No Red Flags

No red flags

Notes: As usual, I wanted to remind you that English is not my native language, so I hope you can forgive me for any mistakes and blunders that I have surely made. I hope there aren't many.

I take this opportunity to thank those who read me and all those who have included me among their favorite authors. A good rating for the story is obviously pleasing, but I realize that writing on "Loving Wives" often has the peculiarity that it is difficult to please everyone. A BTB story will receive 1 star from those who prefer reconciliation, and of course the vice versa.

The overall evaluation will be a sort of average between the ones and fives, so in addition to a good rating, I consider the number of people who have added one of my stories to their favorites very significant. So I am very pleased that one of these, which although it has the worst rating among those published, has so far gotten a lot of readings and preferences, and I hope that this one will also prove to be to your liking.

Was I getting paranoid? I had been wondering about that for a while now, and I still didn't have a definitive answer. I had just returned from work and only had about half an hour before my wife, the beautiful 32-year-old Emily, came back from the gym, as she did every Monday. I quickly changed and then there I was, intent on inspecting once again a couple of drawers reserved for her in the dresser, being careful to move her undergarments as little as possible and put them back in the exact position they were in. What was I looking for? I didn't know, or rather, I did. I was looking for evidence or clues of her betrayal, or at least I was looking for something that didn't add up, something she wouldn't want me to see.

Once again I found nothing suspicious, exactly as the last time I had looked. I still had a bit of time left, so I inspected her two closet shelves devoted to sweaters, without too much hope. Hope? What was I saying? Was I perhaps hoping to find something that would make me doubt her? Of course not, I was hoping to find nothing. So why did I keep searching?

I was running out of time. In a few minutes she, punctual as a Swiss watch, would ring the doorbell, hug me glad to see me again, and I would do the same, as every loving couple should.

"Ding- Dong"

Here. Two sounds with a very brief pause between them. It was her. I opened the door.

She stepped into the house and then, smiling, threw her arms around my neck. She kissed me and I kissed her back.

"Hi, Nat!"

"Hi Emily, how's it going?"

"All good, just a bit tired. That hour of Pilates always destroys me. And you?"

"Fine, thank you, I just got back. The usual everyday routine and the usual problems to solve, nothing special."

Indeed it is. My name is Nathan, I am 36 years old, and I am the corporate network manager for a major local software house. Obviously an expert in both hardware and software, both corporate and Microsoft, I am a lifelong computer geek. My PC, laptop and even my two cell phones - one corporate and one personal - are filled with all kinds of programs and applications, and during downtime at work I surf the Internet extensively, not disdaining the occasional detour into the Dark Web, unbeknownst to all, of course. A layman would be incredulous at what one can find, really anything, both legal and illegal. Why do I visit those pages? Just like that, with no specific purpose, just out of curiosity. Knowledge makes one free, and I like to know.

For my abilities, the work I do is particularly easy for me: ensuring that the company network runs well and is fast, intervening immediately in case of failures or difficulties with staff computers, taking basic business software courses and other such amenities, is a no-brainer for those who know how to do it. What I call problems are actually minor issues, but I also enjoy putting on airs with my wife.

"Come on, I know you always solve everyone's problems. Now give me a little time to rest, and then I'll go make dinner. You can go ahead and watch the news on TV. When it's ready, I'll call you."

"Okay, what's for dinner tonight?"

"Surprise, surprise, you'll see when we're at the table," Emily said, smiling at me and nudging me toward the living room.

Giggling I did as I was "ordered" and sprawled out on the couch. Then I pressed the remote control to turn on the TV and tune it to the appropriate channel. The voice coming out from the speaker did not cover my thoughts.

I loved Emily. She was the love of my life, the ideal wife: beautiful, loving, kind, exuberant. Tits of the perfect abundant size, a "B" side to eat with your eyes. She was also intelligent, and sometimes our discussions on general topics highlighted this. She could listen, express her point of view clearly, sometimes admit when she was wrong and insist when it turned out she was right, until I acknowledged my mistake. She did not flirt with other men and never gave me any reason to think poorly of her. Perfect. Too perfect.

