Behind the Closet Door

It was a good thing that I had stopped my venture into my wife's closet when I did; right as I closed and locked the door, I heard the front door opening and the stomping footsteps. My daughter running to show me the brand-new sneakers she got at the mall. We spent the rest of the day having family time – board games, and coloring books galore! After a nice homemade dinner, we put Veronica down for bed and got ready for the week ahead.

We premake a stack of pancakes to cover a few days of the week in the likely chance one of is running late or can't fix Veronica a full breakfast – this week was my turn to do it. I enjoy doing menial busy work like that so it's never unwelcomed, it gives me time to remember things I forgot and forget things I should probably remember.

As I was cleaning the last of the pans Victoria walked in wearing her pajamas – a simple grey wife beater and white fitted sweatpants (a luxury I'll never understand – Costco brand is just fine). I couldn't help but watch her hips and ass sway as she walked by to get a glass of water.

"Hey EARTH TO JIM!" I hadn't realized I had totally zoned out, but snapped to attention with what had to be the dumbest face in human history.

"You'd think after like a decade of marriage you'd get used to this," she said cocking her hips as if to punctuate her jab.

"Uuuhhh–" I tried really hard to come up with something approaching clever but it just didn't happen.

"... Riiiiight," Victoria began "well as I was saying, while you were tuned into the ass channel over there, do you think you can take Veronica to school tomorrow? I've got to pick up donuts for a meeting tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, no problem. What's the meeting for? Donuts are only invoked if you gotta impress someone important."

"You got that right, if this deal goes through it'll probably be one of the top three money makers for the company, so all of the stops have been pulled out."

"Nice, who's gonna be handing over the 'fat-stax' on this one?"

"Well you'll just have to wait till that's on the books, Mr. Accountant. I signed the 'fattest stack' of an NDA a few weeks ago. Though I will say if we get it, we'll probably never have to pay for another phone or computer again." She was beaming, clearly proud to be apart securing a deal with what I'm going to assume is Apple. She wore that proud smirk all the way out of the kitchen and down the hall. Swaying her hips like Jessica Rabbit as she did.

"You can stop looking at my ass now!" She softly called down the hall as she reached the threshold of our room.

Needless to say, I was proud of her, she hadn't been back in the professional world too long but was already killing it. Not only as a businesswoman, but as a mom too, she still somehow finds a way to take on handling our doctor's appointments, soccer games, schoolwork etc and still deal with me (ha).

As I was thinking about all of my wife's positive traits my mind drifted to the sexy traits – and more specifically last night. Amidst my replaying of the hottest night of sex we've had in at least a few years I couldn't shake the niggling feeling that something was off.

The intense blowjob from nowhere, locked closet, the old phone, the lingerie – the lingerie... I racked my brain to remember my previous snooping session. Retracing my steps, I remembered a few of the sets in her hidden box, but only two or three and I distinctly remember each of the five sets. What happened to the other sets and pieces? I didn't remember them in her drawers either.

Was she wearing them to work for some reason?

... Was she wearing them FOR someone else? I felt my face go numb at this thought. It was adding up and I couldn't deny it as a possibility. Especially now that I presented that as a possibility, I could feel myself zeroing in on it. I took a second to gather myself and pull it together.

As I walked to the threshold of our bedroom, she was already deep in sleep. I stared at her phone sitting on her nightstand and my investigator's curiosity briefly took over. I turned off the lights and quickly snatched it and hid the screen as it disconnected from the charger. Retreating into the safety of our bathroom I put in her passcode. The screen shook and flashed red – I tried again – same shakes plus "3 tries remaining."

The warning scared me off and I returned the phone to the charger. I got in bed, bewildered. I didn't know what to think. Why the security? Maybe she just wanted to make sure Veronica couldn't mess around with her phone... maybe she wanted to make sure I couldn't see evidence of a lurid affair. Maybe I'm paranoid... Maybe she's a cheating slut.

Sleeping wasn't easy that night with my thoughts running at a hundred miles a minute. She lay next to me sleeping peacefully in the darkness of our room, right next to the flurry of suspicions mentally tearing me apart. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I always come to in matters that are unsolvable – or too difficult to be brought to solving – I said 'fuck it' I'll deal with it tomorrow, and mercifully passed out.

