Looking back, if I am completely honest with myself, I have always known my wife is a slut. Her sexual appetite is one of the many qualities that attracted me to her in the first place. We had sex on our very first date, and it was clear that she had quite a lot of experience. While we were dating, we shared our sexual resumes with each other, and hers was quite extensive. She claimed she had been with twelve men in total, and I knew that women always under-report this number by at least half.
One time, after she had quite a lot to drink, she confessed that she once sneaked into the boys' locker room after hours while in high school and sucked off her boyfriend and three of his friends. They stood around her in a circle with their pants down around their ankles, and she took turns sucking each of them until they each erupted in her mouth. Although I never admitted it to her, that story has always aroused me incredibly, and I fantasized about it often.
Rebecca and I have been married for sixteen years. We have three children, all of school age, and she stays at home and takes care of the house. At age 41, she still turns heads with her stunning good looks. She has a petite and athletic figure, with beautiful C-cup breasts and a firm, round, delicious ass. Her soft, pale skin, long, curly red hair and stunning green eyes give away her Irish heritage. And she has an outgoing and fun-loving personality that men tend to find intoxicating.
We have always had a strong and loving marriage, and up until a month ago, I had no reason to believe that she had ever been unfaithful to me. But my worldview was shattered that day, and I realized that the woman I married was still a sex-crazed slut after all these years.
It was a typical frigid autumn afternoon in New England, and I had unexpectedly left work early. I drove through our suburban neighborhood, and as I approached our house I noticed a van was parked in our driveway. I remembered that we needed to have our roof repaired, and assumed the van belonged to the foreman who was scheduled to give us an estimate.
I began parking behind the van, but was suddenly overcome by an inexplicable yet undeniable sense of suspicion. I had no reason to be suspicious, and even today, I don't know what possessed me to feel that way. Yet, for whatever reason, I backed out of the driveway, drove around the corner and parked near an abandoned lot. I then hiked back toward our house, feeling both anxious and ridiculous.
I tip-toed toward our front door, peered inside, and saw no one stirring within. As I moved to the side of the house to peer through another window, I glanced toward our neighbor's house and hoped they weren't watching me at that moment. I felt ridiculous spying through my own windows. I saw no one in the side window, nor the back window. They must be upstairs, I thought.
Just to satisfy my curiosity before heading back to my car, I knelt down to look through our basement window. And that is when I saw them. He was standing before her, facing me, and she was on her knees in front of him. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and he was holding the back of her head with one hand. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail, and he was grasping it while she slowly bobbed back and forth.
My initial reaction was pure, white-hot rage. I was so furious, I wanted to dive through the window and pummel both of them. But at the same time, I was surprised to feel a stirring in my loins. I was fully aroused and oddly mesmerized by what I was seeing. There was something about watching my wife service another man that was strangely thrilling and erotic. My body was frozen in place and I couldn't take my eyes off of them.
The pace of her bobbing head quickened, and he shuddered and let out a loud moan that I could hear through the double-paned window. She continued to work on him for a little while longer, slowing her pace, before she rose to her feet. They didn't kiss or hug. She just stood there and wiped her mouth while he zipped his pants. He then reached over to the table next to him, grabbed a clipboard, wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. They then exited through the door to our garage.
I waited until his van backed out of our driveway before I walked back down the road and returned to my car. My heart was pounding and my body was shaking as I pulled into the garage and walked up our cellar stairs and into our kitchen. She was standing at the counter, waiting for a cup of coffee to brew. She tried to hide a look of panic when she saw me, but her eyes gave her away.
"What are you doing home already?" she asked.
"Who was that who just left?" I responded, trying my best to contain my anger.
"That was the roof guy. He just gave us our estimate."
I paused, waiting for her to confess, but she simply crossed her arms and stared at me as if trying to ascertain what I knew.
"Anything you want to tell me?" I finally asked, raising my voice just a bit.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you!" I yelled. "I know what you were doing with him, Rebecca. How could you?"
Her eyes immediately reddened and welled with tears. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I...don't know what to say."
"Why?" was all I could manage to utter through my rapidly closing throat.
There was a long silence as she tried to gather her thoughts. Neither one of us moved a muscle. Finally, she broke the silence.
"I did it for us," she said softly.
The statement was so absurd. "You did it for us?! Are you kidding me?"
She suddenly became indignant. "I got $300 off the estimate for the roof repair."
"$300? You cheated on me for $300?"
"I wasn't cheating!" she shouted. "It was only a blowjob! I don't love the guy or anything! It took me five minutes, and I saved us $300. You know we're hurting for money. Until I can get a job, it's my way of contributing."
"Contributing?" I responded with a laugh. Then a thought came to me like a revelation. "Wait a minute. How many other times have you done this?"
