot of heavy petting.

The relationship had come to an abrupt halt when Gayle's mother and father had come home early from a weekend getaway and found the two of them on the couch, naked from the waist down.

As Gayle told it, "He made me so hot and bothered, with his fingers inside me and kissing me on my neck--you know, that 'special place' that gets me all excited--I finally gave into him and I was going to let him stick it in me. I even put the condom on him and everything! And just then dad and mom walked in!"

And that was the end of that beautiful relationship. Gayle's parents permanently cock blocked her hunky boyfriend and a few weeks later, Jerry's father was transferred across the country and he and Gayle didn't see each other again. And now, much to my aggravation, he was now back and sniffing around my wife!

What troubled me was the giddy, girlish way she talked to him. It was almost as though she was back in high school and boy crazy all over again, getting ready to surrender her young body to him all over again.

Ten minutes after I listened through the bathroom door, I was on my laptop Googling surveillance software and within the hour it was ordered for next day delivery from Amazon.

Now, a couple of days later, as Gayle padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her, I was ready. Grabbing my own phone, I headed straight for the den where I had left my earphones on the desk.

Closing and locking the door behind me, I fired up my laptop as well, just in case there were any new text messages or emails to review. I didn't want to interrupt listening to any of their hushed phone conversations by toggling back and forth between programs.

I opened up the surveillance application on my cellphone and logged onto my wife's phone as I plugged in the earphones to listen in on the call.

"JERRY!!! I've already told you BEFORE--I'm not meeting you at your hotel!" said Gayle adamantly.

"But BABE! It's been so long," whined Jerry. "I just want to see you--that's all!"

"I know, baby! But I'm a married woman now," pouted Gayle. "No can do!"

"But why babe?" whined Jerry, sounding even more pathetic. "I just want to spend some time catching up with you--that's all!"

"Jerry! I doubt you have changed," replied Gayle with a sigh. "I can't trust either of us being alone together. Remember what happened last time!"

"Yeah! I know babe," groaned Jerry. "And we were SO CLOSE!"

"That's what worries me!" lamented Gayle. "I don't trust you and more importantly, I don't trust ME!"

"So--You've still got the hots for me, huh babe?" snickered Jerry.

"You're such a bad boy!" cooed Gayle mischievously. "I shouldn't even talk to you. I'm a respectably married woman now. Not a boy crazy teenager."

"Well, OK then," moaned Jerry. "I guess I'll talk to you Monday, after I arrive. Talk to you then, babe. Bye. Love you!"

"Love you too," whispered Gayle breathily. "Night Jerry."

Why did she have to say 'Love you' to Jerry? Why couldn't she simply have told him good night. I brooded. I realized it was probably silly. But still!

What alarmed me most was that she was behaving like a boy crazy high school girl. Was she trying to recapture her lost youth. Gayle's voice was entirely different when she talked to her former boyfriend on the phone.

I suspected that was how she had sounded when she was fifteen or sixteen. My worst fear was that she would end up showing the same poor judgment of a hormonal teenager that she had shown back then.

Since I had the laptop fired up and the surveillance program open, I logged in to see if there was any email activity. I had already discovered that they had been exchanging emails for several days now during the day as well. Jerry's first email had thanked her for providing him with her own email address over the phone on their first call.

Most of the emails between Gayle and her former boyfriend Jerry were just idle chatter, the kind of catching up people engage in when they haven't seen each other for a while. Jerry had attached photos to one of the emails and I took a look at them.

Jerry was a lot bigger, more muscular and far more handsome than Gayle had led me to believe. She had made him out to be some kind of wimp--and he was anything but that. His muscles bulged from the long sleeve shirt he was wearing and his thigh muscles strained against his levis. She had probably misled me about Jerry's physique for the benefit of my ego.

Gayle's reply had several photos of her attached. They were from our most recent vacation. The photos she picked of herself were very flattering and really highlighted just how attractive she was and how she had blossomed as a woman.

But the one thing that was noticeably missing from all the photos was ME! We had asked other vacationers to snap photos of the two of us together using our phones, but Gayle hadn't chosen to send any of those.

More alarming from my perspective were the two photos of Gayle in the new bikini I had bought her for the trip. One photo was taken from the front and the other from the back, showing off her virtually naked backside, as well as her nearly naked breasts and her shaved pussy.

What got under my skin most was the fact that I had to beg her to wear the skimpy bikini in the first place, since it wasn't much more than a few strands of yarn that barely covered her petite pink nipples and the slash between her legs--and even then barely doing so. And I had to beg her even harder in order to take the photos!

I went back to Jerry's photos, remembering that there was one of him in surfer's trunks and a tank top from what I assumed were his high school days or shortly thereafter. My male ego wanted to size him up in comparison to myself.

Looking at the photo more closely this time, I saw something peeking out below the bottom of his thigh length trunks, so I enlarged the photo on the screen.

