I woke up just after dawn. The sun shone through the window into my eyes, allowing me no choice. Disoriented at first, I rolled over. There on the other side of the bed was Melissa, sound asleep on her side, facing away from me and the sunshine. Her hair was again in a bun. The blanket covered her only partially, so I could see that she had come to bed wearing her black dress, just as I had come to bed in my shirt and khakis.
I hated that she was wearing that black dress. It was dishonest for her to share a bed with me while wearing it, as if to suggest that she hadn't taken it off to fuck another man last night. She should have come to bed naked. That would have been honest, at least.
I hated that we were still at this house. I got up from the bed and grabbed my sports jacket from the nearby chair before exiting the room. The door to the master bedroom was closed. The house remained silent. I stared at the couch in the living room as I descended the staircase. "That's where my wife allowed another man to cum inside her," I thought. At the base of the stairs I peeked into the empty study, then turned to walk through the empty living room and into the dining room. Melissa's shoes remained underneath the dining table. The dining chair on which Greg sat while my wife rode him hadn't moved. No one was in the dining room or kitchen, so it was safe to assume that everyone was asleep upstairs.
"Wait," I thought. "Was Greg upstairs asleep in bed next to Lisa? Had Chris somehow managed to escape undetected?" I was missing some consequential facts. Looking to my right, I noted the door that led to the garage. With no one around, I figured I could explore, so I went to the door and opened it.
But the next room was not the garage. It was the laundry. A sink, a washer, a dryer, and a folding table stood along the length of the wall opposite me. At the far end of the narrow room to my left was a door to the back yard. In front of me was another door. I closed the door to the kitchen behind me, then opened the door in front of me, which indeed led to the garage. The garage had space enough for only one car. To my left stood a shelf with some tools and random items, and beyond that, an old refrigerator. I immediately recognized the car as Lisa's. There was nothing else out there.
I re-entered the kitchen. On the island's countertop I saw a roll of paper towels that wasn't there during the party, standing upright near the dining room side. As if I needed further evidence of what happened last night, I searched for the kitchen's garbage can, finding it to be within a tall drawer that rolled out from underneath the island. Inside the can, laying plainly on top of the trash, were Melissa's torn black pantyhose, and immediately beneath them, a wadded paper towel, obviously still wet with whatever amount of Greg's cum had leaked out of my wife's pussy. I took Melissa's pantyhose out and put them in my pocket. Knowing that women are fucking liars, I had a hunch I might need them sometime in the future to shove in Melissa's face to overcome her denial of what she did.
I pulled off two paper towels from the roll and sat down in the dining chair just as Greg had done hours earlier. I unzipped my khakis, closed my eyes, and began masturbating as I recalled the image of my wife fucking Greg in this exact place. The memory of his hands tearing open her black pantyhose while her hips undulated made me cum in no time. With everyone asleep upstairs, I had no reason to stifle my moans, so I let it all out as I watched Greg and my wife fuck. Afterward I added my wet, wadded paper towels to those already in the garbage can.
Once again I hated that I was still in this house. I debated leaving by myself, but then torturous thoughts came to mind: Leaving Melissa at this house would give her the opportunity to fuck Greg again. Or Lisa. Or both? What about Chris, if he is still here in the house? I couldn't bear the idea of my wife fucking any of them behind my back. I needed to be able to see it if it were to happen. I needed to see it so I could watch and jerk off, just like last night. Because that's what I wanted. I wanted to watch my wife getting fucked. I wanted to see her tongue enter Greg's mouth and his tongue to enter hers. I wanted to see her body pinned underneath his. I wanted to see Greg's huge cock pounding my wife's pussy. I wanted to see him cum inside her. I wanted to see her having multiple orgasms as her body squirmed beneath him. I wanted to see him cum on her ass, and on her belly, and on her tits, and on her face, and in her mouth.
Either that, or I wanted none of it. I wanted a completely faithful wife that I could trust when I'm not around. But she was now gone, never to return.
I felt trapped. I needed to leave this house, but I couldn't leave without my wife. "Fuck it," I decided. "She needs to wake up. Tough shit if she doesn't want to get up and go right now." I recognized the hatred I now had toward her.
I filled a glass of water and went upstairs to the guest bedroom. Melissa hadn't budged an inch since I left earlier. I shook her awake.
"Hey," I said. "We need to go. I brought you some water."
It took some coaxing, but eventually she sat up. She accepted the water and drank it all down. "No doubt all that fucking and cumming last night has dehydrated you," I thought.
"Thanks," she finally croaked. "What time is it?"
"I don't know," I responded, "but I've been awake and can't fall back asleep and I don't feel comfortable being here. I really need to go home, get out of these clothes, shower, and eat. I can't imagine you feel too good right now, either."
"I'm just tired."
"Well, you can sleep in the car and you can sleep all you want after we get home. Please...let's go."
"Fine." She pulled back the covers, turned, and placed her feet on the floor.
Seeing her bare legs, I couldn't resist asking, "What happened to your pantyhose?"
"I threw them out. I must have snagged them on something, because a runner developed down the side."
"Oh, that sucks," I commented.
Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you know where my shoes are?"
"Last I saw them, they were underneath the dining room table."
We went downstairs. While Melissa went to the dining room, I retrieved my shoes from the study. Returning to her, I observed her seated in that same dining chair, bent forward as she wedged her feet into those black high heels. Her thighs parted slightly as she maneuvered, and I caught a glimpse of her red panties, so much brighter in color now that they weren't covered by black pantyhose.
