Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 (MF, wife, intr, cuck)

   ***

   Walking in to find your wife fucking another man is supposed to end your
marriage.  It saved ours.

   Wendy and I had been having a rough time since the birth of our second
child six years ago.  Things were complicated at home and at work, and it
seemed we never had time for each other.  It's a typical story that every
married couple faces at some point, and that ends in divorce for about half
of them.

   For us the sex was the first to go.  It slowed to a trickle and then
just stopped completely.  After that the fights over every little thing
from socks on the floor to her leaving the garage door open blew up into
shouting matches.  We still loved each other but had somehow forgotten how
to like each other.  It was pretty much just our kids holding our common
interests together.

   I suppose I had been the first to break our marriage vows, as I had been
to a few Asian spas for massages with happy endings in the two years after
we stopped having sex.  By the presidential standard the handjobs I had
were not "sex" but it was still cheating.  I had also started noticing
other women in a way that I had not since we had been married.  I had no
intentions to pursue any of them, but the thought certainly had crossed my
mind on occasions.  I had never even considered that Wendy might be having
such thoughts and dalliances as well.  Men never do.

   Appropriately enough, it took a bomb threat to shatter my illusions. 
The office building where I worked in downtown Houston received a
threatening call early on a Wednesday afternoon.  There was a group of
ambulance chaser attorneys on the top floors of the building that seemed to
get them once a month.  Texans hate lawyers.  I knew it would be at least
an hour before they let me back to my office and decided to just take the
rest of the day off.  I said goodbye to my coworkers and headed across the
lot to my car.

   Life turns on a series of random events, and after the bomb threat the
second one that day was that I had left my cell phone on the charging pad
at home.  I usually call Wendy on days I come home early, just to see if
she needs anything, but that was not to be.  It was a short drive home and
there was no traffic.  The kids would still be in school for another hour
and a half.

   When I turned in to the driveway I noticed a Lexus sedan parked on the
curb between our house and the neighbors.  I didn't think much of it, there
had been an endless parade of real estate agents at the vacant house next
door over the past few months.  Rather than pull into the garage I left my
car in the driveway.  I was going to run in and grab my phone and then go
back out for a few errands before surprising the kids by picking them up at
school.  That was random event number three.  The noise of the garage door
would have certainly alerted the parties in the house to my arrival, and
could have changed the course of the day and the rest of our lives. 
Instead I walked in through the front door to find an empty living room.

   My first sign that something was amiss was the wine on the coffee table.
The bottle was just over half empty and there were not one but two glasses.
Wendy must have had a girlfriend over for lunch, I thought.  But she was
not one to drink during the daytime.  I walked over to the table.  There
was red lipstick on one of the glasses.  This was odd behavior for Wendy as
well.  She never wore lipstick during the day, only when we went out at
night.  And hardly ever was it this shade of red.

   One of Wendy's friends, I thought.  She had plenty of friends who never
left the house without full make up.  One must have stopped over to
celebrate something or another.  Just two girls enjoying a bottle of wine.
I told myself.

   Then I heard noise upstairs.  At first I thought it was a TV that had
been left on, but then I heard a woman say "Oh my God, Oh fuck!" followed
by some groaning sounds.  And creaking, just like our bed did back in the
days we used to fuck on it.  The sound was faint, but clearly there.

   My legs carried me silently up the stairs, operating under their own
power.  As I climbed higher the sounds from our bedroom became more clear
and distinct.

   A man's voice.  "Oh fuck that's good.  Fuck yeah."

   A woman's voice.  Wendy's voice.  "Yes baby, yes yes yessss!"

   The damn bed creaking in ryhthm.

   By the time I made it to the top of the steps my heart had sunk to the
pit of my stomach.  No question what was going on.  Wendy was fucking
someone in our bed.  The only question was who.  I wanted to shout, to
scream, to say anything, but instead I walked silently down the hallway
towards our bedroom.  The door was open just a crack.  I paused for a
moment, steeling my nerves, and then peered in.

   She was on top, bouncing up and down with her long hair swishing over
her shoulders.  It was her favorite position, and she had always loved to
make me cum while she watched me from above.  Now she was looking down on
another man.  Her right breast was hanging out of a red bra with the strap
pulled down over her shoulder.  It was being gripped by a large black hand
as she rode up and down the equally long black shaft.

   I froze in my tracks, stuck dumb by the sight in front of me.  I wanted
desperately to yell for them to stop, or to at least look away and run back
down the stairs.  Instead I stood there, watching through the crack in the
door as my wife fucked a black man.

   They were both covered in sweat.  They had clearly been at this for a
while now.  The stocking on her right leg had pulled free from the garter
belt and was rolled down to her knee, the loose straps dangling back and
forth as they fucked.  Her lipstick was smeared across the side of her
face. Where else was that lipstick smeared, I thought morbidly.  Her pussy
was stretched tight around his shaft, and she was taking him in
unbelievably long strokes.  Almost as shocking as the sight were the words
coming out of her mouth.  "Give me that big fucking cock baby.  Oh fuck
give me that big black cock!"