...

The week went by and I was watching my wife with a level of intense scrutiny that would make Sherlock Holmes call me excessive. Every little move she made and word she said was mentally catalogued and reviewed by the squad paranoid little gnome detectives in my head.

Was that skirt tighter and shorter than usual? How low-cut are her tops usually? How much mascara is too much? Certainly, that was too much makeup, or was it? The high heels seemed higher and her hair looked... darker? Okay, that last one was definitely true.

"Hey, honey did you do something to your hair?" I asked her one night as I was going over some bills and she was looking through some coupons.

"Hmmmm? What was that?" She asked looing up and lowering her reading glasses.

"Your hair, it looks different." I said trying to hide my slight bewildered suspicion.

"Oh yeah! I had it dyed darker than usual when I went to get a trim. Do you like it?" She said brushing it and fluffing it, pantomiming a shampoo commercial.

"Yeah... looks very... sleek." She stared at me with a smirk of mild amusement; like a cartoon cat staring at a hapless mouse that was completely unaware of its impending doom.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"Nothing, just looking at you. Husband of the year over here, noticing his wife's hair."

"Ooooh-kay" I said rolling my eyes and returning to the exciting world of bills.

Did her boyfriend tell her to dye her hair darker? I pulled up some papers to hide my brooding face as I dove deep into the bottomless rabbit hole of my suspicions.

Later that night as she was getting in the shower, I knew I'd have to be quick with my expedition into her closet. Right as the bathroom door shut, I sprung from my post on the bed, and straight to the closed closet door. I went straight for the jewelry chest and grabbed the outdated iPhone.

"10 notifications from WhatsApp." The WhatsApp messages weren't a surprise, but mixed in with WhatsApp I saw a blue icon that said "TUMBLR [Ange-eVee] 3 notifications." I've never used Tumblr. I know about it and came across a few porn blogs, or links to gifs from friends over the years. My wife to my prior knowledge only had Instagram and Facebook – maybe a twitter too. Also, what the fuck was this 'Angel-eVee?'

I knew I didn't know the code so didn't bother trying. As I was about to reach for the boxes to do a recount of the lingerie, I heard the shower turn off and quickly retreated downstairs to see if our daughter needed anything.

Late that night, after about an hour of lying in bed staring at the silhouette of my wife's head, I decided sleep wasn't going to happen – plus I had a lead. I went to my office and turned on my computer. After impatiently watching the Windows logo taunt me for an ungodly amount of time, I opened up google and typed "Tumblr angel-evee" sure enough, the first result was exactly what I typed.

I took a deep breath – not knowing what to expect – and opened the link.

The top profile icon showed a two-toned black and white picture of what looked like my wife in a bra with her head turned away covered by her hair. Under it, it said the following

"Angel-eVee"

"Bored and looking for excitement [devil emoji]" (That one didn't feel great to read)

"Posts" "Ask Away" "Likes" "Following"

I scrolled down and saw a bunch of sexual gifs (I guess the way this works is people just post shit they've found on the internet to their pages) ranging from tamer things like girls kissing girls, to girls tied up in wearing leather BDSM clothes, to just close ups of large dicks going in and out of vaginas. Basically, the full range of smut was represented on this page.

I saw on the sidebar there was an 'about me' section, it read:

"Happily married eternal 29-year-old (ha) I guess I'd be a MILF (if you want to fuck me). I'm just looking to live vicariously through these naughty pics and gifs. Message me if you're interested in RP ;D. CLICK HERE FOR PICS OF ME"

I read over this section probably a dozen times, each time my heart sunk deeper and deeper into my body and weighed my stomach down. The implication of Victoria, my wife, needing to live vicariously through pornography – not just that she enjoyed fetish stuff, that's fair and makes sense – but that she was trying to LIVE through it was a massive blow to my ego. The world around my monitor turned black and I was standing alone in front of the words "CLICK HERE." So, I did the only thing I could do and I clicked there.

