My Wifes Infidelity The Traveler

If you are negatively triggered by cuckolding themes, infidelity, hot wife scenarios, cheating, bisexuality, or similar, hit the back button now.

This installment of "My Wife's Infidelity" took place when we were in our mid-thirties. In context, my muted efforts, encouraging KK to have sex with other men was continuous since we got married. Primarily a campaign of pillow-talk, role-play, and fantasy talk during sex, I was steadily concocting scenarios to encourage KK in fulfilling my desire.

In that span of time, KK was traveling regularly on business. Her profession as a commercial photographer afforded her that opportunity. She had a three-year, steady contract with a major fashion brand. Part of KK's business involved travel monthly, visiting the headquarters studio operation for routine shoots - typically KK departed on a Monday morning, returning home late the following Friday. It was routine, predictable, at least that part of it.

Other travel needs often arose, a location shoot somewhere. These were less predictable, often a source of friction as KK and I tried to juggle our schedules to accommodate. In the sense that I was immersed in this effort, balancing professional lives, family needs, etc., there was a subtle shift over time - it was late in the game when I finally noticed it. The routine trips turned less routine, in that sometimes KK would leave on Sunday, ostensibly to make an an early Monday session, or return late Saturday, or mid-day Sunday, to accommodate a late meeting or shoot on a Friday or Saturday. The impromptu trips became more frequent as well - all "red flags" that I failed to note early on.

As part of the routine, KK and I always had a "sex date," usually before she departed on a trip, as well as after she returned - sort of a sexual reunion. KK is positively triggered by travel and associated hotel/motel stays. It was something that I often leveraged in our pillow-talk, either before or after her trip. On the front end, it was me deriving fantasies about KK picking up a stranger in the hotel bar, bringing him back to her hotel room, then fucking him senseless, things of that nature. On the return, reunion, it was probing questions, endless suggestions and implications the she might've had sex with another man; a colleague, a client, a model, anyone. KK's response to these pillow-talk sessions were always favorable - smashing orgasms, dirty talk, uninhibited sex, imaging the scenarios I whispered in KKs' ear.

Those sessions however were always followed by, "It'll never happen baby. Never..."

Sometimes those admonitions were a little too firm, quirky, more like KK was trying to convince herself than me. Often, KK would blurt out during private conversation, questions like, "You'd really like to see me suck another guy's cock?" "You actually think about another guy having his dick inside me, cumming in me? God!"

In parallel with my pillow-talk seduction, I fabricated an imaginary lover for KK, "Brad." He was a construct; a colleague, someone KK was attracted to, a mutual attraction. "Brad" was accessible, sometimes traveling with KK on business, other times available to meet her for a drink, an afternoon quickie, that sort of thing. "Brad" was also a foil, an enabler. In that fantasy construct, KK was sometimes submissive to "Brad." He "made her" do things, dirty, nasty things, things that were beyond her control - "Brad" was an imaginary, psychological manipulator that gave KK an excuse to engage in taboo behaviors; group sex, gang-bangs, lesbian encounters, you name it - because it wasn't KK's idea, instead it was "Brad's," KK could enjoy any act without the remorse of "wanting it" herself.

I acquired a realistic dildo, a tool for manifesting "Brad" during sex. I often fucked KK with the "Brad" dildo, using it in combination with my own cock, or her favorite vibrator, a Pocket Rocket. One of KK's favorites in that era was to have me on my back, lubricated, my cock buried in her ass - she was atop me, on her back with my hard, throbbing dick shoved in her tight back door. With one hand, I used "Brad" in her sopping pussy, that dildo a piston, rhythmically thrusting inside her, while with the other hand I buzzed her erect clit with the Pocket Rocket. Throughout those sessions, I whispered in KK's ear, my hot breath, "Imagine Brad and his friend are fucking you this way baby. Think about their hard cocks in your sweet wet pussy, your tight dirty ass..."

Those sessions would leave KK breathless, trembling, a sweaty, shaking mess, curled in a fetal position on the bed. The best of those combined a little drinking and a little good pot - we would get pleasantly drunk and stoned, uninhibited, I would fuck KK senseless with the imaginary "Brad" dildo, tormenting her with sordid tales of debauchery, in which she was the star.

This continued for a while - months in fact. The preamble, and reunion sex between KK and I intensified. She became a more active participant in the sessions, contributing fantasies of her own, suggesting various positions, techniques, an enthusiastic co-participant.

