Jane Gets Caught

I'd caught her. I knew she'd been doing it, but catching her in the lie had taken some time. My wife of ten years, Jane, had been lying to me. Every Thursday night, when she said she was going to play cards with the girls, she had really been going out to clubs. I'd suspected as much, but hadn't wanted to confront her without proof. Proof I now possessed. As far as I knew she hadn't been cheating, but the lying was almost as bad. She'd finally screwed up and put a night's worth of revelry on our joint credit card instead of on her own card. She must have been drunker than usual that night. She'd paid for three rounds of drinks for her and her girlfriends - who knows how many they'd stood for her - and she'd used the wrong card. I guess it just felt natural for her to be spending my money instead of her own.

I waited until after 9:00 that night, after I'd put the kids to bed (naturally, she didn't help with that chore) to speak with her about the lie. When I confronted her she'd denied it, then become defensive. I told her in no uncertain terms that I expected honesty from my wife. She copped an attitude and told me to mind my own business. That's when I lost my cool. I don't tolerate that kind of disrespect, not from my employees, friends, or colleagues. I certainly wasn't going to accept it from my wife.

As she sat up in bed wrapped in the Egyptian cotton sheets I'd paid for I smacked the remote to my Smart TV from her hand. I saw the first flicker of uncertainty and maybe a twinge of fear in her eyes.

"What do you want?" she whispered. I could hear her holding back tears.

"I want my wife to be honest, but maybe I can't expect that of you." I said.

"I'm sorry," you apologized. "I got caught up with the girls."

"Not good enough." I said.

"I'll do anything," you replied. It had taken some time, but you were finally grasping that I was about to throw your ass out. I didn't reply.

"Anything," you repeated and your face was pale.

"Yes, you will," I smiled. "You'll do whatever I want."

I smiled because I finally had the upper hand. After ten years of trying to please you, of trying to buy you and woo you. After a decade of giving you the kids, cars and trophies you wanted I had you. And I wasn't going to let it slip away.

I told you wait in the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. I grabbed two small glasses, a bottle of vodka and a can of Diet Coke and made my way back upstairs.

When I walked in I poured you a generous shot and myself a smaller one.

"Drink," I ordered.

"Honey, I've got to work tomorrow. I don't want a drink." You whined.

"I'm not asking." I said, "Drink. It." I was serious. I wasn't taking no for an answer. You grimaced and drank your shot.

"Are you happy?" you asked.

"No," I answered. "You don't make me happy." I poured out two more glasses, a large one for you and a smaller one for me. "But you will."

You looked at me silently and held out your hand for your glass. I handed it to you and with a shudder you drank it down. I cracked the Diet Coke and handed it to you. You took a sip and looked at me.

"Take off your top," I ordered.

"Bill..." you started to say.

"Take it off, Jane." I poured another shot in your glass and admired your figure as you sat up in our bed. You're curvy, about 5'4" and 160 pounds. You've got round hips and a big, apple shaped ass. Your tits drive my crazy and even after two kids your nipples stand straight out. I don't see them half as much as I want to, but that's going to change.

"What?" you ask.

"Take off your top."

Slowly you undo the three buttons on your flannel pajama top. Your tits sit high on top of your smooth, rounded belly. You try to stare me down, but I'm not having it. I give you your third shot, "Drink."

Staring into my eyes you wince as you throw back the extra large shot of vodka I've given you. You quickly follow it with a gulp of Diet Coke. You neck arches as you drink and your breasts heave. I can see the top of your chest and your cheeks turning pink from the booze you've drunk.

"What the fuck, Bill? What do you want?" You begin to get out of bed. Standing in front of me, topless and swaying slightly I can smell your hair and your skin.

"Sit down, Jane." I tell you and I take your upper arm and sit you on the chair of your make-up table. Your head is just about even with my stomach. I'm getting hard and I think about you blowing me from this position. Not yet.

You lean on the desk supporting your head with one hand. Your tits sit on the desktop. "Fuck," you mumble.

I realize that three shots I've made you take are probably more like six shots at a bar. Good, you'll have a headache in the morning. I slide my jeans off and sit back on our bed in my boxers and t-shirt mimicking the position I found you in earlier.

"Pour me a drink," I order.

You comply and unthinkingly pour yourself another shot, too. I raise my glass to you and we both drink. You hold the edge of the desk to steady yourself.

