The Good Wife Ch. 01bytazsis1©
Just past midnight on Friday night Stephanie, my wife, finally called.
S: It's me, love. I'm going to be late.
G: Are you okay?
S: Yes, I'm fine. A good party. I'm a little drunk. I've been dancing and my feet hurt so, so much.
G: Sounds fun. Do you want me to come and get you in the car?
S: No, no. [Pause] Geoffrey... I've met a man and I'm going on to another party with him. He'll bring me home, later, probably much, much later.
[A long silence]
G: Yes. I'm here.
S: Please don't use that tone with me. You know I don't like that. We've talked about this many times, you know it was bound to happen -- sooner or later.
G: Are you going to have sex with him? Who is he? Why are you doing this?
S: I'm not sure, maybe. You don't know him. But that's not your concern. You knew this would happen, sooner or later... and you're being childish, Geoffrey. I don't like this. Please, be good. I'll be home later. We can talk about it all then. Go to sleep.
G: Please, Stephanie, I love you.
S: Of course, I know that. See you later. Get some rest and, Geoffrey, absolutely no wanking.
And then she hung up. I put the phone back in its cradle on the wall and stood there stock still for five or ten minutes, maybe longer. I was dizzy with the fragmentary, unfinished thoughts rushing through my head. I remember feeling sick with dread and confused, so confused. I felt anger and jealousy, too, but these were secondary.
Stephanie and I have been married for seven years. She is a statuesque woman, nearly six foot tall, red haired, always cut short, and pale skinned. She is beautiful and elegant and intelligent. Her manner is business like and slightly severe, slightly manly, softened by a dazzling smile which she deploys sparingly, and a physical grace that comes from her training as a dancer. I know many men who are frightened of her, and many women who admire her forthrightness. She is 40-years-old and at the height of her physical beauty and power.
She has had affairs before, of course, but I didn't know about them until they were over and they were always "at work", with colleagues or clients. She explained them as part of her work, part of getting promoted or landing a sale. I had no right to know about these, nor was I allowed to object or have much of an opinion on them. It was, simply what Stephanie wanted to do and her private business.
Over time, I came to accept these affairs. Stephanie would lose interest in sex with me and I would assume she was having an affair, I wouldn't ask and she wouldn't offer information. In between affairs, we would have sex again, she would be in my life fully again, and occasionally she would tell me about her lovers. I was always so grateful to have her back. That she chose to keep me, that she came back to me seemed to confirm and intensify my love and desire. Somehow I came to love the fact that my wife was so desirable to other men and could be a slut at the office, would allow a man to see her naked, would fuck a man or suck his cock just to get ahead. I loved her of course, and she loved me. She always came home to me. I have always believed that I was the one she loved despite all the infidelities -- that was just sex.
And now, I had to go along with what Stephanie was doing with this new man, but I feared what it meant, where it might lead, the change it might bring to our marriage and our home. This was different from previous sexual encounters because she'd called me and I knew about it in real time, because she was out with him now. I fell into that particular heaven or hell - that special subspace known only to cuckolds, full of fear and humiliation and breathless, stomach churning excitement. This budding affair felt real and threatening. I wanted to talk to Stephanie, to discuss what she was doing, I needed reassurance. But she was out with him at some party or in some hotel room, and I knew better than to try to call her on her mobile phone.
Much later, several glasses of wine later, I fell asleep in my reading chair in the sitting room.
I woke up at 3am. I was cold and my neck hurt from lying awkwardly. Stephanie was not back. I went out onto the balcony to clear my head. Below, parked across the street from our fourth floor apartment, was a big fancy black Mercedes with its interior lit up. I knew immediately that this was the man's car and Stephanie was in there. How long had they been there? What were they doing? I stood and watched for about 15 minutes. Were they kissing or fucking, was she sucking on his cock or fighting off his advances?
My reverie was suddenly broken when the passenger door swung open and Stephanie stepped out. She was a little unsteady on her feet. She pushed the door shut and walked across the road to our entrance. Her crumpled jacket hung from one hand, her work case from the other. Her hair was a mess. A gust of wind blew open Stephanie's white blouse exposing her high little breasts. Her blouse was unbuttoned all the way down and not tucked into her skirt. At some point in the evening she had lost her bra. At this late hour, she didn't bother to cover herself up, just walked tiredly on and into our block, her breasts exposed to the cool night air. I was instantly wracked with anxiety and jealousy; my stomach felt tight and I was breathing heavily. My rigid penis tented in my trousers.