We had met at the tennis club. Perhaps, based on my job, you might think that I am a bespectacled geek who spends hours and hours in front of the computer without engaging in anything else or even having a social life. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am not an Adonis but I am not bad either. I have a decent physique and as a young man I practiced martial arts before switching to tennis, a sport I have always enjoyed, both watching and playing, even competitively. While I was playing in a tournament, Emily was accompanying her little brother to a group class organized by the school. She noticed me, I noticed her, and I fueled my energy to win my match. We liked each other, dated and two years later we got married, increasingly in love.

Emily is an elementary school teacher, and her pupils adored her. Her parents also doted on her, and she was overjoyed with her job, which she had wanted since she was a young girl. She loved being with the children and also had the opportunity to almost always have the afternoon off, except on Tuesdays when the usual interschool meeting with her colleagues was scheduled. So, twice a week, she took advantage of this time to go to the gym: Pilates on Mondays and machines and weights on Thursdays, to tone all her muscles.

I, too, used to dedicate some of my time to physical activity, tennis of course, although I no longer played in tournaments. On Mondays there was singles play, and on Fridays we almost always managed to arrange doubles from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m., when the chances that we would all be available were greater. The club had indoor courts so weather conditions were not a problem, and between quick showers and the drive home I was always home shortly after 9 p.m., still a decent time to have dinner.

Except for work and time devoted to sports, everything else therefore remained for us, and our married life was still very good, now that we had been married for more than six years. After the initial long period of craziness and love's transport, we had calmed down a bit, and life had taken on its own routine: weekend jaunts out of town or movies, regular summer vacations, almost always by the sea, but also short winter stays in the snow or in some European city, visits to our respective in-laws, etc. Normal things like everyone else. What about sex? We cuddled every night, intimate and close, but the real sex happened on Wednesdays and Saturdays, unfailingly beautiful. On the other days we were a bit tired, between work and sports activities, but Wednesdays and Saturdays were all ours, and sometimes we would change up the routine by adding Sunday mornings as well; nothing was better than a little sex as soon as we woke up. We liked to prepare ourselves properly, as if it were always the first time: we would shower separately first, and she always wore a delightful lingerie, sometimes even brand new, often one of those that I gifted her, even though she knew full well that it would last only a short time and would soon end up on the floor, untied by my eager hands. By now we knew each other well, and we would roll each other to exhaustion in different positions, sweating, moaning and both enjoying our love.

Children we didn't have, and for the time being we didn't plan to have any, but it was by no means a closed discussion. Given our age, we would soon have to deal with it and we would do so with joy.

A wonderful marriage.

So what? What was wrong with me?

Emily's crystalline voice interrupted my thoughts, "Come, Nat, dinner is on the table."

I got up from the couch heading for the kitchen. A normal evening awaited me: a delicious dinner, some TV cuddling on the couch, and then to bed snuggled up for some well-deserved rest. Emily quickly fell asleep while I, supine and with my hands behind my head, let my thoughts flow.

I loved my wife and her behavior told me that she loved me too, so what? Why was I not at peace? The fact is that in my work sometimes one has to labor incessantly for days, even beyond normal hours, while there are often quiet periods when I sit in my office in front of the PC screen. I often use this time to catch up, which is absolutely necessary in IT, but sometimes I wander freely on the Internet, even amusing myself with some porn movies, and lately I had discovered a site full of erotic stories, some of them very funny and spicy. In particular there was a section devoted to cheating, and I had become educated about the behavior of women who cheat on their boyfriends or husbands, particularly the signs the cheater leaves behind. Unless you are a "serial" cheater, in most cases cheaters tend to exhibit similar behavior, and the clues they leave behind can be very obvious, as the irrationality of the behavior and the excitement of the new transgressive experience can make people impair clarity.