One day, after KK'd returned home from her regular trip, I noted the "occupied" indicator outside KK's home dark room/lab. It was unusual for several reasons. I'd come home a little early, not expecting KK to be home. KK hadn't been regularly using her home lab for more than a year - preferring the lab at her studio. I passed down the hallway, placed my ear against the door to listen, but didn't hear anything. I quietly tested the door, gently turning the handle, finding it locked.

It was curious. I decided to do a little more investigating, confirming KK's vehicle was in the garage, I looked around the house. Her purse was on the hallway table, so it was clear she was home. I made a little racket, announcing myself as "home" while loudly closing the garage entry door, as if I'd just walked in. After a few minutes, KK appeared in the kitchen, hugged me, gave me peck on the cheek, and said, "What's for dinner? I'm starving!"

KK made no mention of the dark room, why she was home early, rather she seemed to be engaging in diversion; small-talk, tossing up various distraction and random conversation. In the moment, I let it pass. The evening was uneventful, as were the next few days. In the back of my mind, something was bothering me. It was at first a small "itch," wondering about the dark room - she hadn't used it in ages. On a lark, in passing, I tried opening the dark room door. It was locked, not unusual, because of kids, chemicals and safety. I tried my key - I'd always had an extra in case of something like a plumbing leak, or the need to retrieve some piece of kit for KK if she was traveling, and needed it shipped. My key no longer worked the lock.

I began obsessing over the dark room. I tried a number of subtle tactics to find out what KK was up to. I was routinely checking to see if she'd forget, and leave the door unlocked, to no avail. Finally, impaired though it was, I pilfered her keys one afternoon, while she was napping, and had duplicates made of the suspects on KK's keyring. Monday morning, KK left for work before me. After the kids were off to school, I decided to investigate the dark room.

One of the four keys I'd had made fit the lock. I entered, first without lights, closing and locking the door behind me. I went to red light first, training, courtesy and caution in the lab, so as not to spoil any work in progress that might be out. I took a cursory look around, finding no live work or in process film or prints.

I went to white light, waited out the reflexive squint after the transition, then scanned the room. What I saw shocked and amazed me. On the drying racks at the end of KK's lab were about two dozen prints. They were produced as 8"x10" platinum process photos, one of KK's "signature" artistic styles. Setting the art and craftsmanship aside, the shock was the photographic content.

What I saw in the series was mind-boggling. The first shot, in landscape mode had five men, all naked, save for costume "black tie" collars, all wearing Lone Ranger style masks. All five men were uniformly erect - their cocks curving, jutting upward, veiny, at attention - they were all gazing at something in the mid-ground, the forward edge of an indistinct shadow set left.

The series progressed, erotic porn-art, depicting the five gentleman engaging in sex with one another - the penultimate and ultimate shots in the series showed one man, on his hands and knees, the center of a guy-on-guy gang-bang. One of the men took the center from behind, doggie-style, while the fellow in the center enjoyed two hard cocks in his mouth. The fourth guy "floated" in the two scenes, in one he was on his back, fellating the center, in the last, his hands were milking semen from the center's cock and balls, while he was impaled orally and anally.

I was transfixed, analyzing the series of photographs, scanning from one, then to the next, back and forth, taking in the scenes of male pleasure and debauchery - knowing that KK had arranged this, photographed it, then prepared it for presentation. Who was the audience? Was it all for her own personal use? A commissioned piece? So many questions. I recognized none of the men in the series, mid-to-late thirties, perhaps early forties, based on their appearance. All were fit, muscular, men I knew KK found attractive based on their physique.

I could feel and hear my pulse, my heart pounding, a loud rush. My skin temperature was elevated, my head spinning over the shocking display of sex KK'd captured so artfully on film. It took me a while to regain my composure. I decided it best to make sure I'd covered my tracks, backing out the dark room, I turned off the lights, and secured the door.

I went immediately to our master bedroom bath, dropped my pants, squatting on the toilet for a mad, insanely furious jack off session, my mind reeling with what I'd seen, with the thoughts of what must be part of it all. I knew KK was almost certainly fucking one or more of those men, that she'd orchestrated that sordid scene, directed it, made it real for her own degenerate, devious purposes.

