Author's note: This is a revenge story, and it involves some borderline behavior. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd recommend my Cassie story instead. The couple you're about to read if you continue is not a happy marriage.
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They say that revenge is a dish best served cold, but I disagree. I very much enjoyed serving it warm, wet, and sloppy. My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Ellie. My story is so stereotypical that it's funny... or at least it might be funny when I can look back on it without rage. I am 36 years old, blonde, a little tall for a woman, and although I haven't always loved the mirror, I suppose I am somewhat of a "trophy wife". I work hard to keep my body tight, and although my breasts are unassuming B-cups, they do still stand proud and high like they did in my twenties. My ass is definitely my best bodily feature, although I get more compliments on my smile and my sparkling blue eyes than my ass. But... my ass does get more attention, at least at my husband's work parties.
My husband Roger is a corporate attorney, with long hours of boring paperwork. When I met him at twenty, he was going to take on those evil oil companies and save the world with environmental law. Two decades later, it's pretty clear to me that he will work as a mid-level corporate lawyer for the rest of his boring life, and that I have tied myself to an equally boring fate. When he was twenty, he was a tall, handsome man with a winning smile. Now, he has the body and energy of a man who sits behind a desk for ten to twelve hours a day. His money keeps me comfortable, and I guess that's something.
It was the last Christmas party that I began to notice something new in our relationship, and not in a positive way. Roger's firm always throws an insanely lavish Christmas party, and the lawyers are always wasted by 7:00, and usually end up staying the night at a nearby hotel. The firm started planning ahead and booking rooms for everyone, and while Roger and I generally keep our wits about ourselves, we do take them up on the free hotel room. Hotel sex is just different, and the nice clothes and alcohol usually lead to a great night.
Last Christmas I had especially been looking forward to that night; with Roger working late hours more and more often, we hadn't connected physically like we should have. We were down to once or twice a month, and I'm sure he was feeling as unsatisfied as I was. A nice glass dildo made my evenings alone more bearable, but there was no substitute for the real thing.
As we prepared for the party, I selected a form-fitting, curve-hugging red dress. Panty lines would have been visible, and with my breasts holding their own without a bra, I went entirely commando. Smooth red dress, high black heels, and an overly showy necklace and earring combo was all the attire I needed. I asked my husband whether the dress was too low-cut, and his response gave my gut the first "ping" that something was off. He basically grunted without looking. Now I knew that my breasts were not my best feature, but any red-blooded male should be at least a bit excited by a dress cut nearly to the belly button.
My mood was thrown a bit, but Roger didn't seem to notice. We arrived at the party fashionably late (as did everyone but the first-years), and started to work the room. The conversation was typical, with the wives all chatting about nothing or trying to outdo each other, and the husbands all angling for promotions while ogling each other's' wives. The single people tended to pair up fairly quickly, and for whatever reason most of my husband's colleagues were married men. (The firm had a reputation for being a "boy's club", and it had unequivocally earned that reputation.) Roger was dragging me around, and I knew my part well. I did get a bit of joy from the looks of the other husbands, as my backside drew quite a bit of attention, especially this year. But while Roger generally sought out his superiors in the hopes that my looks would gather their attention, this year he made a point to introduce me to Julie.
Red flags were waving in my mind now, and the earlier twinge in my gut had returned with a vengeance. Julie was apparently the newest secretary the firm had hired, and she was everything that I was not. Julie was a fresh young law student, looking to gain experience in the field. She was short, brunette, and most of all, curvy. My husband seemed unable to wrench his gaze from her ample cleavage, displayed tonight in a dress clearly designed to accentuate just that. Her hands often played with the fabric of her deep neckline, and although she pretended to look down coyly, it was very apparent that she knew where the men's attention lay. Our interaction was probably only two minutes, and yet in that time Julie found a way to touch not just my husband's gaze, but his arm and briefly his chest as well. She called me "Nellie" as we left, and my mistrust was ringing like an alarm bell in my head.
That night Roger and I had incredible sex in the hotel room, which should have made me happy. His eyes were closed the whole time, and I couldn't help but think that he might be thinking of Julie's heaving bosom underneath him, rather than my perky small tits. When he fell asleep, I went to the shower and cried.
For two months, it was nearly business as usual. Like everyone who suspects adultery, I started the "pick me dance" early, hitting the gym twice a day and buying sexy lingerie in the hopes of winning my husband back. I didn't know for sure that anything was happening, and so I justified to myself that I was simply trying to work on our marriage. It wasn't about a man, it was about me being the best I could be, right? The day after an underwhelming Valentine's Day, I hired a PI. Two weeks later, I had the answer that my gut had revealed nearly three months earlier.
It was Julie. Of COURSE it was Julie. Like I said, so stereotypical it was almost funny. The long hours, the secretary, the physical differences... I could almost predict their conversation. I was surely pitched as the frigid wife, only in it for his money. In fact, I had been with him since long before he had any money, and had actually worked retail to put him through law school. And lately I had been trying to initiate sex almost nightly, only to be rejected by someone "too tired". Well, according to the envelope in front of me, he was too tired from his motel rendezvouses with Julie, not from working late. The PI had warned me not to open them, but like every other betrayed spouse, I was powerless. I rushed into the pain, and every detail of those photos was burned into my mind forever after.
The next month was a dark time for me. I didn't know what to do, and I hit the gym very hard as I planned my next moves. The gym staff started to recognize me by name, since I was up to at least three hours a day, competing against a woman who didn't know I was winning for a prize I didn't even want. I made it my mission to wear out that treadmill, since I couldn't control much else about the situation. I stopped initiating sex at home, which effectively meant that we stopped having sex. Apparently Roger was getting satisfied just fine at the motel, which worked for me since the thought of his tiny dick inside me made me want to vomit.