A guilty look flushed over her face. "Only a few."
"A few?? How many is a few?"
"Well, why do you think we got such a great deal on that new furnace?" Now she was getting angry. "How do you think we managed to get that expensive sports package from our cable company for free? Do you really think the cable company just fucked up? And when our dishwasher busted, and the repairman fixed it without charging us for his labor, do you think he did it out of the kindness of his heart? I have literally saved us hundreds of dollars – maybe thousands."
"Thousands?" My head swirled with visions of my wife servicing all of these strange men in our house, right under my nose, and without my knowledge. "How long have you been doing this?"
"I don't know," she said. "For a while, I guess. I really didn't think it was a big deal. It was just a few blowjobs."
"If it isn't a big deal, then why didn't you ever tell me you were doing it?"
"Because I knew you would overreact like this!" she cried. After a long pause, she finally moved from her spot. She moved toward me and hugged me, and buried her face in my chest.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I really am. I'm sorry I did it, and I promise I will never do it again. Please don't let this affect our marriage. What I did had nothing to do with our marriage, and it didn't change a thing about how much I love you. I will do whatever it takes to make this right, I promise."
For the next several days, I gave her the cold shoulder as I tried to sort my feelings. I had trouble sleeping at night. My thoughts constantly replayed that image of her bobbing head in the basement and the look of ecstasy on that man's face. I could not deny the fact that I was turned on by what she had done. Although I never let her know, my anger was slowly overwhelmed by my arousal.
As the weekend approached, it was time to host our weekly football party. We began hosting this party the year we had our basement finished. Of course, I now couldn't help but wonder if we received such a great price from the contractors who did that job because of Rebecca's "negotiation tactics." But this was a question better left unanswered. Once the basement was finished, we added a few comfy couches and chairs, a nice bar in the corner and a large high-def TV. Soon, this became the setting for our weekly gathering.
During these events, Rebecca loves to play the role of our sexy hostess. All of the guys shamelessly flirt with her, and she loves all the attention. She usually dresses in a tight-fitting jersey and either tight yoga pants or tiny shorts. I have often seen her deliberately pose in a way to attract attention, and I have caught all of the guys sneaking peeks at her many times through the years.
When these weekly gatherings first began, we hosted a large group of people, but the number of "regulars" has since dwindled. On this particular weekend our hometown favorite, the New England Patriots, played a rare Sunday night game against our long-time rivals, the New York Jets. With the work week beginning the following morning, this particular group was smaller than usual, as only three guys showed up: Roger, Matt and Ben.
Our neighbor, Roger, is in his mid-50's and divorced. When his wife left him, he was allowed to keep his house, so for over a year he has lived alone in his rather large house. He is loud and boisterous, and usually dominates our conversations. He is also shamelessly flirtatious with Rebecca, and enjoys trading sexual innuendos with her. Matt is a younger guy, in his early 30's, who takes pride in being a bachelor. Rebecca and I met him at a local bar many years ago and struck up an instant friendship. He's a good looking guy, and the ladies all seem to gravitate toward him. He lives with his roommate, Ben, who is around the same age. Ben is a self-described "nerd", and can be shy and quiet at times, although he tends to loosen up after a few beers.
A native New Yorker, Roger is a Jets fan, and the only person in our group who doesn't root for the home team whenever we gather together. He attends because he enjoys our company, our food, our beer and my wife. He takes great delight in playing the role of "villain", and this weekend in particular he was even louder and more obnoxious than usual, given that our two teams were facing each other head-to-head.
We often place wagers on the games to make them more interesting. Usually, it is no more than a few bucks, though we will occasionally step it up. Thanks to the late starting time of this game, we all had a few beers before the opening kickoff, and the mood in the room was a little rowdier than usual. Although the Jets were considered to be major underdogs, Roger loudly insisted his team would win. I proposed that he put his money where his mouth is, and suggested a $10 wager.
"Ten bucks? What is this? A children's birthday party?" he howled. "This game is far too important for such a pussy bet."
"Okay," I said, "how about $50?"
"Fuck money," he roared between bites of a chicken wing. "Let's get serious. I'm talking personal humiliation or some sort of services rendered."
He took a long chug of his beer while he contemplated. "How 'bout this: if the Pats somehow pull off a miracle and win this game, I'll shovel your walkway the next time we get a storm."
I smiled wide at the thought of seeing this arrogant jerk shoveling my walkway. "Okay," I replied, "no problem. And what if – and I can hardly say this without laughing – the Jets win?"
He took another extended swig of his beer, and the corners of his mouth curled upward with an evil grin. "WHEN the Jets win", he said, and then paused for dramatic effect, "Becky over there will show us her tits."