I spurted thick ropes of cum, spraying myself, the floor, the wall, everything, a total mess. It took ten minutes to clean up, wiping cum spatters from the wall, floor and adjacent cabinet.

I finally forced myself to go to work, thoughts of KK, those five men, fucking, sucking, touching, squirting cum, racing through my head the whole day. I was hard, on and off, my dick stiffening at what I imagined might be happening with KK. That night, after the kids had gone on their various ways in the early evening, I ravaged KK in our bed, trying to pillow-talk her into some sort of confession, stimulating her with imaginary scenes, encounters with "Brad," plundering her mouth, pussy, and ass with the "Brad" dildo and my cock. At one point, I simulated a frottage session with the "Brad" cock and my own, while KK masturbated, watching me rub my frenulum against the silicone "Brad." I climaxed, using my cock and "Brad" on KK's wet lips, simulating a double-barreled frot and BJ session, followed by licking and sucking my own cum off the "Brad" cock while she frigged her clit.

Months passed like this - mad fantasy sex encounters, KK's travel cycle, my ritual of pre-trip and post-trip pillow-talk and hot fucking. KK never outed herself, at least not explicitly. Her participation and enthusiasm increased, with KK initiating sex as often as I did. We were fucking like bunnies. All the while, I was the figurative "boiling frog."

KK's trips became more irregular, extending into Sundays or Saturdays with greater frequency. She was making two to three trips every calendar month, the regular client visit, and sometimes two, even three impromptu location shoots. Of course, KK was masking illicit sexual encounters with her business travel. In the back of my mind, I knew, or at least suspected it - but the conflict over confronting her I couldn't resolve. After all, I was constantly encouraging her to engage in sex with strange men, "Brad," to the endless refrain, "No baby, never going to happen. Never."

Along the way, I made repeated clandestine visits to KK's dark room. After my first startling discovery, I stumbled upon another. In the second instance, I found a series of proof prints, all starring KK and a stranger. They were both masked, masquerade-style half-face, very vintage, or perhaps Victorian style. The shots were all self-portraits in that twisted sense; KK was operating the camera remotely, while engaging in all sorts of deviant sex acts with the masked stranger.

In many of the shots the camera, on a tripod, was visible in the shot by virtue of one or more mirrors on whatever set KK was using to photograph the debauchery. KK was artfully posed with her strange lover, some shots she squatted over his erect penis, with him seated in a chair, KK lowering herself onto him. In other shots, KK was orally pleasuring his thick cock, sucking, licking, stroking, and worshipping it. The shots themselves were artistic. KK'd lit the scene to emphasize the dark, muscled tone of her lover, and her pale, soft skin, buxom, glistening strategically with sweat and oil.

The best of the shots featured KK riding her lover's cock; he was seated in a chair, both of them facing a mirror, in view of the camera, KK's mouth distorted in orgasmic cries as she impaled herself on the man's big cock. In the final shot, KK's lover had clearly ejaculated inside her - they were still partially coupled, cum drooling out around her stretched labia, running down the shaft of his cock, onto his balls and the chair seat.

It was all there, captured for posterity on film, toned prints of KK enjoying another man's hard cock, lascivious, sexy, erotic. I'd cum in my boxers, hands-free, just from looking at the photos. I went through the collection twice more before I convinced myself to clean up, cover my tracks and leave her dark room. It was getting late, and I'd a legitimate fear of getting caught.

I found myself wondering about the guy. I had no way to tell if he was one of the five from the photo shoot I'd initially discovered; the mask, and lack of reference to the earlier photos made it impossible for me to tell.

For weeks after my second discovery, I struggled with the conflicting desire to confront KK, or to let it ride, to continue the slow, agonizing process of trying to tease it out of her, get her to admit to her dalliances. I was obsessed with the photo essay, unable to have sex with KK and not think of her riding that masked stranger, the scenes of her pleasuring, and being pleasured by him, his cum leaking from my wife's treasured hole.

It was abundantly clear that KK was taking my suggestions about sex on the road, with the unfortunate exception that she wasn't engaging me in the sordid business, the unrealized part of my fantasy. I agonized over it all, wrestling with a complex blend of lust, emotions, and anxiety. I wanted her to tell me about her adventures, in detail. I wanted to hear it all, blow-by-blow, an accounting of her infidelity, her debauchery. My imagination ran wild, thoughts of KK engaged in unabashed sex with random, strange men. I wondered if any of them were regulars, "boyfriends" or lovers.

