Daddy's Home

I heard moaning. Not the intense kind but the soft musical drifts in breaths when air and ecstasy collide in one lung. It was musical and came in different tones as though from different voices. One of them I recognized. This is my house and the songs of my wife's moans are sketched to my memory. These passive moans tear fissures in me. I've never heard anything this beautiful when I fuck her and fill her with all I have to give, she's never sang like this. My curiosity is powered by my heavy heart, I need to see who implores my wife to make these sighs that sound like music. I need to know.

She's in our marital bed purring in rhythms I've never heard. I borrow the stealth of a thief and creep course to adultery, crimson its shade. My wife has a secret. Her secret has soft legs and a body highlighted in crimson colored art.

I enter through our living space and crouch outside our bedroom balcony where an open sliding door and drawn blinds carry their music to my ear. In my days away my wife has been securing her nights. Warmth was always beside her with another's tongue inside her. I meant to surprise her. My arrival was secret but I had no idea her secret would overshadow mine.

My body has turned rigid and my expression pales like the walls I hide behind. I hear my heart beat and it frightens me only because I believe they might hear it. They. My adulterous wife and her soft legged lover with the crimson colored body art. For reasons unknown to me my heart is not as heavy as it was mere seconds before I witnessed the instruments of those musical moans. I expected a stranger with a physique superior to mine heralding my wife in positions and depths I couldn't achieve, I expected to see another man's penis taking the place of my own inside the southern folds of my wife. And in a way I'm still greeted by a superior physique. I could never compete with a woman. I'm anatomically limited.

I should be enraged and disgusted and hurt until the pain becomes real but instead I can't quite fathom the feelings I do have. I'm intrigued. I'm relieved to know no man has taken my place between my woman's legs yet I can't fight the interest that swells within me by seeing love being made with one woman laying atop another. My woman... and hers. They glide over each other so rehearsed. They've been acquainted, this is no new affair. This affair has been practiced. Mastered. I take notes at how seamless their motions appear.

As I look on, my wife... my forever in a platinum wedding band... lays on her back as her lover with crimson roses moves tattooed limbs over her like silk over silk. My lover's lover rubs her thigh within that soft spot of pleats between my wife's legs. My wife is wreathing in spasms as roses cover her body and glide their way along her stomach and back down between her legs where shudders find her again.

I am speechless.

My own breath has slowed and I feel like a voyeur, intrusive yet innocent to the world I wake to. I feel guilty for my discoveries and ashamed for feeling that way.

I watch as they kiss. Slow, meaningful, in tandem with their slow turning bodies. My guilt swells but my erection outpaces my guilt. I hear the moans that waft like music to my ears, the sounds that drew me in and forever changed my life. Watching them kiss is like watching lovers in the park creating their memories through repetition. Kiss lips gently, suck on lower lip, apply tongue, fondle and repeat. Practice makes perfect.

They roll over, reverse rolls. Now my wife is on top and her lover reaches for her. They kiss with more passion than I imagine I've ever felt through 6 years of marriage then with slow movements their legs dangle from the side of the bed and their playful laughter and mixture of intense kisses find its way to the floor.

There are toys.

I see them now as the bed is barren. Rubber molds in pretty colours and girths surpassing my own with feathers in feminine pink. As they revel in the threads of our carpet I get a better view of my wife's lover. I can see the lines and the curves that make a woman like her irresistible to men like me. Who the fuck am I to argue with her own sex yielding to attraction. Her ass rose like hills and I watched as her planes of symmetry changed with her movements. Fucking marvelous. Her breasts looked like C's, noticeably larger than my wife's B cups. I could see the shine her nipples held after my wife's mouth parted with them. And her crimson tattoos.

My wife's soft legged lover had a body decorated with the brushes of Renaissance. From the side of her left breast, a crimson rose blossomed amidst thorns that spiraled along her torso leaving a roadmap of crimson roses in its path. Her art ran along the left side of her body, down her thigh and capped around her ankle in a ring of thorns. An ass sashayed for me. My wife's. Her ass danced to the music of her own love making and she curled her fingers in the air beckoning her crimson lover to her.

Her lover refused.

The crimson rose sat back and propped on her forearms before opening her legs and all its pretty pink for me to see. This view was for my wife but my eyes delinquently savored. From where I linger, I can see the artistic brushes did not neglect the pathway to her pussy. There was a thin branch of thorns inked to her pelvis with the most lifelike blossom of a rose I'd ever seen in bloom around it. I convinced myself that had my distance been removed I would have been able to smell the sweat moistened petals of her rose and hold little regard for the real thing.

The crimson rose toyed with her, toyed with my wife. She extended her leg like an olive branch and my wife accepted, running her fingers along another woman's thigh and kissing on her toes before suckling them in her mouth. What the fuck am I looking at? I'm now privy to a world that once before was hidden in the confines of my fantasies. But never my wife. I never placed my wife in those false images of women pleasuring women. This is the universe fucking with me. The same lips that kiss me in the mornings kiss their way up inner thighs and leave a trail of moisture I thought was just for me. The same hands that cup my face now greedily grasp an ass of crimson roses. I look on and I see my wife has positioned herself on her stomach and licks with the tongue I love tasting. I grow numb seeing the reaction it has on her tattooed lover.