It was the head of his thick flaccid penis. My first thought was, 'If his tool was that long when it was limp, hanging out from the bottom of the long surfer's trunks--how big was it when it was at full staff?'

This was another tidbit of information Gayle had failed to share with me. Suddenly I had visions of the very sexually excitable Gayle with her hands wrapped around his huge cock, kneading it, stroking it, licking it--deep throating it!

When we were comparing notes, she had already said she sometimes jerked her boyfriend off and 'sort of' gave him a blow job a couple of times―but never swallowed! Now I wondered if she had lied about that too, to salve my male ego.

My cock was above average, I told myself, and Gayle swore she loved the feel of me inside her, but my appendage was nowhere near the size of Jerry's monstrous wanger. I suddenly found myself consumed with penis envy and feeling vulnerable and inadequate. The thoughts of losing my wife invaded my mind once again.

As I sat in front of my laptop stewing, hoping I would hear Gayle return to the living room or come looking for me, I clicked backward to the photos of her in the skimpy bikini. I wanted to savor what I might be losing, hoping it would steel my determination to fight for her, if necessary.

Gayle was not a spectacular or stunning beauty by any means. Even she would admit to that. She could have been, if she worked out a little more or focused more on her appearance. She wore little makeup and didn't fuss over her hair. Nor did she seem to think of herself as a 'stunner' as she put it.

The superlatives I overheard most men using to describe my wife were pretty or attractive. Those words would be followed by wholesome, appealing, desirable or a keeper. The consensus was that none of men in our circle of acquaintances would kick her out of bed.

Others had occasionally described her as having that 'girl next door' vibe and that was the theory that I subscribed to. The first time I saw Gayle, I instinctively knew she was the kind of girl my parents would want me to marry.

The other vibe she gave off was 'do not touch'. And to be truthful, that was one of the things that attracted me most to her. It was as though she was the forbidden fruit, that which was unattainable, just beyond my reach. But I reached for her and she took my hand, and I haven't let go since.

YES! I'd fight for her. And if that meant playing dirty, then so be it. I would continue to spy on her and drive her former boyfriend away by whatever means necessary.

I still hadn't heard Gayle return, so I continued to look at the images of her in the bikini on my laptop. Appreciating what I had, and what I hoped to keep. I remembered the day I took them and how proud she was of her toned body.

She had worked out every evening at the gym for over a month before we left on the trip. She wanted to look good in that bikini. If I was going to make her show off her body to a beach full of strangers, she wanted to look her absolute best, for herself, for her admirers--and for me.

Gayle's body was neither that of a skinny fashion model nor that of an athlete or gym rat. Her body was fleshy in a very lush womanly sort of way. She was soft in all the right places and her 36-25-35 figure was eye catching, with or without clothing.

At five foot seven, she was of medium height for a woman, and her long slender legs only accentuated her lush curvy body. One of my close friends had candidly provided the best description of Gayle back before we were married. As he had put it, "She's one of the most fuckable women I've ever seen!"

Her flaxen blonde hair was long, stretching down to well below her jutting breasts. On those rare occasions when she styled and curled her hair, it looked stunningly feminine, cascading over her lush breasts, just like the women in the glamour magazines. But most of the time, Gayle wore her hair in a more practical long ponytail that reached almost to the cleft in her shapely ass.

As I looked at one of the other photos, one that showed Gayle's head, shoulders and upper torso, her dark brown and pouty bedroom eyes pierced into me from the screen, just as they always had. Gayle's were the kind of eyes that did not look away. And when they did, it was usually when she felt awkward because of her natural shyness.

Gayle's shyness! Her reticence! If there was one thing I would change about her, it would be that. If only she were more adventurous, particularly in the sex department. But that had been an uphill battle throughout our marriage as her parent's and grandparent's influence continued to hold her back.

I constantly made the effort to get her to push her boundaries. Gayle's parents, and particularly her grandparents, had drummed it into her head that she had to be a 'good girl' who was 'ladylike' at all times.

When it came to sex, Gayle's tastes were strictly vanilla and her boundaries narrow. She eschewed any position other than the missionary and originally her idea of a blow job was basically jerking me off with a few random kisses and licks on the head of my penis thrown in before I came into her hands.

It wasn't until we had been married for two years that Gayle gave me an actual real blowjob, and another year of coaxing and begging before I got her to swallow.

The idea of swallowing was definitely off the table back early on in our relationship, as was ass play―which still was! The one and only time I tried to stick my finger in Gayle's tight inviting ass to hasten her orgasm, she made it clear that destination was strictly verboten!

Gayle's idea of pushing boundaries was having sex doggy style. She thought tit fucking was scandalous and that cradling by cock in her ass crack was obscene and degenerate. Gayle's excuse for not being more adventurous had always been, and continued to be, that she was worried that I would think she was a slut.