In that moment I realized I was no longer looking at her as my wife. I was looking at some beautiful woman who was a complete stranger to me. Catching sight of her bare inner thighs and red panties gave me every bit of the thrill I would have if she were, in fact, some luscious woman completely unknown to me, a woman I was seeing for the very first time. I felt I had no right to see those thighs and panties. It was unauthorized and very naughty. Yet I also had some inside knowledge that this beautiful stranger I had never seen before had fucked a guy in that very chair just a few hours ago. Even though I had masturbated and cum minutes earlier, I wanted to tear off that dress and give that slut a punishing fuck.
"You know you still look stunning to me," I said as she finished putting on her high heels.
She looked up at me briefly and offered a dismissive smile, then looked around the room as if to check if she was forgetting anything before we left. Then she stood. I stepped up close to her as if to engage her in a kiss.
"No, you don't want me to kiss you right now," she said. "I'm sure my breath is gross. I need to brush my teeth."
"So don't kiss me," I said. Her face appeared puzzled as I swiftly pulled her dress up to her waist.
Melissa placed her hands on my chest and applied pressure as if to politely push me away, but I resisted. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked as she feigned a smile.
I sensed her nervousness. I made no attempt to kiss her. Looking into the eyes of this unfamiliar woman, I slid my right hand aggressively into her crotch, and in one motion, two fingers pushed her red panties to the side and entered her vagina. "What does it look like I'm doing?" My left hand gripped her bare ass and pulled her toward me.
Her fake smile was replaced with a serious expression, which then gave way to a feigned annoyance, as she continued to try hiding her nervousness. "Stop. We can't do this here." She gave my chest another gentle push, which was ineffective.
I pushed my two fingers deeper into her vagina and then curled my hand to ensure I rubbed her clitoris with the rhythm of their movement. "Did you forget about last night?" I asked.
Melissa could barely conceal a look of pure fright in her eyes, thinking she was busted.
"You and Lisa teased my cock all night. We were supposed to fuck," I said. My left hand kneaded her bare ass while my fingers pumped in and out of her. Her pussy was already wet when my fingers entered, but it became wetter. "She's been thinking about fucking Greg since she woke up," I thought. "She can't get it out of her head. And now the guilt she feels because of it is making her wet."
Melissa's hands slid from my chest to my shoulders, which signaled to me that she was no longer resisting. "But you
did
fuck her," she said. Without even giving me the opportunity to deny it, she continued, "You fucked her in the master bedroom. I could hear the bed through the ceiling."
"That wasn't me. It was Chris." My left hand slid up to the waistband of Melissa's red panties and began pulling them down.
"No, Chris is gay, remember?" Even though she said these words, she already sounded less convinced of their truth.
I extracted my right hand from my wife's pussy just for a moment to allow her panties to slide down her thighs. "No, Chris is not gay. I was right about him and Lisa." In my hatred for my wife, I decided to insert an unprecedented third finger into her vagina. She allowed it, and I detected a look of pleasure on her parted lips as the three fingers pushed all the way inside her. "Chris returned and let himself in the front door after we all stopped playing pool. I saw him. He immediately went upstairs, and Lisa followed. Chris fucked Lisa last night."
My left hand pushed Melissa's panties down past her knees, and from there they fell freely to her feet. She stepped out of them, then remained standing with her feet slightly apart, allowing my fingers greater freedom to assault her pussy. Never before had she appeared so slutty to me, with her slinky black dress pulled up to her waist and naked otherwise, except for the black high heels on her feet.
"Chris fucked Lisa," she repeated.
"Yes. Chris fucked Lisa in the bed where Greg and Lisa sleep," I added. I felt anger and jealousy in my own words. Still I fingerfucked my wife. Her cheeks and neck had begun to redden.
Melissa's hands slid down from my shoulders, down my chest, and down to the waistline of my khakis. "And what did you do?" she asked.
"I went upstairs to confront Lisa. I told her I was pissed."
"Because she was going to fuck Chris instead of you." Melissa unbuttoned my khakis as she stared into my eyes.
"No, because she was going to fuck Chris instead of
us
. We had a deal."
"So, how did she respond?" Melissa pulled down the zipper of my khakis.
"She asked me to be understanding. She said that the stars have to align for her to get the chance to fuck him. She said she would make it up to us another time."
Melissa smiled at my words as if she knew something that I didn't. She pulled my dick out of my khakis. "Where's your underwear?" she asked.
For a split second I was stunned at the question. I had forgotten that I had thrown my underwear into the garbage can upstairs. I was cornered into a half-truth. "I threw them out. I jerked off before I fell asleep, and I used them to clean up."
She smiled at that, too, and shook her head as if I were silly. Holding me by my dick in one hand, with her other hand on my hip, she signaled for us to rotate and switch places. After the switch, she pulled my khakis down to my ankles and pushed me down into the dining chair. I was completely high on the knowledge of what my wife was now thinking: "I'm going to fuck my husband in this chair exactly the way I fucked Greg last night." But, like a real slut, she kept her high heels on to do it.
Melissa sat down on my lap and pressed the wet slit of her pussy against the shaft of my hard dick. "Why did you jerk off last night?" she asked. She rested her forearms on top of my shoulders and looked down at me without moving.
"So that I could sleep. I was too aroused to sleep."
Melissa pushed her hips slowly forward and backward, spreading the wetness of her pussy along my dick, and then stopped. The idea entered my head that she was initiating a game in which she rewards me for good answers to her questions.