I sat back down in my reading chair in the dark front room to wait for her.
The keys scraped in the lock and Stephanie let herself in. She saw me sitting in the front room straight away. She dropped her case and jacket on the floor, kicked off her shoes and released the buttons on her skirt, letting it fall to the ground at her feet, just inside the door. She let her blouse fall form her shoulders, slide down her arms and slide to the floor.
"Hello my love. Have you been sitting there all night, waiting for me?"
She walked towards me, a deliberate, slow, swaying walk. He gorgeous legs in hold-up stockings, her sheer black panties clinging wetly to her cunt. She held her arms behind her, arching her back a little and presenting he breasts. As she came closer I noticed big splashes of cum on her neck and breasts. She came to a halt just in front of me, put her hands on her hips, set her feet apart and let me admire her. I reached out, turned my reading lamp on and tilted it up to illuminate her body. The front of her panties was soaked and shiny. I reached for her and ran a fingertip from the bottom of her cunt to the top along the front of her panties.
"I've not had an orgasm tonight. I am so hot and wet there."
She pressed herself against my fingers.
"I refused to fuck him. Not on a first date."
She laughed at her own joke.
"But he insisted on groping my tits, had his hot paws on my cunt and arse all night, and I gave him a blowjob, just now in the car, and he came all over me. That's all that happened, my love."
Stephanie smiled down at me. She knew the effect this was having on me -- molten jealousy and dread alongside excitement of the deepest and darkest kind. I was rigid in my trousers.
Her breasts were red in places from his rough handling and pinching. Long streaks of ejaculate clung to her skin, still wet. She scooped some in her fingers and held out her hand towards me. I leant forward and opened my mouth, licked and sucked her fingers clean. I tasted the man's cum carefully and swallowed it.
"His name is Thomas Lang. He's fifty-five, a bit fat and hugely rich and powerful and arrogant. You'd hate him. He's irresistible."
She continued to clean off her breasts and to feed me the man's cum. It tasted bitter, almost medicinal. It was heavy and glutinous.
"In the cock department he makes you look like a boy, my love. I nearly broke my jaw sucking on him. Sooooo big. It's going to hurt when I do fuck him. I'm not used to something that big, am I my dear?"
She scooped up the last of his sperm and I cleaned it off her. Stephanie suddenly grabbed my hair in her fist and pulled me up to stand before her. She kissed me hard then, driving her tongue into my mouth. I tasted his cock on her, smelt him on her breath. She licked my face, into my eye sockets, bit my neck and ears. I clung to her, pulling her against my hard penis, accepting her forceful, hungry, animal kisses.
She broke off to order me to my knees; "Down. I want and orgasm. With your mouth."
Of course I went to my knees, pulling her panties down her legs as I went. She stepped out of them and immediately wrapped a leg around my shoulder and drew my face against her cunt. I steadied her by cupping her arse cheeks in my hands and pressed my face, my nose and mouth, against her. She was hot and wet and close to orgasm. Without finesse I drove my tongue into her as she heaved and ground hard against me. In less than a minute, she came shuddering, making several short and sharp screams. She held me against her and I softly lapped at her, pressing nose against her clitoris. Finally, she stepped back away from me. I sat back on my heels, looking up at her, my face soaked in her rich wetness.
"Lie down. On your back. Spread your legs."
Stephanie stood between my legs, raised one foot and placed it on my erect penis.
"Hold my foot against you, Geoffrey."
I knew what was coming, but did as I was told. Stephanie stood with all her weight on my penis. She reached for the book shelf to keep her balance and ground and twisted her foot down as if she were stubbing out a cigarette. I groaned and held her foot in place, taking her weight, as my penis flared with intense pain and withered. She stepped off me and before I could draw in breath, she kicked my viciously in the balls.
I writhed on the floor in pain, doubled up, holding my crushed manhood. The shooting pain eased in a few minutes to be replaced immediately with nausea and a deep ache. I fought back the tears as I gradually brought my breathing under control.
"Thomas told me not to make love you and not to allow you any pleasure. He doesn't want us fucking when I'm seeing him. Get up. Let's go to bed, love. We both need some sleep."