Turning your wife into a sex slave is not the answer to a bad marriage. It's a lot of fun, especially if your a dominant male with a rich oral and anal fantasy checklist like me.
However, if you want to keep your faithful wife, keep her. Cherish her. Trust me. Faithful wives are rare.
And, if you want to keep your unfaithful wife, ignore her transgressions and be satisfied with being a cuck who isn't allowed to watch.
I suggest dumping the unfaithful pigs, but that's me.
Here's how I turned my unfaithful wife into my sex slave. It was fun while it lasted.
It was May of 1989 when my wife, Helen, told me she wanted to go out on a Friday night with her aunt Flo.
I would be working that Friday night, but she decided that Flo would take all five of our kids, the three oldest from her previous relationships and our two young children, to stay the whole weekend at her Mom's house.
I never thought anything was suspicious about this. Helen was not the cheating type, at least that's what I believed at the time.
Looking back, I now know that I was completely delusional and our marriage had huge problems.
First off, we barely ever had sex any more. That started as soon as we were married. Before we got hitched, Helen would do anything for me in bed, and we had sex nearly every day. A week after we were married it seemed like she hated having sex.
It was shocking. When Helen was sober, she never wanted sex with me, and she didn't seem to enjoy it as much anymore when she gave in and we had sex.
This went on for three years. Sometimes, after nearly a month without any sex, being a 25-year-old guy, I would guilt her into a blowjob, which she begrudgingly would administer, making it clear I was not to cum in her mouth.
Sure, I settled for this. It was better than nothing. Then, at around the time just before she started going out with her aunt Flo, I realized that getting Helen drunk would always get me laid.
Her crappy Christian, puritan inhibitions would always fly out the window and she would turn into a cock hungry whore.
I loved this. I started feeding her Peppermint Schnapps every Friday or Saturday night and we would fuck like porn stars.
She would swallow my cum, turn over and take it in the ass, and she was the aggressor, egging me on with the most filthy and imaginative dirty talk I had ever heard.
Helen, I discovered, with a pint of schnapps in her, was an uninhibited whore.
This astounded me, and I would constantly talk to sober Helen the next morning, asking her if she enjoyed all the things we did the night before.
This recounting of our sexual exploits from the night before would make her very upset.
The first few times I did it she claimed I was lying, and that I was making it all up. We had horrible arguments, ending in me being forced not to ever bring it up again.
I was flabbergasted by this, and began plotting a way to win that argument.
Luckily, drunk Helen, who was even more kinky and adventurous than I, was fully on board with filming our hot and uninhibited sex.
So, I made a tape, with her eager participation, of us engaging in the most "unnatural" sex acts a man and woman could perform.
She took it hard in the ass and then drank my cum, and I had it all on video tape.
When I confronted sober Helen, the very next morning, asking her if she enjoyed taking a cock in her ass and swallowing my cum the night before, she acted like I was off my rocker. She claimed, as usual, that I was making it all up.
Then I said, "Would you like to watch the sex tape we made?"
I cannot accurately describe the reaction I got.
Helen was visibly shaken. She looked more than just distraught, or upset.
Her eyes widened, and she went away somewhere, to some far-off place in her mind. It's like something broke in her, and she had no tether to reality.
She clammed up, unable to speak for several minutes, as I laughed and joked at her expense. I even pulled the tape out, bragging and waving it around.
Then, white as a ghost, she clenched her teeth and said, "I can't believe you took advantage of me when I was drunk. You are disgusting."
After that, except for one night about a month later, Helen refused to drink on my nights off.
My hopeless and frustrating situation returned. I was only getting laid or given some terrible blowjob, once a month at most, and only if I could guilt her into it.
She did allow me to buy her a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps one other night after the sex tape incident, and drunk Helen rocked my world as we watched the previous sex tape, at her request.
Then, later that month, she began going out every other Friday night with her aunt Flo.
Again, I thought nothing of it. But, by the time July rolled around, Helen started going out every Friday night instead of every other.
They would drop the kids off at Helen's mother's house, I would go work my third shift at the hospital, and they would go clubbing.
This started to bother me, not because I suspected Helen of cheating. I didn't. By then I thought Helen was such a sexual prude and such a Christian saint I had no inkling she could ever stray.
I simply just felt left out. When was I going to go out drinking and dancing like we used to? I was always working.
Somehow, I had learned that Helen and her aunt were going to one particular club every Friday night.
It was on Gansett Avenue in Cranston. I think it was called Jay's Lounge.
Then, after several months of Helen going out every Friday night, I decided I wanted to go.
As I watched her get all dolled up, perfect make-up and a short, sexy skirt, making herself up in a way she hadn't done for me in years, I asked, "How would you like it if I came out dancing with you and your aunt tonight?"
