My Wife's Peeping Tom

Author's Note: The first 15% of Part 4 is about Brooke and Ethan's early history, which helps explain why they're where they are now in their marriage. It'll also be important to understand Ethan's motivations moving forward. If you're only interested in the action and don't care about the 'why', you could merely scan the first bit without it being fatal to your reading experience.

Once it gets going, I hope most of you will find this one sexier than Part 3.

😊

Though I'd been irritated about Brooke missing my A team's reunion, I guess it turned out all right in the end. I came up with a little fun on the fly, and it only cost me the money to buy a sexy outfit for her. I couldn't know if my wife would enjoy or hate that assignment, but she ended up loving it. Of course, I benefited from the regular photo drops all weekend, I consider it a win-win.

Brooke's willingness to push her limits so much surprised me. I'd been kidding when I suggested that clothing was optional when she met the pizza guy at the door, but when I saw the photos of my wife actually exposing her pussy and one breast to a complete stranger, it made me reconsider everything I knew about her. Suddenly, the possibilities seemed endless, and my completely positive reaction to her new boldness showed how much we've both changed since we got married.

When I originally met Brooke at a party hosted by a childhood friend, she was a seventeen year old freshman at Ohio State and a charmingly innocent virgin. I was home on leave after a tour in the Middle East, and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this gorgeous redhead sitting alone on a couch in the corner. Fortunately, my buddy warned me she was underage before I tried anything.

As a twenty one year old, combat tested, airborne ranger, I went to that party with one mission in mind; Find a wild college girl and get laid. I decided to hit on Brooke's older roommate, but that didn't play out like I'd planned. The girl had consumed far too much alcohol to consent to anything, so I ended up sitting on that couch talking with my future wife for three hours with absolutely no chance of getting my dick wet.

I didn't see Brooke for almost two years after that because I left for Special Forces selection the next morning. While we'd certainly shared a moment, I never expected to see her again. After I completed my training and earned my green beret, I finally had enough time to breathe and think about my life.

To my utter astonishment, every train of thought eventually led back to the captivating redhead at that college party. I had a bit of accumulated leave coming before I joined my new unit, so I drove back to Ohio to find her. I arrived at her dorm in my dress blues with all my medals, badges and cords, and it had the intended affect. Women love the blues.

We went out every night during my leave, but then I had to head back to North Carolina to report in. We called and texted constantly until the Army sent my A-team to the war, which left me in a contested area and out of contact for weeks at a time. I returned to the States a week before Brooke's graduation.

I'm not an impulsive guy, but I asked her to marry me right after the ceremony. I even had a ring that I'd bought on my second day back in Ohio. I'd never been so certain of anything in my life, but Brooke wanted to wait until I'd left the army before marrying me.

Her parents clearly didn't approve of her getting engaged to a combat soldier four years her senior, but she stood up to them for the first time in her life. Brooke found a job and an apartment near my base, and we dated for two years as I completed my enlistment. I had combat deployments twice in that time, and I know it was hard on her sitting alone in Fayetteville North Carolina fretting over my safety for months on end.

We didn't have sex because of her rigid religious views, but I figured Brooke was worth the wait. I can't stress enough how hard that was for me. I'd always been good at finding random women who wanted to fuck, and going from several women a month to no sex for over two years was a huge change for me. In the end, we never did anything more than kiss and engage in a little over the clothes fondling, which frustrated a man whore like me to no end.

We had sex for the first time on our wedding night, and it started out perfect. With my new wife being a virgin, I took my time and went slow despite all that pent up need. Knowing she was nervous, I started out with a lot of foreplay, and even though I was clumsy and impatient, my mouth managed to give Brooke the first real orgasm of her life.

Things went to shit right after that, and it was completely my fault. Brooke surprised me by performing the most unbelievable blow job I'd ever received, but my dumbass immediately demanded to know how my supposedly chaste wife knew how to do that so well. After some overly aggressive cajoling, I got her to admit that she'd had a college boyfriend in the second half of her freshman year that taught her how.

