I drove recklessly. The images running through my mind threatened to overwhelm me. I had just watched my wife through a web cam getting well and truly fucked by two young men. She had obviously enjoyed the encounter and had even paid them money. And as I ran the images through my head over and over again, I realized that she had been very familiar with them and that this was probably not the first time this had happened.
If she was fucking the hired help, who else was she screwing around with? My mind yammered at me with a thousand unanswered questions. Part of me was furious with her, wanted to hurt her, beat her, scream my denial into her face. Another part of me was so excited at what I had seen and her invitation to become a willing accomplice in being cuckolded, that it drove me to jam my foot down on the accelerator harder and harder.
It normally takes me thirty minutes to drive home from work. This time I made it in fifteen. I slammed the car into park and ran into the house through the back door.
My wife was in the kitchen mixing two large Martinis on the counter between the kitchen and the great room. She had put on a skimpy, silky warp from Victoria's Secret that I had bought her on Valentine's Day. She had never worn it before. At least not for me.
She turned to face me as I stormed into the kitchen and lifted the drinks up, offering me one while she held the other close.
"Slow down, tiger!" she commanded, and there was a tone in her voice that I had never heard before. An assurance and a natural authority that took me by surprise.
"You came here. I hoped that you would. And you either plan to kill me, or you plan to fuck me. Maybe one and then the other."
She stepped out from behind the counter and I could see that she had on a pair of stiletto heeled pumps. I also noticed that she had done her makeup. She looked very hot, like a centerfold model. The silk wrap was only loosely tied and I could she her breasts and her belly exposed. The sticky residue of other men's spunk was still there on her skin. She hadn't bathed.
My mouth opened, but only inarticulate sounds came out. She stepped closer to me and lifted the drink again for me to take. I swept it aside with a roar and leaped forward to seize her by the neck. The glass shattered on the floor somewhere and she screamed.
My momentum carried me forward and her backward. She tripped on her spiky heels and went over backwards. I landed on top of her. Her scream stopped as the air whooshed out of her. She's a small woman, barely five foot three inches tall, and I'm well over six feet two. I'm a few years older than she is, but I played football in college and I've kept pretty fit since then. It was no contest. Indeed she didn't even try to fight as I strangled her.
Instead she pulled me closer to her, and closed her eyes as her face blossomed red from the constriction of my hands around her neck.
The smell of her, perfume and come, filled my nostrils as we rolled on the floor and I suddenly let go of her neck and started sobbing into the hollow under her chin. She kept her arms around me and gasped for air. Then she crooned softly at me as we continued to roll on the floor in each others arms.
"Okay, baby," she whispered in my ear. "It's okay. I know I've hurt you. I know I have. And I know this sounds stupid right now, but I have never loved you as much as I do right now."