To make a long story short, the main red flags that could raise suspicions of ongoing treachery can be summarized in this list:

Changes in intimacy, such as a sudden reduction in sexual activity or, conversely, new and unusual demands and behaviors

Moving away from one's partner, spending more time at work, with friends, or finding a reason to be away from home

Sudden focus on outward appearance, perhaps changing hairstyle or way of dressing, possibly in a sexier or more sophisticated manner

Increased attachment to one's smartphone, more time spent calling and texting, perhaps trying to be inconspicuous, receiving phone calls but not answering them in front of one's partner

Manifesting unhappiness in marriage, with constant mood swings and finding any excuse to argue

Well, none, and I mean none of these, or any others, could apply to my wife. My wife was still the same, and she did not seem to have changed one iota.

So what? Why was I suspicious?

The answer is not difficult. How is it possible, for example, that Emily never refused sex, not even once? How is it possible that she never had a slight headache to elegantly avoid my advances?

How is it possible that she never came home late, never said she had overtime to work, never once went out for a girls' night, never flirted with anyone, always treated me with love and respect? Sure, a few fights over trivial reasons were there, but they really lasted the time of a morning, and when we made up, our bed would sparkle.

What about her phone? It was always unlocked and available, she quietly left it lying around without any fear of being checked, and sometimes, when it rang and she was in another room, she would quietly ask me to go and see who was calling her. Her laptop? Likewise. At my complete disposal, with absolute freedom to read, if I wanted to, all her emails.

And when she wanted to go shopping, she always asked me to accompany her, sometimes even forcing me, though I didn't really want to.

A perfect wife. Too perfect to be true. Or was it me who was paranoid and sick? The doubt was there.

But paranoia is hard to heal.

When I was at home while Emily, for some reason, was away, I continued my search. Too bad they haven't invented an infidelity-detector yet; I would certainly have been one of the first buyers.

Today it was the bookstore's turn. We had common compartments, where we kept books on subjects we both liked, such as photography, bridge and language courses, and separate compartments. In those reserved for me I kept my computer science, math, and science fiction books, while in her I could find mostly novels, especially thrillers and historicals, but there was also no shortage of romantic titles.

Taking care to adhere to the pre-established order, I would take from her compartments one book at a time, flipping through it with some care to see if, by chance, any papers or notes came out. Then I would put it back exactly in its place and move on to the next one.

I had done this several times before, but I repeated it. I always had the doubt that I might have missed something the previous time. Today again, no news; all the books had been sifted through and nothing had turned up. Happy? Certainly yes, but the day after tomorrow I could have devoted myself to another department of her closet, other drawers I would have thoroughly inspected. In fact, I had come up with an idea: before I started, I would photograph the contents, so that I could put everything exactly back in place without her being able to notice anything.

So I did, and of course, once again, nothing unusual or abnormal emerged. The days went on and I was convincing myself that there was, in fact, nothing to be found. I was certainly less pensive, and even in the office I was calmer.

Today, for example, was a day of complete rest and I was relaxing. After a routine check on how well the network was functioning, I could sit behind my desk and attend to my own business, certain however that some nuisance would undoubtedly call me to resolve a "very big" problem on his laptop, which would consume a good four minutes and thirty seconds of my precious time.

While waiting for this still-anonymous shitter I turned to my phone to test three new apps I had installed yesterday. The first was a scanner with promising features: automatic edge recognition, image stabilizer, near-instantaneous focus, and a timer that made it easy to change pages between scans. Not bad.

The second was a voice recorder, which allowed both voice and external sounds to be recorded, as well as phone calls. The main notable features were automatic activation upon sound detection, background operation without anything appearing on the screen, and the ability to automatically stream and save the recording to the cloud for convenient replay at later times.

The third was an application for remote surveillance of public or private cameras with some interesting functions, such as recording even sound, a "motion detector" feature, and even face detection.