I don't know why it surprised me, but there they were, pictures of my wife on display, on the Internet, for anyone to stumble upon, for anyone to save to their hard drives. The pictures themselves were really artsy looking and well-lit in our bedroom (thankfully there were no identifying pictured in the back) with her face either blurred out, off camera, or she was wearing a masquerade mask. If anybody knew her and expected it the mask would do nothing to REALLY hide her identity.

The first photoset (so most recent) made my ears burn and my teeth clench. In it were five pictures, each one a different of the five sets of lingerie, each one a different seductive pose showing off her body and also hiding her body. The effect would be extremely erotic if I wasn't so close to having blowing a gasket. Her ass – predictably looked incredible in the g-strings and the bustier set pushed her small tits forward so invitingly I began to really feel the anger overtaking the nervous dread. Why for the internet? Why not for me – her husband? What the fuck were you doing, Victoria?

I continued to scroll down the page and saw more and more pictures of her in various stages of undress. One picture jumped out as it was a single image and was extra-large. The caption said "Evee is a naughty girl at work ;)" She was in the bathroom at her office, with her top pulled up over her tits and no bra in sight. She wore a tight black skirt, but the top was pulled down very low on her hips and the straps of a red thong could be seen peeking over the waistband. Her eyes were blacked out, but a big smile was plastered across the visible bottom of her face.

At work, at home, and according to a few other images on her page even at some restaurants in public on her lunch hour. Each one had likes numbering in the 50's all the way up to one in the low 1000's. So many people had seen her naked. The photoset with the most was the lewdest (makes sense I suppose). She was in our bedroom fully dressed as a sexy secretary with a masquerade mask on. Her top too small and not quite meeting her skirt, the next picture she was undoing her button up top. The next, one tit was out and in one hand was the largest of the dildos I remember seeing. In the next picture it was at her wide-open smiling mouth.

It was like watching a slow-motion movie almost. The dildo went in her mouth next, but at the same time the focal point was between her thighs as the camera focused on the hem of her skirt. Next image it was pulled up farther to get a peek of her black panties. Then the skirt was up around her waist like a thick belt. The camera was then back up on her mouth with the dildo deep in her mouth; you could see tears welling up in her eyes where the mask didn't cover. The next image had the dildo and her mouth covered in saliva; her tongue was out and dripping ropes of thick spit as well.

Then there were the final two pictures where she stood up and with her ass facing the camera, the black string perfectly bisecting her ass. The next picture had her spreading her ass to show – not the string, and not her asshole – but a little plastic jewel showing that the whole time (presumably) there was a plug in her ass.

At this point I was already so shaken by these revelations the plug in her ass didn't sink in (ha) as much as it would have a few weeks ago. Despite my breath already being held and my heart already being sunk to the depths of my stomach I had another revelation. WHO TOOK THE PHOTOS? The ones that weren't selfies that is. I scrolled up, sweating bullets and shaking with anxiety, to her little lingerie shoot as quickly as my mouse would allow. I scrutinized each and every picture and was relieved to notice there as the shadow of the tripod on the floor.

I knew in the coming nights I would return to "Angel-eVee's" tumblr page and scour every single post, 'reblog' and 'like' of my wife's. Beyond that, I also knew I was going to be confronting her soon. I took a solid minute to decompress and consider my options as far as confronting her. I had no idea how I would end up doing it. In my mental picture of the confrontation I was calm cool and collected and she was hysterical crying and remorseful. I knew intellectually that I would not be able to keep my cool. I resolved to stick it out until Veronica was out at one of our parent's or a sleep over; our daughter really shouldn't have to be in the house for that situation. I would have to stick it out for at least the next few days and act somewhat natural, good luck, me.

The process of going over my options and making my plan – mitigating risks – planning contingencies, et cetera, had calmed me down considerably. I guess it made me feel like I was taking back control and being proactive? I refocused on the real world and saw that my wife's thong-clad ass was taking up the entirety of my computer's screen. My heart began racing again and I felt the anxiety returning – however I also felt my dick growing.

