*** Disclaimer ***
This is a FICTIONAL cuckold/cheating/voyeur themed story.
If this might offend your delicate puritan sensibilities, then I advise to not read further.
If you choose to and it reminds you of your own failings as a husband/boyfriend, keep that in mind before you're compelled to bombard me with poorly compiled illiterate "We don't tolerate your kind around here..." hate mail.
And for anyone demanding that I "stop writing stories", my response to you is:
No :-)
***
When I started dating my wife, Alexandra ("Alex" to her friends and family), I knew she was going to pull me out of my comfort zone in more ways than one. She was an athletic girl. One of those gym rats who would go for a morning run (even in the bleakest winter days), hit the gym after work, and attend a weekly social sports league (sometimes dodgeball, sometimes volleyball, and sometimes softball-- it always rotated).
She was a tomboy at her core, having grown up with three older brothers, she played a lot of sports, wore minimal makeup, and could crack vulgar jokes and curse like a sailor when the mood struck. She could throw down beers at the bar after her games, bond over cars, and immediately call out her friends on their petty personal drama. She wasn't a passive-aggressive girl. If someone acted pouty around her, it was usually met with a "What's your problem?"
I was very different. I always thought I was in good shape until I met her. One of our first dates involved a rugged hike up a mountainous trail. I was huffing and puffing after only a hundred yards, while she was practically jogging in place, urging me on with comments like "Get tough, pussy." (She never meant it in a mean way, and we both clicked for sure with our sense of humor.)
I ate poorly, whereas she counted carbs and fat. I gave little thought to my appearance-- dressing in basic jeans or khakis and a t-shirt, whereas (despite her upbringing) she knew how to dress herself. And I don't begrudge her that. She worked hard on her body, and she knew how to package and present it well. She was tall, 5'9", and hard and fit. She wasn't the bustiest girl-- sporting a pair of B-cups-- but boy were they perky, and when it was warm out, her nipples were puffy and pink. She had a flat tummy, complimented by a naval piercing, a firm round ass (an asset that she was known for and often spoken of), and long smooth legs with just the slightest hints of muscle definition.
I had drinking buddies who used to argue over which actress she most closely resembled. It was narrowed down between Hilary Swank and Jennifer Garner. I could see the resemblance to both. She had straight brown hair that was usually swept to the side and often covered one of her brown eyes. Her mouth was her dominant feature. It was complimented by perfect white teeth and big dimples.
Alex was also a very social girl. I was a bit of a loner-- monogamous to my comfort zones. Most of her activities involved other people-- drinking, parties, shenanigans, and discovering new places. The types of simple things that most people shied away from-- organizing get-togethers, Captaining sports teams, and asking bosses for raises, were the sorts of things that she didn't hesitate to do.
I'd like to say we were an odd couple, with my shy personality, but the truth was that I was pretty malleable, I was never bored, and she got me to come out of my shell and try new things. She was going to do them anyway... I was just the guy that she wanted to bring along for the ride.
She was also different from me in another way. She willingly volunteered that she was "promiscuous" in her younger days. Her early twenties she had amassed a collection of lovers... one night stands and long term boyfriends, alike. Almost all of them ended abruptly, and I used to speculate as to why...
...until about a year ago...
She had purchased a brand new car, and the attractive salesman (one of those meat head jock douche bags who only wanted to put notches on his belt) had played a pretty expert seduction game with her. I want to say that Alex fell for it, but she's not a moron. She knew what was happening from the start. She let herself be wooed.
I had done my own investigation in private, learning of the exchanges of text messages and belittling jabs that this guy took at me. And finally, after a night of sleuthing, I'd caught them fucking like rabbits in his car. Well... not so much caught as secretly saw. I never confronted Alex about it.
As a guy who's been cheated on in the past, I have to say that this was literally my worst nightmare-- here I finally had a great girl who checked all of the boxes in what I was looking for in another person-- smart, sexy, practical, sense of humor that perfectly matched mine, tough, independent, dominant Alpha-female type. And now she went behind my back and behaved like a common slut.
But I'd also be lying if a shameful part of me wasn't so incredibly turned on. It had been the most intense night of my life. Feelings of dread, rage, jealousy, humiliation, and my own personal insecurities had grown into a monster, and it's name was arousal. I was actually aroused by what she was doing. Was I devastated? Yes! But was I just fucked up enough to stay with her? You bet! I'm an introspective person, and deep down, a guilty part of me rather enjoyed the abuse as much as I hated it.
I looked the other way on the whole night, and our relationship continued as usual. She played it off as though it never happened. I knew better. But I was also hyper vigilant, and was aware that it had been a one time thing with this guy. She had no interest in him long-term. She had been turned on by the thrill. So had I for that matter.
It stayed with me for a long time. She hadn't cheated since. But that was about to change. It was going to happen again. I wasn't sure if I'd feel differently if I caught her in the act again. Would I be more hurt? More into it?
The answer is... I felt exactly the same as before... completely destroyed, and more turned on than ever before. My emotions were at their most raw and primitive. It was like a drug, and I was hooked...
***
It was that time of year again. The time when we'd receive half a dozen invitations to half a dozen different Superbowl parties being hosted by our assortment of friends. When it comes to football, I'm was capable of watching it, understanding it, enjoying the game, but otherwise I'm relatively indifferent on the outcome. Alex was about the same. For us, the excitement was in the party itself, not watching the game. I was in it for the food and booze. She was in it for the friends, company, and conversation.
Our friend Don was the first one to invite us to a party, so his was the one that we picked. He was a pretty quiet mild-mannered guy, but he was a one of those consistent faces at every social sports league that Alex participated in. Sort of the social center of everyone, without having to be loud or boisterous. The "Mayor" of dodgeball. For that reason, he had tons of friends who we never met, and the majority of get-togethers hosted by him were comprised of strangers. Fine with Alex, she didn't mind meeting new people.
He was also one of those perpetual bachelors, so he certainly had the house for hosting parties: massive entertainment center, leather couches, a fully stocked wet-bar, beer pong in the garage, a finished basement with a pool table. He always had a ton of food and booze.
Tonight's party was what we expected. It was a decent turn-out. Alex and I arrived with a bottle of wine-- one of those inexpensive jumbo bottles meant for quantity over quality. "We brought a bottle of Chateau de Cheapo," I grinned at Don when he greeted us.