Upstairs Downstairs
Part 1 of 2
"Fuck me, harder. That's it baby, my god you feel so good."
These are the words that I hear from my wife as I sit downstairs jacking off while listening to her. I can't believe how turned on I've been over the last two weeks since she started bringing Shawn home, listening to her getting the fucking of her life.
The weirdest part is not just how much it makes me cum when I listen to her, but that I've never heard anything so erotic in all my life as right now, hearing the sighs and heavy breaths escaping her lips, the words of encouragement to her lover, then the inevitable orgasms that consume her. As she begins to cum again, I shoot my load all over my tiled back patio, feeling like I might almost black out in the process.
I hate the feeling I have right now after I'm done, with strong feelings of guilt and more than a bit of shame. I know I have no real reason to be feeling these emotions, but I do. What I'm struggling with though, is why the fuck am I enjoying this so much?
Before you think that I've got a cheating slut of a wife, I don't. It's not like that. In fact, this entire predicament is probably mostly on me. It's currently summer in the year of 2011 in Buffalo, New York. My name is Dave Thomas, I'm a 27-year-old financial funds manager, or at least I was. Let me explain.
I'm a 5'11 fit looking white guy with light brown hair and a decent build, although I wouldn't call myself muscular or buff, just in shape. I got married to my longtime girlfriend Marianne just after I finished college, I was also newly employed at a financial funds management firm here in Buffalo, New York. Marianne also graduated college and landed a job as an accountant for a large firm in downtown Buffalo a year later. Everything was looking good for us; we were enjoying life and each other.
Six months later we decided to take the plunge and buy a house. It was a massive step for us, especially since we had very little cash in the bank at the time. We found this beautiful split-level home in the suburbs, and we decided to buy it. I say we, but it was mainly me pushing for it. Marianne was cautious about us getting into so much debt so early, especially as we got the loan without using a deposit.
My famous last words to her were that it was going to be fine, that house prices were going to continue to rise throughout the rest of 2008 and beyond.
Yeah, that didn't go so well. After the financial crash in mid to late 2008, house prices plummeted as people lost their jobs and defaulted on their loans. I was one of those to lose my well-paid job, and we struggled to make payments on a house that was now worth way less than the loan we were repaying. I also struggled to find any job in the finance sector, and had to settle for working two jobs, one as a courier driver during the day and the other as a bartender on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights to try and help make ends meet. Thankfully, Marianne was doing well in her job and had even been recently promoted.
To make things worse, we couldn't walk away from the house like so many others did as I didn't take the higher interest rates on the mortgage to include that option, our only option would've been to sell the house. We would still then owe a heap of money after it sold for way less than we bought it for unless we then claimed bankruptcy too, which was not an option for us. No, we decided we were going to stick it out, we loved the house, and we would need somewhere to live anyway.
But to say that the financial mess we found ourselves in due to my miscalculations of the market made it hard on our relationship is a bit of an understatement. Somehow though, we struggled on through to the end of 2009, but by early 2010 the stress was starting to take its toll.
We found ourselves arguing a lot, and our sex life had gone from good to bad. A big part of the issue was me, if I'm being honest. The guilt I felt for putting us in this position, then losing my job and my career, I felt like I was letting my wife down. Not only did I have house payments to make, but I was still paying off my college loan debt as well. College for a career I could no longer get a job doing, in Buffalo anyway. I was depressed, I felt ashamed and like a complete failure, I was blaming myself but somehow that eventually manifested in me arguing with Marianne more often than not.
Not that my wife was completely faultless in my eyes either, perhaps she should've understood better what I was going through, even if she was going through it with me. I don't know, but we were soon at a breaking point. The hardest part was that deep down I knew I still loved her and felt that she still loved me too. But being in our mid-twenties, neither of us were very good at expressing that. By the summer of 2010 we decided to split, as our marriage was no longer working, and we needed some time and space from each other.
