Wives with Benefits: Volume Two (8 page)

She’d come home, seriously late from the office, and like always I wouldn’t question it. But lying in bed waiting for her to come up, perhaps after a leisurely late dinner, I noticed she hopped in the shower before coming to bed. And actually, she did that fairly regularly when coming home — after girls’ nights out, or after simply working late. Never explained it, though I’d never had any problem with her showering at any time, with her need to come to bed feeling fresh after a long day.

But after my little conversation with Mark, I was wondering if she was showering to hide the signs of her affair. She’d been with another man, and she didn’t want me to catch a whiff of his cologne, or something worse.

I wasn’t angry, though.

In fact, the more I observed her behavior, the more I seemed to hope that she was actually being unfaithful. I wasn’t sure why. It seemed to turn me on when she came home, and gave the furtive signs of having been with someone else. To begin with, I thought I was just conditioned to be horny when she got home — because sometimes, quite often, she’d get home and want to jump my bones. Later, though, it seemed to be thoughts of her affair that got me hard — ironically, ready for her to come to me and cover up her infidelity with increasingly sensational sex.

I don’t know what the opposite of a vicious circle is, but it all fed into the improvement in our sex life — I would be thinking about her infidelity, and it would turn me on so much, I was better in bed when she came to me. And in turn, it made her happier and hornier and sexier for me — how could I possibly complain?

Nights when I was asleep as she came home, invariably she’d let me sleep. Curious, I faked sleep a few times, to see what she did. She stayed downstairs a little longer than otherwise — and strangely, didn’t shower when she came up to bed. I assumed it was to avoid waking me.

When she slipped under the covers next to me, I swear I could smell that dark, wicked scent of sex.

Jesus.

That was the real proof for me.

My wife was having an affair — and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of her. Her new-found confidence, her efforts to dress nicer, her sexy new underwear. Everything she was doing for her new lover, it seemed both wrong and yet so hot to me.

I was terrified, of course. I spent so much time with Mark after he first told me of the breakdown in his marriage — he needed the support — that it couldn’t help but lead me to the awful fear that my wife might suddenly decide to leave me, to move in with her lover instead.

Somehow, the fear only strengthened my desire for Diana, and the excitement of knowing she was out late, fooling around with another man, before coming back to me. I’d spend evenings unable to get comfortable, unable to settle, my heart rate racing, my breathing irregular, my limbs tingling, my extremities cold with anxiety.

But the heat that exploded in me when Diana came home, when she hopped out of the shower and all but threw herself on me — it made up for any of the negative feelings.

While I waited for her at night, my time online brought me to search for advice on my condition. It couldn’t be natural, could it? Knowing that my wife was cheating on me, and finding it disturbingly erotic? But there were others out there like me. Articles, chat forums, plenty of pornography catering to the situation I found myself in.

I spent time on the chat forums particularly, finding out about other couples and their stories. I even found myself growing bold enough to post a question of my own — laying out what was going on with me, asking the natural question, was my marriage in trouble?

The majority view of people like me seemed to be that my marriage wasn’t in trouble, unless I failed to talk to my wife about all this. I couldn’t go on in the darkness, making assumptions about her. We were good together, but if she was sleeping with another man and I was okay with it, I had to tell her. Otherwise her own assumptions might lead her to start thinking about whether she had to choose between her new lover and me.

And besides, if I came clean and opened up to her, perhaps she’d actually tell me some of the details about her affair. The more I thought about that particular reward, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I waited for the right time. It was a week night, a Wednesday, the night when I was most regularly asleep when she came home because it was usually a day of heavy meetings for me at work.

She came home and would see that the lights were off up in our bedroom, so she wouldn’t rush to come up stairs and see me, and jump into the shower.

I’d make my move, and I’d finally tell her I knew about her affair. It would all come out, and hopefully she wouldn’t be disgusted by my weird kink — that I was okay with her transgressions.

That was the plan, anyway.

*

That night as I waited for her, I was nervous like never before. As with many a night when she was gone, I spent much of the time in a state of quiet arousal, imagining what Diana might have been up to. Sneaking back to her lover’s house, tearing off his clothes and her own, sinking to her knees to take him in her mouth.

Squeezing his cock inside her.

Only, this time I had the added fear of what was coming, of our little confrontation.

Be still, my beating heart.

Midnight. Who stays out working that late? I heard the sound of Diana pulling into our driveway, shutting off her engine, opening her car door then closing it behind her as quietly as she could. She’d noticed that our bedroom lights were out. She thought I was asleep.

I heard her come through the front door, and set about fixing a late-night meal. I guessed she got hungry after sleeping with her new lover. I gave her time to eat, however, I didn’t rush. She wouldn’t be hurrying, either. She wouldn’t be hopping into the shower, believing me to be sound asleep.

Finally, I heard the sound of the TV being switched on quietly. I assumed she’d finished with her meal. My heart was pounding now, threatening to burst its way out of my chest. I pulled myself out of bed, grabbed a bathrobe, crept as slowly as I could toward the bedroom door, avoiding all the known creaky floorboards.

Out of the bedroom, I paused at the top of our stairs. Our couch was empty. The clink of silverware against a china plate alerted me to her presence in the kitchen — I’d been inaccurate with my assumptions.

A floorboard creaked under my foot. She’d hear that. I’d wanted to wait until she was done with her food, but I couldn’t hold back now, she knew I was awake, probably knew I was coming downstairs.

She was washing her hands under the kitchen faucet as I walked down the steps, and wandered with feigned sleepiness toward her.

“Hey, honey! I thought you were asleep!” she said brightly, though as she turned to me, finishing up washing her hands, she seemed flustered.