I should've reacted better and just been grateful to be the beneficiary of her talents, but I felt an irrational wave of jealousy as I imagined my new wife's beautiful lips wrapped around some other guy's cock. Yes, I realize how hypocritical that is coming from the guy who couldn't count the number of drunken one night stands he'd had before meeting Brooke. I might've been older and more experienced than her, but I remained immature in certain critical ways. Soldiers can be that way sometimes.

My new wife tried several times to make me understand that she'd been incredibly naïve, not to mention desperately lonely after celebrating her eighteenth birthday completely alone in her dorm room. She'd never been away from her hometown before, her roommate only hung out with the women in her sorority, and Brooke hadn't made any friends at college yet. Desperate for me to understand what she'd gone through, Brooke stressed that she only accommodated him because she didn't want to lose the only person in her life over her refusal to have sex.

Her older boyfriend had dominated her by undercutting her self-esteem and confidence, and Brooke began believing that she'd never find anyone else willing to take her. He eventually demanded blowjobs almost every day of the week, and sometimes more than once a day. When my wife told me that she'd complied with his outrageous demands for nearly six months before he dumped her, I didn't recognize that she'd been the victim in the whole affair. I became so consumed with my self-righteous jealousy that I hadn't really heard

any

of the important parts of her story.

I can't fully express the rage I felt as I realized that I'd spent years completely celibate for a woman who'd spent the majority of six months sucking the cock of some boyfriend that she'd never even told me about. It didn't matter that it happened well over a year before we had our first date. As I wallowed in my immature and sanctimonious judgement, I called Brooke a slut and a whore as I let my emotions run rampant for the first time in years.

I know my PTSD had a bit to do with my loss of control, but the truth is that my feelings of betrayal stemmed mainly from my suspicion that I didn't really deserve such a great woman. In short, I suffered the same insecurities that my wife had with her boyfriend, but I was a total asshole about it. I refuse to use the war as an excuse for my shortcomings.

I'd punished my wife for being open and honest, and she's a quick study. After that, who could blame Brooke for not offering to share what she liked or didn't like about sex? Once I calmed down and realized how badly I'd overreacted, I felt awful about the whole thing, but the damage had already been done.

It's tragic that I couldn't get my wife to open up about what she

really

wanted until years later. I blame myself for that, but what does that get us? Nothing. I may have messed up the beginning, but that doesn't mean I can't atone for my sins by getting her what she needs going forward.

After Brooke reacted so surprisingly well to my impromptu assignment at Mr. Jefferies' home, I decided to push her further to see where it went. For my birthday weekend, I presented my wife with a new project that I hoped would be fun for us both. I even offered to make it count as my birthday present. I refused to tell her what she'd be doing until that day, but if things worked out, we'd spend hours in a sort of remote foreplay.

I went out to the bar with my poker buddies the night before my birthday. Though I'd only had a few beers all evening, I lied when I got home and said we'd been doing shots. As I feigned slurred speech and an unstable gait, I warned my wife that I'd probably have a hangover and planned on sleeping in. I also told Brooke to set her alarm for six because she'd need to start the day early for my birthday present.

When her alarm went off the next morning, I pretended to sleep through it. Once I heard her in the shower, I jumped out of bed and jogged into the kitchen. Retrieving Brooke's knee length raincoat from the mudroom, I laid it out across the kitchen counter. I then stuffed my wife's driver's license, key fob, cell phone, and two hundred dollars in cash into her little "vacation" purse before setting it beside the coat.

Sneaking into the bathroom, I placed a detailed list of instructions atop her hairbrush where she couldn't miss it. Like a teenaged boy, I took a little covert peek around the shower curtain as Brooke washed her hair. I then returned to bed and curled up under the covers to fake my hangover.

My wife seemed to take forever in the bathroom. Sure, Brooke had to dry her hair, put on a little makeup, and read the instructions, but I could barely lie still as I waited for her to emerge. Of course, my anticipation about the day's activities jacked up my impatience, and she probably hadn't taken any longer than usual.

