Typical. That's how I would describe our marriage. Typical. Not boring or even stale. Just, run of the mill.
We have been married for 16 years, three kids, the oldest was hers from a previous relationship. My wife, Chelsea, is a gorgeous half Filipino half white mix with a nice little body, long dark hair, almond eyes, and ridiculously succulent lips. And I am over 6 feet, in great shape - I work out 6 days a week - have an 8 inch cock, know how to use it, and have an incredibly successful career and make great money.
And we have a great relationship, with plenty of laughs. We have very little drama or conflict and while we don't have private jets and multiple houses, we do live a pretty great, luxurious life.
Sex was pretty great when we first started dating and got married. Adventurous even. There were times she would suck my cock while we drove along the freeway at night, or we once had a quickie in a department store dressing room, and we even fucked one summer night out on a softball field where I played. I hiked up her white summer skirt and we had an insanely hot quickie. Yet for all this, she still protested that she was a pretty vanilla girl and really just enjoyed the typical stuff.
But, nowadays, she rarely sucks my cock. And when she did suck my cock, cumming in her mouth was a very hard no. She only let me cum on her face once as a rare treat, but that was back when we were still dating. And she has always refused any and all anal play. Once, on our honeymoon in fact, she was on top of me and I started some dirty talk with her, telling her I wanted to feel her cum all over my cock. She put her hand over my mouth and shushed me. With her eyes closed, she rode me back and forth until she came.
I guess like most married couples, we have fallen into a routine sexually. Mind you, it's a routine of her getting her pussy eaten and then fucked good and hard where she usually comes multiple times. I have gently pushed for more adventurous sexcapades, she has never shown any interest or desire.
I had heard some vague stories from her sister about adventures before she got pregnant and before we met. Her sister told me a story once about an "orgy" Chelsea went to and when I asked my wife about it - in horny, excited curiosity - she shrugged it off as nothing more than an awkward threesome for her friend and her boyfriend. I asked if she wanted to explore that with us and she was adamant that she was not into it at all, again asserting she likes the traditional ways we had sex.
Overall, though in a static routine, we were living a good life.
But nothing could prepare me for the crazy curveball that was thrown my way several months ago or how my life would be completely turned on its head.
I I walked into the house a few months ago to a very distraught Chelsea, on the phone, paperwork scattered around her on the kitchen table.
"What the hell do you mean it's not up to code? We just fixed this last year." She listened. "They can't shut me down for that, can they? Oh god damnit, we'll lose so much money if I have to shut down for that long. Do you have someone who can take care of this?" I tried to get her attention, kissed her head, and she quickly looked up at me. "Great, can they meet me tomorrow at the shop? Great, thank you."
"So what was that all about?" I asked.
"You're not going to believe this shit. So, you know how we added wine tastings and other pairings at the shop? Well, because we are heating things up, and doing more in-house baked goods, we upgraded our kitchen last year and now they are saying it's not up to code so I have like 10 days to get it fixed."
"Jesus, what do you have to do?"
"The building manager, engineer, and the contractor the landlord knows are going to meet me at the shop to go over everything."
"Not your usual contractor?" I asked.
"No, the landlord has used this guy for a bunch of work and for what we are likely going to need, we'll need him."
My wife owns a specialty retail shop - a dream of hers for years that I almost entirely funded - that sells wine, baked goods, soaps, etc., that caters pretty much to women. She has had the business for a few years and it's successful enough that it makes a little bit more money than it costs. And she loves it.
And this is where it all began.
A few months ago, a neighbor friend was over, drinking wine with my wife and I came in and sat down. The conversation steered towards our oldest son, now 22, and dating in this new reality. My wife - Chelsea and our neighbor Becca - started talking about how men are so soft nowadays.
My wife then said, "You know, men don't do anything handy anymore these days. They don't know how to fix things around the house, they don't know how to use tools. They don't hunt." She gave me a weird sideways glance, I think, realizing not only what she had said, but the a-little-too-energetic bluntness of it. It wasn't obvious, but I know my wife. It wasn't necessarily meant as a dig at me, but more so, the wine had seeped its way in and lubricated her just enough for her to let her guard down just a bit.
Now I am not terribly handy. Never have been nor had a real need to. I'll roll up my sleeves and do minor things around the house, but I usually pay for most things to be done. And while I am manly in many ways, this is not one of them.
"Yeah, you know, it's just sexy when a guy can be a man and take care of those things, you know," said Becca.
"Exactly," agreed my wife.
