This Changes Everything Pt. 02

I stare out the glass sliding doors to the deck on the back of the house and the woods beyond, lost in thought, barely aware that my cellphone on the kitchen island is ringing and vibrating.

The overnight thunderstorm had knocked down a few small branches and unsettled the furniture on the deck, which was in the shade of the house and still wet, but the furniture was not nearly as unsettled as I.

Glancing at the phone I could see it was Meghan, my wife, calling for the third time today. We had exchanged texts earlier but she had guessed correctly by my brief response that I was troubled.

Boy, was I ever.

I let the phone ring until it went to my voicemail and returned to staring into the backyard, and back to anguish. I had been trying to work from home, not getting out of bed until our daughter, Samantha, had left for school, but I had accomplished very little.

I was tempted several times to pull out my cock and work it, reveling in the madness of last night.

Now it was 3 p.m.

Meghan had flown to New Orleans two days earlier for a meeting with a client. She is doing well with a logistics firm and her job takes her away from home every month or so to visit a client or for a meeting or a convention.

I had spoken with her last night before going to bed, before IT happened.

The notification went off that there was a voicemail.

I dialed up the message and heard Meghan's voice: "Jon, the vibe from your earlier text felt like you needed to talk about something. Well, I wanted to call and see what was going on. Miss you. Oh, Ron and I are going to be busy this afternoon."

"Busy" was said in a whisper like she didn't want to be overheard. I knew exactly what she meant.

That was all my fault, too, just like last night. I wanted most of all to confide in Meghan, but I wanted least of all to confide in Meghan.

The thing that happened last night might change our lives. It might change everything.

I curse myself for not having a crystal ball and foreseeing that the can of worms I opened about five years ago is now complicating our lives, not directly, but still. It was like popping a butter-soaked piece of lobster in your mouth, for me anyway. So much fun to chew but later it doesn't sit well.

Right now, "busy" wasn't sitting well.

I've been busy in the past but not that Meghan knew about, like that long-term relationship with Tara, the wife next door.

I'm the one who mentioned to Meghan years ago that our sex life was getting really boring and my idea of exciting was for her to fool around while she was out of town.

Of course, that idea went over like a lead balloon at first, but after a few months of role playing she was ready to dive in. There were few repercussions for what we had in mind. We watched a lot of porn together about wild and dirty wives and cuckolding, often masturbating together. Masturbating became our main sex.

I had mixed emotions the first time she came back from a conference with her tale of a one-night stand.

But, with the photos she took, there could be no doubt what she really did. We were so horny that first time and had amazing sex the night she returned. She explained that she took his condom off and asked for a creampie to please her husband.

Well, fast-forward a few years and you can imagine.

Meghan doesn't have a "guy in every port" but at least half the time she's getting well laid on the out-of-town excursions. My favorite is when she's gone for a week and is shacked up with some guy. I have to reclaim her after she flies back home.

Often Meghan shares a hotel room with a guy and her company is simply billed for an unused room on her expense report, for appearances sake.

One time, I went along on a trip and watched her and the guy she was meeting from a distance. It was a very hot experience, though I had to get a hotel room on my own because she needed ours for her weeklong shack-up.

Ron is her regular in New Orleans.

Yes, I guess I am a cuckold. I find it an amazing turn-on to know my wife is getting dicked down a lot. Don't ask me why. I've thought about it a lot and have no good answers.

I think one of Meghan's guys is black. The thought of a black guy shooting his seed into my wife has been the fodder for numerous orgasms, or pops, I call them. Self-service, you know.

We've gravitated to the BBC-on-white vids.

I don't know these guys. They are just names and photos in Meghan's other life. I'm not even sure she's doing it to please me anymore. I think her trips are little getaways, mentally and physically. More women are discovering that their bodies are pleasure machines. Who am I to stand in the way?

Ding.

A text message. I reach for the phone.

It's a photo.

I open it to see Meghan's mouth wrapped around a cock. Evidently, this is that fellow Ron's cock. I feel a familiar stirring in my loins and my cock twitches and starts to engorge. But it doesn't go very far with the issue that I need/hate to discuss with Meghan.

I don't reply.

Often I've spent nights jerking off to the photos and videos my dirty wife sends back from her business trips. I've caught myself getting a little loud at times.

About this time, I realize school is over for Samantha but she'll have soccer practice and probably be home about 6 p.m.

I have less than three hours.

I decide to play along with Meghan, replying: "I love to see you with a mouth full of cock, even if it's not mine. Enjoy yourself, babee. Work hard, play hard, emphasis on hard haha."

I set the phone down in the silence. Meghan will be back tomorrow night. Maybe we'll have sex. If last night had not happened, we for sure would.

I would ask her for all the dirty details: Did he fuck your ass? Did you swallow a load? Did he wear a condom? You took it off? You bad cheating bitch. Did he call his wife and act like nothing was out of the ordinary? Is he getting good at cheating?

The doorbell rings and I jump, startled, worrying about who is out there.

A few deep breaths later I am at the front door and see a UPS driver getting into her truck. I open the door, wave and retrieve the package. The 30-something Latina driver has a sweet round ass. My cock starts to lurch to life.

Always thinking about sex, I muse to myself.

The package was shoes for Meghan. I lay the box on the stairs to the second floor.

It's 4:30. I'm going to start dinner. Maybe it will take my mind off what will have to be an intense moment in the near future.

I begin preparing sauce to eventually ladle over pasta.

To steady my nerves, I pour and sip a glass of cabernet. I want to be a little tipsy when Samantha comes home, not a lot tipsy - just need to take off the edge.

I mentally rehearse what I want to say, going over the same things repeatedly. Of course, I don't know what Samantha is going to say, so some of this I will have to make up on the fly.

The chimes from the driveway ring and I look at the clock: 6 p.m. She's punctual like her parents.

The backdoor opens and there are footsteps in the mud room. Samantha appears around the corner, freckles and all, glasses tilted and auburn hair tousled, still wet from the shower following soccer practice. She's holding books in one hand and a gym bag in the other.

I'm tending to the sauce with the fan over the stove on high, and pretend for a moment that I don't see or hear her. Then she speaks in a bouncy teen voice, "Hi Dad."

I look up from the sauce and wave a wooden spoon, "hello, honey."

She sets the books and bag on a table in a corner of the kitchen.

"Are we eating at the island, Dad?"

I see her movements: her lithe body is graceful and her movements make my cock stir.

Dammit. That is not how a father reacts to his daughter.