Wife's Confession

When she confessed, tearfully, that she'd let him fuck her one afternoon he came to fix the stove, I was shocked, angry, hurt, a bit resentful, and disappointed, but I was also sympathetic to the pain and guilt she was feeling. When she told me she liked it, I was heartbroken, but when she told me she wanted to do it again, I was devastated and confused, although surprisingly elated that she was able to tell me, at her candor and honesty.  

When she said she liked it, and wanted to do it again I was bewildered by my lack of an ultimatum, that I wouldn't simply forbid her from doing it, demand a divorce, and call it quits. I did love her still, despite her unfaithfulness. I like being around her, enjoyed her company, and enjoyed our intimate moments, some going on for longer than just a moment. When she asked for my forgiveness, I gave it willingly, but when I asked if she wanted to do it again and she said, "Yes, I do." I was unprepared for her answer and surprised by my reaction to it.

"Okay," I said, not knowing if I could manage that or not. I even surprised myself more when I asked her to tell me about it. I am not sure if I was more bothered that she was willing to, or happy that she agreed. Strangely it made me feel closer to her, sharing her pain and at the same time excitement of a powerful sexual encounter, but it also pushed us a bit apart because she willingly had sex with our handyman. She had been unfaithful.

It may have been the most confusing night of my life. I was totally conflicted. I was hurt that she'd fuck a worker, enjoyed it, wanted to do it again, but also a little turned on by her sexual exhilaration, even by her guilt.

I even understood when she said she wasn't ready to have me fuck another woman, but resentful that she felt that way. "I know it isn't fair," she said, "but I am not ready yet for that." She had already said it was unfair, so there was no argument to make. 

As she began telling me about how it happened, I listened as if she was describing a shopping trip. "So, you were turned on by him taking his shirt off?" She nodded, as if it was to be expected. "And when he got grease down the front of his pants you offered to wash them? And when he took his pants off he didn't have underwear?"

"Right," she said as if it was obvious. 

"And he got hard?"

"Right. It was beautiful. I just wanted to touch it, then hold it, then have it in me," she said without hesitation and a little arousal. "More than anything I wanted to taste it. He didn't come on to me," she said as if to relieve him of responsibility. "I just asked him to fuck me," she confessed openly. "It was just an impulse.

"We went to the laundry room and he set me on the washing machine and entered me as I lifted my skirt and opened my legs for him. He had taken my panties off," she said as if the detail was important. "We fucked while it ran with a load of clothes. The vibration of the machine added to the sensation in my pussy," she said using a word I had never heard from her.

"When I came I think I screamed. I am not sure, you'll have to ask him."

"I probably won't," I said. 

"After the washing machine, we went to the bedroom and we fucked again, on our bed," she said a bit embarrassed by her confession. "I got on top," she said, as if the details, again, were important. "You know I like being on top. I have to be honest," she said as if honesty at this point lessened her sexual transgression with our hourly worker 

"And this is the most important part," she said. "I liked it, and I want to do it more. It made me feel like I haven't felt for years, like a desired woman and a sexual being. Having his cock in me on the washing machine made me feel naughty and excited like I haven't felt for a long time, maybe never. I felt nasty and reckless and I liked the feeling. It released in me something I crave, something wild and independent, shameless and free. 

"I liked him fucking me on the washing machine," she confessed again, bright eyed, like she'd had an epiphany, an experience that told her who she really was and she loved finding it out about herself. She had fucked another man and she felt less guilty about it than she expected. "I know I should hate myself, but I don't. I liked it. I liked what I did. I liked being fucked in the laundry room by the handyman with my skirt up and his pants around his ankles. I liked feeling like a whore," she said, emboldened by the revelation.  

"I want to screw more handymen," she announced almost with pride. Finally, she put her arms around my neck. "What do you think?" she asked directly. "Could you have a wife fucking laborers on the washing machine?"

I did not know how to answer. I did love her. I did like being with her, being married to her, and I did like having sex with her. I even liked hearing about her sexual adventure on the laundry appliance. Could I live with a divorce. It was clear she would accept the divorce if that is what I wanted, but she would not give up her new passion for fucking strangers.

What does a man do when his wife confesses she fucked a day worker on the washing machine in his laundry room and doesn't want to stop? What does a man do when faced with such a decision? Accept it? Throw her out, even though you love her? Look for someone else, even though all other parts of the relationship are excellent?  

For the next few days we didn't talk about it, going on with our lives as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Then one day as we had breakfast, she looked up and said, "Well, can you have a whore for a wife?" I did not answer, but she waited. "I have even thought about that, turning pro," she said, giving one more monumental thing for me to think about.

"I have always liked sex," she said by way of explanation. 

"I would just do it for a living." Her statement hung in the air like a guillotine. Not only would she do it with handymen, she'd do it with lawyers, doctors, accountants, and other paying customers.  

So now I have a big decision to make now about what to do. Will I tell her no, I can't let you do that, or will I accept her transformation and live as we have with one major and very big change? Will I sleep next to a whore and accept her profession and passion and practices, as if she were a librarian at a school or a kindergarten teacher? I really have no idea. What would you do? If you were in my situation would it be an easy decision? So, what would your choice be?  

Is having a sex worker for a wife the worst thing possible? Could she be good at both? If so, why is that different from her being a super model, selling her appearance, images of her body for money? A dancer being paid to dance with another man, bodies close, holding intimately, doing otherwise sensual things. Okay, you tell me.

Stop loving her, or suck it up and divide the money, vast amounts of money, her sexual affection, whatever? There is not an ending to this story, as yet. So, what would you do? And, most importantly, you sure?