I was trying out the first app when my cell phone rang. I looked at the calling number and gave myself a wry little smile: Murphy's law had struck again. Here was the occasional nuisance caller, but I would have forgiven him; he was one of the nicest and only called when necessary.

"Hi Bob, is there a problem?"

"Yes, Nat, sorry to bother you, but the laptop has a problem. I'm not getting the desktop: instead there's a black page with white writing on it. I don't want to mess something up by doing something strange, could you come and take a look?"

"Sure, Bob, at the moment I'm free. I'll be right there."

"Thanks, Nat, I'll wait for you."

Its malfunction was quite common and, fortunately, often easily solved. It had probably been turned off incorrectly the last time, perhaps by unplugging it before the laptop shut down completely. In that case it would have been sufficient to exit that screen with the "Exit without changes" button and restart Windows normally.

Before leaving my office to go to Bob's, I took the opportunity to plug my cell phone into the outlet for a quick charge, since the battery was running low. As usual, I found myself fighting for a couple of minutes against the USB-C port of the phone, which had been unwilling to work properly for a few days. I had tried cleaning it with a can of compressed air, but nothing had changed. At the end of the working hours, I promised myself that I would take the phone to service to change the port. Actually I could have even done it myself but, of course, I did not want to lose the warranty. In addition, the store was located not far from home and therefore very convenient.

I came home at the usual time and as always, as soon as I had time to get rid of the bag with the laptop, Emily came up smiling and we kissed.

"Hello, beautiful. Are you okay?"

"I'm all right, how about you? How was it at the office?"

"Usual stuff, nothing special. I took my cell phone in for repair, luckily it's ready as early as tomorrow. What about school?"

"One of my boys got sick and we had to call his parents to come and pick him up, but otherwise everything was normal. Get changed, come on, I have to tell you some hot gossip about Pat." she said, smiling mischievously "Maybe we'll create some atmosphere for tonight . It's still early for dinner."

I smiled at the idea. It was Wednesday, and our dessert of sex was a certainty. Patricia was a single colleague of hers, and Emily and her co-workers often subjected her to a sort of interrogation to learn about her love affairs and whether she could finally find a guy who would suit her.

I couldn't care less, but to please Emily I gladly listened to her and together we giggled about her vicissitudes.

The after-dinner meal had the script already mapped out, but small variations were not lacking. After some time watching television squatting on the couch, just long enough to digest dinner a little, I kissed her, saying seriously, "I'm going to take a shower, then I'll wait for you in the room. After last time, I gave some lube to the bed net, and I need you to test if it still squeaks."

She chuckled and said, "Certainly, I look forward to helping you out."

At the end of the shower I went to my room and sat waiting on the edge of the bed. When I heard the flow of water from the bathroom cease, I got up and quietly crouched behind the ajar door.

Before long, Emily came in wearing only one of the beautiful undergarments I had given her. I was naked and as soon as she crossed the threshold, slightly surprised not to see me on the bed, I grabbed her from behind, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a kiss on the neck. I felt her quiver with a little shudder, both from surprise and arousal, which intensified when my lips moved to her earlobe while I simultaneously unfastened her bra. Before she fell to the floor, my hands had cupped her breasts and her nipples were immediately between the index and middle fingers of my hands, subjected to pincer pressure and rubbing. They soon became turgid as she let out a small moan of pleasure.

Her voice came out a little shaky: "Do you love me?"

"Yes." I whispered, pulling my mouth away from her ear to bring it, squirming a little, to her breast and beginning to suck it.

Upon contact with her gorgeous ass covered only by a tiny slip, my friend squirmed hopefully. I knelt down and, still remaining behind her back, gently slipped off her panties, resting the entire length of one finger on her small lips, which I felt were already moist. I lifted her weight and led her to our big bed, gently resting her there. I climbed up to her side as well and then leaned over her.

"I can't wait to feel you inside me. Please, Nat, fuck me."

"Let me first taste you, honey, I want to kiss you all over."

"Yessss, don't stop, lick me everywhere."