I expected Helen to be thrilled, like really excited that I would join them. Instead, she looked at me and said, "No way. This is my night. You have to work anyway."
This threw me. I was stunned. I said, "Actually, it's no big deal. I have four personal days. I can take the night off and still get paid."
Helen looked pissed. She shook her head. "No. No way. This is my night out. I don't want you to come."
I said, "Well, I want to come. I'm coming."
"No, you're not. You have to work. Go to work. I'm going out with my aunt like I do every Friday night."
I was infuriated by this. Some vibe I was getting from her made me absolutely enraged.
"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "I'll go to work. You have a great night."
I got up and left the kitchen, the smell of her hair spray and perfume still thick in the air.
Taking the cordless phone into the parlor, I called into work and took that personal day.
Helen left with the kids an hour later. She kissed me goodnight, and told me to have a nice night at work.
As soon as she was gone, I went upstairs and got ready. Using Halloween hair paint, I sprayed my hair white. I applied a fake mustache I had and sprayed that white, too. I put on the old man black framed glasses, and the old man baggy suit. Then I powdered my face with baby powder. I had worn this to play a gag on people at work, and nobody had recognized me.
I looked in the mirror. It would work. Helen had heard about my prank, dressing up like an old man at work, but she had never seen me in the costume. Plus, nobody notices or talks to old people, especially at a night club.
I drove the forty minutes to get to their hangout. My guess was that I would arrive just before them. I had to dress up like an old man, but they had to drive an extra thirty minutes to drop off the kids.
I ordered a bourbon and coke after paying the two-dollar door charge, and I found a dark corner to stand in so I could watch the front door.
Twenty minutes later, I felt very stupid. I wasn't even certain that this was their club. I couldn't even remember how I had heard it was.
If they never showed up, I wouldn't know what to do or where to look for them.
And then Helen and Flo stepped through the front door. I was elated, and yet still felt rather foolish. Helen was laughing, just hanging out with her aunt.
Trust, I guessed, was not a strong point of mine. Then Helen left her aunt's side. Her aunt headed for the bar, but Helen headed toward the dance floor.
I figured she might be headed to the lady's room, but she walked past it.
She waved at someone. I looked in that direction, and the DJ, a tall, dark haired man with glasses, smiled and waved back.
He spoke through his mike. "Well, folks. It's time for Tim, your favorite record jockey, to take a ten-minute break. Here's Unchained Melody for your listening pleasure."
He played the song and practically ran to my wife. They landed in each other's arms, and kissed. It wasn't a peck on the cheek. They had their tongues down each other's throats.
My heart broke in two. My wife was passionately kissing another man. As I watched, it got even worse. Clinging to him with hungry hands, Helen smiled in complete rapture as they talked. It looked intimate, romantic and full of mutual longing.
They kissed again, this one even longer and more passionate. I couldn't see Helen's eyes rolling back in her head the way they used to when we kissed, but I knew they were from her body language.
She was fucking that dude. There was no doubt about it. And the worst realization that hit me was that she hadn't even had time to order a drink.
This was sober Helen, the one who never wanted to fuck.
I wanted to die. Seeing her respond like this to another man simply destroyed me.
As I watched this man kissing my wife, and her kissing him back, I burst into tears.
Trying to hide those tears, I went straight for the front door. The air outside helped. I gasped for more air in between sobs, falling to my knees, ripping my mustache off and pulling the white paint from my hair in sticky globs.
Yes, I was crying that hard.
Screw you if you think that was an overreaction. Try watching your wife and her lover kiss when you were completely oblivious to the possibility a minute earlier. Yes, I had an inkling in my gut that she was cheating, which drove me to check up on her, but everything in my brain had screamed it was impossible.
Except for maybe the death of a child there is no greater shock and sorrow.
I waited in my car in the parking lot, just staring at the front door. It would be hours before the club closed and Helen would leave with her aunt, but I intended to confront her and tell her what I had seen.
I cleaned the rest of my disguise off, put away the old man suit, and put on a regular shirt and jeans.
Then I just sat there.
I smoked cigarettes, one after another, and planned all the things I would say. The night wore on, but I stayed in the car and waited. I was sure she was in that nightclub, maybe having sex with him in a back room or in the bathroom, but definitely drinking, dancing with him and kissing him. I could not stomach seeing any of that.
I had already witnessed her betrayal. That was painful enough.
Then, around midnight, the door opened and the DJ my wife had kissed strode outside, dragging my stumbling, and obviously intoxicated wife by the hand behind him.
My heart jumped into my throat. They headed right for my car.
I ducked down as they approached, both laughing and joking as they walked toward me.
He led her to a white van parked right next to my car that I noticed for the first time had, "Tim the DJ" painted on it in big red letters.
How fucking imaginative, I thought.