"Lose the pants, Jane."

You blink and try to focus on me for a second and then pull the drawstring loose on your baggy flannel bottoms. As you kick them off you stumble and sit down hard on the edge of the bed. I can feel the bed move and I love the way the plump roll of your hip curls above the top of your definitely un-sexy cotton panties.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Drunk." Is your simple reply.

"What happens to you when you're drunk?"

"Fuck you, Bill. You know what happens," You're slurring your words now. "Anything you want to happen."

"And why is that?" I ask.

"Because I get horny when I'm drunk." You clumsily push your hair back on your forehead head and lie down on your back. Your legs are hanging off the end of the bed and your tits are pointing directly at the ceiling. Your nipples are half-hard. My cock is fully hard.

"Jane, get up here." I tell you. You push yourself next to me and I slide down on my stomach, my face even with your belly. In a smooth motion I pull your panties over your hips. You give a little shake to let them slide past your ass and I inhale the scent of your sex, aroused, as your legs fall open.

I let my hand lightly stroke the curls covering your sex and revel in your moan. With my free hand I open the top drawer of my nightstand and retrieve the lube I keep there for you. Placing a generous amount on two fingers I slide them into you clamping my mouth on one nipple as I do so.

You start to breath heavier as I run two fingers in and out of you, sucking on your left breast while I knead your right.

You love drunken sex and I love you sloppy and loose like this. I can feel your natural lubrication combine with the lube on my fingers. My hand is making wet sucking noises as it moves in and out of your cunt. I curl my index and middle fingers in you and feel the rough spot on the front wall of your sex. Your moans increase as I rub your G-spot. "Get your vibe," I whisper.

Without disturbing my rhythm you retrieve your small pocket vibrator from its hiding spot tucked beside the mattress within arms reach on your side of the bed.

"Make yourself cum." I order. You turn on the little pocket vibrator and place it over your clit. I keep pumping my fingers in and out of you, rubbing the rougher patch on the inside wall of your vagina. You close your eyes and moan. You're close.

In minutes your legs bend and spasm and I can feel your muscles clamp around my fingers as you orgasm. My whole hand is wet now with a combination of lube and the fluid you released. I cup the side of your face with my wet hand and you lick the salty fluid off of my palm. Your eyes close and I feel you start to drift off to sleep. Not yet. Not tonight. You might be satisfied but I haven't cum yet.

"Jane," I say.

"Mmm." You whisper back.

"Turn over."

"But I'm tired, Bill." The petulance is back in your voice.

"Jane," I say again. "Turn, the fuck, over now." Without waiting for a response I grab your hips and twist. Your body flips over and I can hear a soft exhalation as the breath is pushed out of you. I pull you back toward me so that your knees bend and your ass is in the air. I can smell your sex and the arousal from your orgasm.

"Bill, what..." You start to speak, but stop with a groan as I roughly push two fingers into you from behind. My thumb is resting on the rosebud of your ass.

"Bill..." You don't finish that sentence as I squirt some lube into the crack of your ass and sink my thumb into your backside. "Ohhh..."

I quickly remove my fingers to take off my boxers. My dick is rock hard as I run it between the lips of your cunt and lay it in the crack of your ass. You don't move as I slowly push it into your anus. There's some resistance as the head pushes through but the booze, the lube and your desire cause you to relax. After the head pops through the rest of my shaft slides easily in.

We're groaning together now as I pump in and out of you. I'd started slow, but I'm pumping as fast and hard as I can now. Your face is resting on the pillow, your ass in the air. You're not supporting yourself with your hands - you're too busy fingering yourself and reaching between your legs to stroke my balls.

"Uh, uh, I'm coming!" Your voice is more desperate and wanton now. As you cum your muscles clench and draw my orgasm out of me. Pumping my cum into your ass seems to take forever. You're face down with your eyes closed by the time I pull my softening cock out of you.

In the soft light of our bedroom you lay passed out face down. Your legs are still spread and the tops of your thighs glisten with moisture. I snap a few pics of you lying like this; in the flash I can see my semen leaking from your ass.

When I glance at the clock it reads almost midnight. You have to get up at five A.M. for work. I bet that between your pounding head and throbbing cunt and ass you'll remember not to lie to me again.