But how exactly could we break up? Neither of us could afford to move out and still make house payments. Also, neither of us wanted to sell the house and take a massive loss on the price we paid. Instead, we decided on the only good option open to us, we would both stay in the house, but I would move downstairs and live in the third bedroom while Marianne stayed upstairs in our main bedroom.
This option seemed to tick all the boxes; downstairs had a games room with the second bathroom along with the third bedroom. I turned the large games room into my living room, while Marianne used the regular living room in the main part of the house. Our house actually has three levels, the main level has the garage, entrance, kitchen, laundry and living room. On the right-hand side of the main level off the living room, the house splits into a T-shaped upstairs/downstairs arrangement as the land slopes away on that side of the house.
We have half stairs from the main level that go upstairs to the main bathroom, second bedroom and the master bedroom, which faces the back of the house with a small balcony overlooking the backyard. The other half stairs go down to the second bathroom, games room and third bedroom which faces out to a small, covered patio under the upstairs balcony. So, my new bedroom is now directly below the bedroom I used to share with my wife.
Marianne uses our car to go to work while I catch the buses, I didn't want her waiting for buses at night in the city or walking the block or so home in the dark. We would often find ourselves together in the kitchen in the mornings or after work, making our own coffee or meals. We were seemingly getting along a lot better once you take sharing the same bedroom with sex and forced intimacy out of the equation. I know that sounds strange, but we tend to argue a lot less now, dare I say that we are happier right now just being good friends rather than husband and wife.
When we both agreed on our separation, I pointed out that with our arrangement it might become difficult if one of us started dating someone new. This seemed to take Marianne back a little, I don't think she'd given any thought to either of us being with someone else, just that we needed a break from each other. She agreed though that we'd have to both be discreet if it happened. That we wouldn't often have other people staying overnight and they definitely wouldn't be living in the house. That we'd be conscience of the other's feelings.
I guess both of us thought that there's still a chance that we might get back together as husband and wife, and we didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize that in the long term.
I was the first to bring someone home, about three months into our separation. By this point it had been well over six months since I'd had sex with Marianne, and I was getting desperate for some relief. One of the perks of working as a bartender is that you become a viable option for women out drinking who are looking to hook-up. Her name was Cynthia I think, or Sylvia. Anyway, I brought her home at the end of my shift on a Friday night, after 3am. The sex was pretty forgettable, she was a little too drunk and I was a little too tired. I sent her home in a cab before Marianne was up and about in the morning.
About a month later I brought home another woman named Tasha, again meeting her at the bar I worked at. She was a real little firecracker, I enjoyed sex with her way more than the previous girl, and she was noisy in bed too. At first, I wanted her to keep the noise down, so as not to upset my wife sleeping upstairs. But as we got into it, I soon forgot all about Marianne as I enjoyed fucking the hell out of pretty little Tasha.
Marianne didn't say anything about how noisy we were when I spoke to her in the kitchen the next day, she acted like nothing had happened. I did wonder if she was just putting on a brave face, trying to not let me know if it annoyed her that I was enjoying fucking someone else.
Tasha came back for a good number of encore performances over the next two months, but then she stopped showing up at my bar and we lost touch. Over the Christmas period I met a sexy woman named Beverly Tate. She's a year younger than Marianne at twenty-four and had just begun working as a waitress at the bar with me. She's working to pay off her student debt like me, and like me was struggling to get a job in the career of her choice.
In many ways, Beverly reminded me of Marianne, they even looked very similar. Both stand at about 5"5 with light brown hair and hazel eyes. Beverly is slightly thinner than Marianne as she likes to jog a lot, she has a cute ass and nice b-cup breasts.
Marianne is still fit though, just more toned and not quite as skinny as Beverly. Marianne also has bigger breasts, sporting full c-cups and a slightly rounder ass that I think looks fantastic too. I also think that Marianne is a little prettier in her face as well, but no one could ever deny the similarities in their appearance.