Her cheeks and her upper chest were flushed, her hair a little mussed, her work clothes a little creased, perhaps. There was a slight sheen of perspiration over her forehead, and it dampened her hairline.

She looked absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey hon. Yeah. Couldn’t really sleep — thought I could, but, you know…”

I approached her, and it quietly amused me that she looked so startled — and guilty, it seemed to me.

“You want me to fix you something? A sandwich?” she said — attempting a distraction. Hoping I’d agree, then turn to slump down on the couch in front of the TV.

“No, I’m okay,” I said, continuing toward her.

I heard her catch her breath as I came to her, her mouth opening in surprise, her eyebrows lifting, her eyes opening wide.

I just went with the flow. My hand to her neck, my mouth to hers, kissing her lips, tasting her, breathing her in, pulling her to me. Her skin was hot and clammy with the hint of perspiration, and it made her lips taste slightly salty, not to mention the soft skin of her neck. Her perfume was sweet, strong —

But oh God, the scent of sex was so intense around her.

Diana kissed me back, seeming to melt into me as she grew in confidence, and started to believe I couldn’t tell she’d just slept with another man. She seemed quite plainly delighted as I pressed myself against her, and she could feel the hardness I was keeping in my PJs.

Goodness, had she used this sweet mouth on another man? Kissing his mouth, stretching her lips around his cock? I shivered involuntarily, though it didn’t repulse me — the thought of kissing her cheating mouth only turned me on more.

My hands reached around to her cute behind, spreading my fingers over the tight black material of her suit skirt, giving her a little squeeze as I pulled her to me. She broke off from our kiss, breathless.

“Let me… just… jump in the shower,” she pleaded, beaming from ear-to-ear at my craving for her.

I shook my head. “Don’t.”

For a few moments I just continued to kiss her, enjoying the unusual scent around her, the taste of her sweet mouth, pushing her long wavy blonde hair out of her face, holding her pretty face in my hands as I sucked on her lips.

Then my hands dropped to her breasts, teasing open her pure white shirt, slipping her flesh out of her bra, cupping her, touching her, beholding the faint stickiness of perspiration, my fingers nudging against her stiff nipples.

“What’s gotten into you?” she said with an excited grunion between kisses.

“I love you,” I said in reply, kissing my way down her neck, my hands dropping to her hips, to grab the hem of her skirt and slide it upward to expose her thighs.

“Mmm… I love you too,” she beamed, tilting her head up as I sucked gently on her neck, my hands spreading over the soft flesh of her behind.

“You couldn’t wait until I came upstairs?” she laughed.

Now I ran a hand gently up her inner thigh, and up to press against her panties.

My God, she was wet. Her underwear was soaking. More evidence of her infidelity, more fuel for my shivering, trembling arousal.

“I know what’s been going on with you,” I said, stroking my fingers over her mound, over the drenched cotton covering her sex.

“What’s been going on?” She asked, prompted. A little surprised, but unable to resist as I slipped my hand beneath her panties now, to seek out the incredible heat between her thighs.

“I’m okay with it,” I said, “really. It’s okay. I just wish… you could talk to me about it.”

Diana groaned as my fingers glided over her clit to dip into the slippery folds of her pussy. “I don’t… understand…” she said, “what… d’you mean?”

Stroking her, spreading her slick moisture over my fingers, I slipped a digit inside her. God, had another man been inside her? Had he filled her, taken her hard, made her come?

I kissed her neck. The scent of sex, of her arousal, was stronger now.

“You’ve been seeing someone, haven’t you?” I said, trying to speak as though I wasn’t passing judgement, and with no hint of anything she might misinterpret as anger.

“Who told you?” she said, and her admission sent a bolt of electricity straight through my heart.

Jesus. I felt elated.

“I figured it out,” I said. I reached behind her again, grabbing a hold of her panties to pull them down over her pert behind. A thong, no less. She never used to wear thongs.

She looked at me, and I hope saw that I wasn’t upset with her. She nodded, then quietly said, “What d’you want to know?”

“Who is he?” I asked, and kissed her just beside her mouth.

“He’s called Dr Lewis. Has an office downtown — over on L Street.”

Her lover had a name. I felt a surge of adrenalin flow through my body, my hardness throbbing between my legs. I pressed it against her body.

“Dr Lewis,” I tried the name out for myself. I felt a little giddy — it was real, it was all real. Then I said, “You’ve been seeing him a lot recently.”

She shrugged. “Once a week.”

That came as a little surprise — I’d thought it had been more regular than that.

I kissed my way down her neck, down to the opening of her shirt, over her breasts, and it seemed to me the she relaxed again.

Reaching for her panties again, I pulled them down further, until they slipped over her knees and down to the floor. “He’s good?” I asked her.

“Very good,” she smiled, gazing down at me as I dropped further down her body, my face running over her shirt, over her stomach, pushing up her skirt some more, revealing the glory of her bare pussy.

She’d never shaved it in the old days. Then ever since she’d started seeing this Dr Lewis, she’d started paying attention to it, and there had been progressively less and less hair between her legs.

I didn’t mind either way, but it was kind of hot she would do this for someone else.

She seemed a trifle confused by my questioning — no doubt the idea that I didn’t mind her admitted infidelity, that I still wanted to ravish her, didn’t gel with society’s preconceived idea of how a wronged husband ought to behave. Yet at the same time she was clearly delighted by my obvious need for her, beaming down at me as I lifted her up onto the counter, and crouched down to kiss and lick my way around her dripping wet pussy.

“You saw him tonight?” I asked in between deep breaths filling my chest with the heady scent of her sex.