"Fuck it." I said to the emptiness of the room as I pulled my dick out of my waistband and began to jack off to my wife. I came in a few minutes to a selfie my wife took in our bathroom where her hair was still wet from the shower and the mirror was wiped down, but still fogged up strategically to obscure her face. Her dripping wet body was on full display from the neck to her mid-thigh. I saw that her normally pale body had a bit more color to it – I thought maybe the lighting of the room – but then I noticed the tiny and very light tan lines across her waist. I pictured her tanning out in our backyard on days she was home alone. At this thought my cum shot across my keyboard and I felt like I saw stars and smelled colors.

It was easily the largest orgasm I've had in recent memory – I don't know how I feel about that. I got up cleaned up my mess and walked back like a zombie to my room, and got in bed with my slut of a wife.

...

I've always hated being on autopilot. That's when mistakes get made, that's when you don't notice things, but that's also when you're able to continue living with a massive weight upon your shoulders as though nothing is really bothering you. So that's what I did for the next couple of days. People noticed, sure, but I managed to get through without anyone asking if I was okay – so yay for that.

Three days after finding the Tumblr page – Saturday – would be the day I was going to confront my wife. I obsessed over this page of hers for Friday night and Thursday night. I searched her page back to front, top to bottom, and left to right; I came up with the knowledge that she had operated this blog for about four years – two years before she rejoined the work force. Her first post of herself was a little under two and a half years ago; and she has since posted one-hundred-and-eighty-eight photos of herself.

Her most used tags when reblogging and 'liking' something are "submissive" "choking" and "own-me." All things considered this isn't very surprising I knew my wife, and this used to get her incredibly hot – I guess I was incredibly wrong in my assumption that she had gotten over these kinks after becoming a mother and professional woman. There were a lot of users who had asked her questions – a lot were about if her husband knew about her blog. Many were more direct and asked what the biggest cock she ever had was – apparently the answer was eight- and three-quarter inches. Prior to that I had known it to be "not much bigger than you" (on a good day close to an even seven inches) some stupid reptilian-brain pride was hurt reading that one.

There were numerous submissions of dick-pics asking what she would do to them. Each of the huge ones – she'd put some flirty preface to the effect of "if I weren't married" and proceed to be flirty and vague with lots of emojis; while small ones she would say something like "probably laugh" or equally cruel. The ones that really began to piss me off were the ones that would request the do a close up of her ass, or tits, or for her to be in a position, or wearing something specific. Those were all followed up with their requests met and a kissy face emoji. What the fuck did my adult wife –mother of our child, and professional career woman – think she was doing following the orders of a bunch of horny losers on the Internet?

I also learned my wife thinks tattoos and piercings are "hot as fuck" and that motorcycles turn her on a lot. If I didn't know this was my wife, I would think this blog belonged to some rebellious teen or wild twenty-year-old college dropout. The one "Ask" that stopped me in my tracks for a good (well, shitty) minute was one that asked, "what's your biggest fantasy?" Angel_eVee responded with, "to be turned into someone's filthy little fucktoy." ... The language she used, the degradation and general filth of this whole page ran wholly counter to the woman I had known my wife to be.

I knew when we got together, she had her submissive side and liked to be fucked roughly - and I was more than happy to oblige that - but I thought she had grown out of that stuff. She had grown in the past decade into a strong and independent, smart and clever woman. However, based solely on this blog she was nothing but a submissive, slut with a wanton craving for dick... and I was living with her completely oblivious to any of it for the past ten years or so. So, I guess what did that say about my stupid-ass?

...

Saturday arrived and I hadn't snapped and killed my wife... so far, so good. Veronica was loaded into my father-in-law's old periwinkle Town Car - if ever there was a more 'old, boring white dude' car, I've yet to see it. My wife was out grocery shopping, of course I was counting the seconds until she returned, trying to gauge if she'd had time to stop and fuck her lover before coming home. Did she always wear makeup to go out shopping... was she even wearing makeup? I was definitely well on my way to losing it.

She arrived home, anticlimactically, no disheveled hair, or smeared makeup, and no unfamiliar masculine scent. I helped bring in the groceries - as we were putting them away, I just snapped.

"Just fucking come out with it, Victoria, how long have you been cheating on me?" I said, at regular speaking volume as though I was asking if she remembered to buy orange juice.