The next day, when I got home from work, she wasn't home yet. I gave her a call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's me. Where are you?"
"Oh, I'm still at the shop, going over all the work that needs to be done."
"Still? I thought you were meeting them hours ago."
"I was, but I'm with Chris, the contractor, going over all the work to get up to code." I heard a guy's voice in the background saying something I couldn't quite make out. "Yeah, it's just under there if you pull those bins out," Chelsea said. "Sorry, I'll be home later. Just get the kids dinner and I'll pick up something for myself on the way home."
"Ok, bye."
"Bye."
She finally returned home two hours later. "Must have been a lot of work to do, eh?" I said as she walked in.
"Yeah, Chris and I got to talking about all the work, the codes, and he ended up grabbing some sandwiches next door, so we ate and worked to get a head start."
"Cool. So when do they start?"
"He's meeting me there tomorrow to go over preliminary stuff, then he'll file for the permits then work can begin as soon as we get those. So hopefully in about 10 days."
I thought nothing more of it. And quite honestly, she talks about her shop so much, the fact she didn't go on, was a bit of a relief.
"Kids are down, shall I pour you a glass of wine?" I asked. This was our usual code word/my way of seeing if I was going to get lucky. She always needed a glass or two of wine before we had sex. It was her way of loosening up and she had put on about 15 pounds and she always complained about how fat she was getting. I still found her sexy as hell, and her small breasts got a good size bigger with the weight gain. But she is only 5 ft tall, so she was a little chunkier in her thighs, ass, and a little bit in her belly.
"Mmm, thank you," she grabbed the wine and took a long, deep gulp.
"I think we should go upstairs," she smiled, taking her wine with her. This was actually quite forward for her as she rarely, if ever, initiates sex. As soon as we closed the bedroom door, her hands were on my belt.
We had sex in our normal routine with her coverig my face in her juices and me fucking her in the spoon position until I pulled out and came all over my stomach. She hopped up, grabbed one of my t-shirts from the closet and tossed it to me and went to clean up in the bathroom.
Over the next couple of weeks, the work on the shop continued mostly on schedule. She met regularly with Chris and the building manager to ensure she wasn't wasting time or money.
Then, one day, while the work was paused as they waited for permits, she casually mentioned that she was meeting with Chris a few times over the next few days to go over work plans to ensure everything would be ready once they were approved.
Finally, permits came in and work began.
About a month after Chelsea had started the project, things were beginning to get wrapped up. So, one night, a little over a month ago, I decided I would take the kids to surprise Chelsea at the shop and grab some dinner together. I had hardly seen Chelsea with my work schedule, the construction, the kids, and all the regular chaos of life.
When we arrived, the storefront was dark, the windows still covered with construction sheets and one of those signs that said "Pardon Our Dust...", a bunch of materials were just inside the front door blocking any entrance, and there were a few big bags of trash out front. Plus, I couldn't see Chelsea's car. I told the kids to wait here for a second and I'd be right back.
I took the trash around the side of the building and tossed it in the bin, then went through the side entrance to the utility hall all tenants used for taking the trash out or moving supplies in. I walked down the hallway to the back entrance of her shop. I used the key fob to let myself in and walked into the dark storage area of the shop.
And then I heard the unmistakable sounds that my brain refused to process. People were fucking.
My head spun and my heart raced, while my throat instantaneously dried. My legs got very wobbly and my footing was unsure. Of course the obvious answer was that my wife was fucking someone. But I couldn't even remotely consider it. I quietly walked through the storage to the kitchen area, where the only light was on. As I approached I could clearly hear my wife, only it was unlike anything I had heard before.
I slowly looked around the door and there was my wife, totally naked, sucking on who I assumed was Chris the contractor's cock. My face flushed with a searing heat I had never felt before. I was transfixed. He had his hand on the back of her head, fucking her face, forcing her to gag on his cock. She pulled up, stroked his cock coated thickly with her slobber.
"You like deep throating that hard cock?" he said.
"Mmm, fuck yeah, I love it when you fuck my face," she said. I had never in my life heard my wife say that, or even hint that she liked sex like this. He continued to fuck her face, reaching down, squeezing her nipples hard until she winced. She purred on his cock.
"Just like that you little fucking slut," he grunted.
She responded by moaning loudly and taking his whole cock down her throat, where he held her head in place until she gagged up his cock.
I looked him over now. He was maybe only an inch or two taller than I, shaved head of course like my wife likes, decent build and a cock roughly the same size as mine, just thicker. But he was rough, demanding, and demeaning and she was fucking loving it.