I inch closer and my eyes water as my body and mind fight with each other for understanding and compromise. Seeing my wife in this position threatens the loving husband at my core and I feel the line of moisture on my cheek noticing now that my hands are shaking and I'm unable to control this state. But my fucking body is turned on and drains my blood into my head with no eyes.

I've never been more enamored. I am so captivated that I forget my presence depends on stealth, I need to be closer. My eyes greed with envy at this stranger in roses enjoying the pleasures of my wife and my heart bleeds with chills that culminate in every other emotion.

Moans. Music.

I will hear these sounds in my sleep.

"Fuck"

My wife's lover. Her voice brings me back.

"Oh, fuck"

I stare because I'm captivated by her song.

"Oh fuck, don't stop"

I love this music.

"Don't stop"

This music is bitter sweet.

"Fuck"

Bitter sweet.

Two weeks in Jamaica and I fucked the island girls. I mixed business with pleasure and said to hell with fidelity. Sun bleached Caribbean girls with tight pussies and carnival attire to advertise it. So after the meetings and proposals I threw my dollars in the right corners and happily cheated on my wife. My faithful, loving wife I knew on my life would never equal my actions. She'd never know and the universe would turn its back on the places I'd left my semen.

"Oooooh... fuuuuuck"

I can see her lips quiver as her expletives escape her... as her moans fill the air... as my wife keeps her face buried between her lover's limbs.

"Make me cum"

My wife is performing cunnilingus that looks like the mechanics of fine machinery. The movement of my wife's head up and down and the well-constructed thighs she holds onto. Her hips spasm as pleasure takes her. I see her small waist contort and watch the slow arch of her back. It's like watching her roses blossom.

Don't stop. Make me cum. Make me cum"

She raises on her elbows then falls as she tries to escape the feeling. My wife holds her in place and her C cups dance with every exhale.

"Fuuuuuuck... make... me..."

Her neck arches with her back and her head snaps from side to side. She opens her eyes as if taking in the world for the first time and her eyes settle on mine. With her hands out to her sides digging into the carpet and her body slowly slipping from her control, she stares at me.

My wife notices the stop in music and feels the stilled body between her lips which seems to have given her actions fuel. My wife starts fucking her crimson rose with her tongue and her head moves from up and down to back and forth.

I've never been as unsure of my next move as this moment. I've never felt the hammer of my heart strike the back of my throat and seize the muscles in my back. My pulse deceives me into believing that I'm the one guilty of wrong doing by being there. And then...

...she smiles.

Her face blossoms like the rose growing on her perfect breast and I watch as a row of white gets hidden in the O of a moan and her eyes close and she leaves me.

Seconds.

She cums.

Seconds past and I stand there because I don't know why my instincts have forsaken me.

Then her smile returns.

Her head turns to me and her eyes open a stunning brown.

She cradles the back of my wife's head and pulls it into her chest guiding my wife's eyes in my direction.

My erection pulses along with every vessel in my body.

Crimson rose. Her lips part and her mouth lingers rudely with slanted bright brown eyes trained on the pulse I couldn't control.

Then my wife reacts in a way I would have never expected.

She smiles too. "Hi, honey"

My wife's pretty little fingers curl in the air and calls me the way she called her lover.

I jump our balcony and enter the room with the musk of sex settling heavily around me.

I look at them...

These naked beauties with the glow of love making lingering on their skin. I've never been in such a situation so I don't know what my reaction should be. So I wait. They are still entwined in each other and slowly my wife moves and reaches for my hand. I see her soft nipples lift towards me and I find myself staring between the B's and C's of these women. As if introducing a casual acquaintance, my wife introduces her lover. Her name matches her art. I let my eyes drink the physique that lays beneath my wife. Her body well sculpted, tight with all the defining lines. My wife adjusts her position and lays beside her lover running her fingers along her lover's stomach drawing my attention to the pierced navel and skin piercings just above her vagina.

My wife has green eyes. Green stares into her lover's brown which stare back. Then they both stare into my black. Something unspoken was just said between them. They communicated with the colour of their irises and then attempt to share that language with me.

My wife pulls me closer, pulls me beside them. Still unaided by rationality my knees bend and I stoop beside the naked beauties. Still lain on the carpet with her legs open to me, the crimson rose with her intimate body piercings stares at me. I'm lured into a gaze I find hard to break until my wife's hands begin loosening my tie. I'm still in my suit. Just off the tarmac where I left business behind after descending from the clouds, hoping to surprise my wife. The opened thighs in front of me start moving in and out, touching at the knees then separating.

I swallow but I'm uncertain where it went.

Fondling my erection is my wife. In my ear are her words, seductive and sincere. "Do you want to taste her?"

The thighs before me stop moving and eagle in opposite directions.

My erection is now free, a feat my mind failed to witness.

I see the thorns spiraled below her hip and I gaze at the rose that sprouts around it. It is so real that I can feel the petals waver beneath my touch. I finally smell the sweat moistened petals of her rose. This is the real thing.