When Brooke finally opened the bathroom door, I felt a wave of lust and affection as I saw that she remained naked as instructed. I usually gave my wife her instructions verbally so I could use the powerful command presence I'd cultivated at NCO school, so I hadn't been entirely sure how she'd react to a note. Thankfully, she appeared perfectly happy to follow a written order.

She crossed over and kissed me on the forehead before walking into the hallway with her two pages of instructions in hand. I lifted my head just in time to see Brooke's beautiful ass disappear around the corner of the doorway. A minute or so later, I watched through slitted eyes as my barefoot wife strode past the door in her raincoat with her little purse slung over her shoulder.

Being excited about the day, I was already half dressed by the time I heard the rumble of the automatic garage door shutting behind Brooke. Five minutes later, I wended my way slowly through our still sleeping neighborhood as the rain drizzled on my truck's windshield. Blending in might be important, and I figured my black pickup would stand out less in that dark Ohio morning than the red Chevy Impala I usually drive.

Despite my keenness, I had no need to rush. I had a forty minute drive ahead of me, but Brooke had to eat breakfast and complete her first assignment before I needed to be in place. After buying myself a sausage and egg sandwich with some orange juice, I cruised down the highway confident that my wife remained far behind me.

I'd been on the nearly empty freeway for about twenty minutes when my phone dinged. Glancing at it, I saw my wife had emailed me her first selfie. I'd already switched off the lock on my phone for the day, so two taps got me to the photo she'd taken.

It's funny. While Brooke had sent me hundreds of similar selfies from Mr. Jefferies' home, seeing her lying across his desk completely naked with a beaming smile on her face still gave me a thrill. My wife had the keys and alarm code to her company's offices, so she could indulge in this naughty little photo session without too much risk, especially that early on a Saturday morning.

Brooke lay sideways on his blotter, with her head propped up on one hand. Being an older guy, Mr. Jefferies had an old school name plate on his desk, so anyone who saw the photo would know exactly where my wife lay as she spread her legs and cradled one breast in her hand. I had to turn my cell face down on the bench seat so I didn't drive off the road from the distraction.

That one nude selfie already had me hard, and I'd only assigned it to her so I'd have time to get in place. Brooke didn't have a schedule this time, so I had only a vague idea when the next photo might come. I suddenly felt very parched, so I downed the rest of my orange juice as I drove through the dark rain.

A few minutes later, my phone went off again. I'd been careful to keep myself away from the few cars on the wet road at six thirty in the morning, so I picked up my phone without worry of hitting anyone as I tooled down the slow lane. Just as instructed, my naked wife stood on the brightly lit loading dock at the back of her building.

I'd left my digital camera, a remote control fob, tripod, and spare tablet in her car, so Brooke was able to get enough of the building in the shot to make it clear where she was. Even on my phone's small screen, I could easily make out her company's logo on the garage doors and on the semi tractor trailer parked to one side. Rather than huddling between the stacks of pallets or taking up partial concealment by the truck, my wife stood in the middle of the dock with her legs spread wide and her arms raised defiantly in the air.

I figured she had to be nervous in such a public place, but Brooke looked euphoric as she smiled broadly at the camera. As the note had instructed, her car and coat were nowhere to be seen. My wife looked so sexy and brave that I had to again force myself to set my phone down and concentrate on my driving.

A few miles farther down the road, I pulled into the rest stop forty minutes north of my home and parked in the empty employee lot. This concealed my truck behind some trees, which would be important for the next step in my birthday plans. After setting my phone to vibrate, I grabbed my olive drab rucksack and headed into the patch of woods that surrounded the rest stop on three sides.

Even though winter was far from over, rain in the first week of March isn't uncommon in Ohio, and the forty degree weather would make it easier on my wife than when she'd been trudging through the snow at Mr. Jeffries' home just two weeks prior. My camouflaged Gor-Tex parka kept me warm enough even in the predawn morning. The sky remained dark since the pale light of false dawn couldn't penetrate the roiling rain clouds.