I continued down the road of non-confrontation. Tolerating it, knowing KK was fucking other men on her business trips, but denied the details, the confession; KK was cheating, all the while enjoying my depraved pillow-talk, while echoing, "Never gonna happen baby, never..." All the while doing it behind my back, fucking strangers on her road trips.

My third discovery was perhaps the most unsettling. KK was traveling "on business," and had failed to make a pre-arranged check-in call. It was discourteous and annoying at best. The second call she missed left me convinced she was fucking around, unbothered about being responsible or presenting the charade, or pretense to cover it up. I was a bit angry, simultaneously aroused by the thought of KK bouncing on some stranger's cock.

I'd gone into KK's study while roaming the house, feeling bitter about the whole situation, knowing she was almost certainly fucking her brains out in some hotel, allowing a stranger to pump her full of cum. I found KK's desktop on, asleep - it was an accident, in that bumping the mouse woke the system up. For whatever reason, it didn't revert to a password dialog pop-up. The desktop was exposed, the second monitor had her digital post-processing application running, including an image browser with dozens of open files.

The venue was obviously a motel - like McDonalds and similar fast-food joints, a Marriott suite is similar nationwide, recognizable, familiar. The scene was a gang-bang. A wild, uncontrolled, gonzo gang-bang - featuring my beautiful, naughty, cheating wife. I felt like I'd been gut punched.

I studied the series of images, zooming in, zooming out, going back and forth from one shot to the next, amazed, horrified, stimulated by what I saw. KK was the center of attention. There were six distinct men in the images, one guy doing most of the photography, from time to time replaced by one of the other men who'd likely tagged out. The sequenced progressed from KK being slowly undressed by five men, to a cum-soaked, gross, dripping finale, KK completely naked, splattered with jizz, a complete wreck, used, sloppy and exhausted.

There were shots of KK taking all five men at once, shots of her one-on-one, two-on-one, three-on-one, solo, experiencing total sexual abandon at the hands of these men. The hottest of the scenes were those of KK being DP'd; vaginally, anally, double vaginal, and "airtight," her mouth, pussy and ass simultaneously stuffed full of hard cock. The best of them was a shot of KK, atop a strange man, on her back, his cock in her ass, while a second male penetrated her pussy. A third stranger was captured stroking, his cock-head pressed to KK's lips, spurting cum on my wife's face.

Once again, sometime during the ordeal of studying the photos, I'd cum spontaneously in my pants, hands-free, the result of the sensory overload from seeing KK fucked senseless. I got my wits about me, went and cleaned up, located a suitable flash drive stick, and made copies of all of it. The visions of my wife, a gooey, cum-soaked fuck doll, roiled in my mind. That evening, I jacked off so many times I finally wasn't able to cum anymore - not even a tiny droplet - I drained my balls stroking to the images of KK being fucked, fucking the men. I decided over the hours that one of them had some familiarity, but I couldn't place it - the shape and size of his cock, his body type, perhaps some facial resemblance. In the early hours of the morning, I was obsessed with the notion that maybe he was in KK's other photos.

I took the risk of entering her dark room, intent on uncovering evidence. She had proof shots of both the first, and second sets of photos in her files, but KK'd taken the finished prints elsewhere - a gap that made me wonder. I marked the files with sticky notes, gathered the proofs, and took them back to KK's office. I compared the men in the digital images from her library to those in the prints. It became obvious that one man appeared across all three collections; he was in the gay gang-bang series, the "giver" who was ass-fucking the center, he was the masquerade man in the series of KK's self-portrait fuck shots, and he was the photographer-participant in the hotel gang-bang.

So there was proof of KK's "boyfriend," fuck-buddy, or whatever he was to my wife. The same guy, in at least three encounters. I studied the photos that contained his image, evaluating the scenes. It was obvious why KK would enjoy him; attractive, fit, hung, well-groomed. His cock wasn't necessarily bigger than mine, a bit similar in size and shape, with a fat, plum-shaped cock-head that I now know KK fetishizes, nicely veined, smooth shaven, a bit curved upward. With no tattoos or facial hair, he was very young in appearance - I guessed mid-thirties, tanned, muscular. The scenes of him and KK together were indeed ultra-hot, her pale skin in contrast to his dark tan - it was also clear that KK really enjoyed his hard cock.