I set up my observation point just inside the tree line where I had an excellent view of the rest stop. After setting up my mini-tripod, I covered it with an old school G.I. poncho to protect my camera from the rain. I then spread out camouflage netting over that. The natural foliage and the dark morning would ensure that I'd remain invisible to any folks at the rest stop.

Climbing under my hide, I removed the cap from my telephoto lens and did an initial sweep of the building. A glass wall faced me, and I could see the vending machines and the doors to the restrooms under the bright overhead lights inside. The sidewalks to the two parking lots on either side had lamp poles every fifteen feet, so I could take photos of all the action without needing my night vision equipment.

I'd picked this particular rest stop because the state didn't station any employees there like it did at the crowded full-service plazas on the turnpike. A custodian visited on a regular schedule to clean the place, but the clip board I'd seen on my recon indicated they only cleaned during the work week. The only people in the building should be truck drivers and travelers who decided to get an early start on their day.

Scanning the two parking lots with my telephoto lens, I spotted two semis and one beat up old Toyota. Two young women stood at the vending machines, and I assumed the truckers must be in the restroom. Sure enough, as I watched, one of them emerged and headed out to his truck. Out of habit, I took a few photos of these strangers' movements to document everything just as I had when observing a target in combat.

While I continued observing the target, the two women ran to their car with their jackets hiked up over their heads to avoid the light rain. Just then, a minivan pulled up, and a family of four rushed in to use the restrooms. Five minutes after that, my wife's car drove into the rest stop just as the second truck driver climbed into her rig to leave.

I took a few photos of Brooke sitting in her car while waiting for the action to begin. I knew my wife wouldn't move until the family left, so I relaxed and took a sip from the hydration system in my rucksack. She needed the building to be empty, and that might take a while even at this less popular rest stop.

Though it was still early, I expected someone else to come by before the family left, but my wife and I got lucky. As the parents pulled their kids along the sidewalk to the parking lot, I saw Brooke hop out of her little car and head in. I snapped a few photos of her as she passed the family who appeared too distracted by the rain to notice my wife's bare feet or the bulge of the tripod under her raincoat.

Before the parents had even buckled the kids into their car seats, I saw Brooke enter the building and promptly remove her coat. She stashed it beside the soda machine on the end and quickly set up the tripod by the enormous window. My camera clicked away as I documented my wife's daring actions, and I even got two shots that captured both her naked body in the window and the unsuspecting parents standing by their van.

I watched Brooke pose in front of the machines for a minute or two, and then she closed the tripod and hid it beside the vending machine with her coat. Carrying only her cell phone, my wife quickly padded into the men's room. I'd become so consumed with taking photos of the action that I didn't notice the arrival of a new semi in the truck lot until its air brakes hissed sharply.

As I watched in horror, a huge bald guy in jeans and leather jacket climbed down from the cab and made his way to the building. While my brain frantically tried to decide what to do, my hands continued taking photos of everything happening right up until the guy entered the men's room. The same thing had happened to me in combat when performing strategic reconnaissance. Your body responds to the training and muscle memory even while your brain is still struggling to comprehend the problem.

I crawled out from under my hide and raced to the building. I wasn't concerned about my appearance since lots of men in Ohio wear camouflage and dark ball caps. With my brown civilian rain pants, I looked like just another redneck as I passed through the automatic doors.

Slowing to a walk, I calmed my breath and listened at the men's room door for a second. Not hearing a struggle, I casually stepped inside to find the trucker standing at the urinal. I knew Brooke was in there somewhere, but I didn't see my naked wife's feet under any of the three toilet stalls.

With no other option, I stepped up to the urinals and took a leak. My erection made that difficult, but I didn't want to arouse this guy's suspicions by standing around a men's room for no reason. The trucker washed his hands and left without speaking or even looking at me.

I also washed my hands, using the sink closest to the door to avoid Brook seeing me through the gap between the door and wall of whichever toilet stall she'd sought refuge in; I'll never understand why we don't have more private facilities like they do in Europe. Then I made my way outside and sprinted back to my hide.