   My wife had never been a prude, but I had never heard such raw language
from her in all of our years together.  Filth poured from her mouth as she
kept up the pace of their fucking.

   My hand pushed the door open just a smidge more.  It seemed like it was
operating under some outside control.  I was disgusted, but transfixed, and
the extra opening gave me a better view of the man fucking my wife.  I
recognized him immediately, but did not know his name.  It was the real
estate agent that had been showing the house next door for the past couple
months.  Seems like he knew how to close some deals.

   My mind raced, I seemed to recall Wendy chatting with him outside one
day when I arrived home from work.  He had been showing the house and was
closing up after the potential buyers had left.  It had looked like nothing
more than friendly chit chat at the time.  Chit chat or not, it had led to
him fucking my wife's brains out.  He could have easily seen me through the
crack in the door if he had looked over, but his eyes were fixed on Wendy's
tits.  The right one clasped in his hand, the other bouncing freely.

   From where I watched I could see mostly her back and side as she rode
cowgirl style, sometimes thrusting her hips from front to back, and
sometimes pushing up until his shaft was nearly out and then dropping back
down to take him deep inside her.  It was on these strokes that I could see
just how long and thick this man's dick was.  Suddenly Wendy turned her
head over towards me.  I panicked, thinking she might see me at the door,
but that was not where her gaze landed.  She was clearly looking at the
mirror over her dresser, watching herself fuck a big black cock with a deep
look of satisfaction on her sweaty face.  Her breathing picked up, she
clearly liked what she saw in the mirror.  She looked back down at her
lover: "I'm going to cum baby, cum for me too OK?  Oh fuck I'm cumming!"
She started to scream as she climaxed.  Had those screams been the first
things I heard when I walked in I would have thought she was being
attacked. The man's hand moved from her breast to her ass and gripped
tightly as her motions became more erratic.  The contrast of his dark skin
against the smooth white skin of her ass was stark.  Soon he began to groan
as he pulled her up and down on his cock with forceful strokes.  The shiny
black skin of his cock soon became white as gobs of sticky cum leaked from
her pussy and coated his shaft with each stroke.  My mind grimly registered

the fact that he wore no condom.

   Their pace slowed, and after a few more strokes stopped.  Wendy rolled
off him and onto the bed.  I had another brief panic that she would see me,
but soon realized that she was in a zone.  I could have been standing next
to the bed waving a red flag and she would not have noticed.  I had seen
too much, more than any man should ever have to witness, and finally my
legs were able to carry me away from the door and quietly down the stairs.
I was hurt, furious, and scared for the future of my marriage.  But one
other thing I recall from that day was the uncomfortable feeling in my
pants as I tiptoed down the stairs.  I had an erection.

   I walked outside and got in my car, backing quickly down the driveway
and speeding away form the house.  I needed time to think and decide what
to do next.  My mind was racing with thoughts ranging from despair to
violence, but mostly disbelief.  Disbelief that the woman I thought I knew
could do what I had just witnessed.  I needed some time to think.  I hit
the onramp for the freeway and drove aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to
decide what to do next.

   ***

   Without really meaning to I drove to a bar that I had frequented in the
days before I had met Wendy.  There were tons of open seats at the bar,
most folks were still at work, and ordered a beer.  The bartender handed me
my drink and left me with my thoughts.  I must have looked like a wreck,
because the look he gave me seemed like the one a prison guard would give a
condemned man sitting down to his last meal.  He took the liberty of
opening a tab, he could clearly see that I would be here for a few rounds.

   I sat there with my eyes on the baseball game on the TV behind the bar,
but the images in my mind were of Wendy.  My wife, bouncing up and down
with a black hand on her tit and a black cock in her cunt, watching herself
in the mirror as she fucked like an animal in our bed.  My wife, covered in
sweat, with another man's cum oozing from her stretched hole.  I wanted to
will the images away, but they remained, and soon I became aware that my
traitorous cock was once again stiffening in my pants.  What the fuck?  I
was trying to summon anger but it wouldn't come.  Even denial would have
been a start, but I seemed to have skipped all the way to acceptance.  I
knew from what I had seen on her face as she admired herself in the mirror
that this would not be a one time thing, and would not be anything I would
be able to change.  The only question for me now was to stay with her or to
leave.  The fact that I still had to think about it depressed me.  It was
right there at that bar that I became a cuckold.  I didn't even know the
word at the time, and it would be a good while before I did, but I became
one nonetheless.  I was humiliated and wounded, but felt myself wanting my
wife more than I had in years.  And I was horny, rock hard from witnessing
something that an ordinary man would have found horrific.

   I finished three beers, and regained my composure enough to ask for my
check.  I had made up my mind to go home and try not to let her sense that
I knew what she had done.  I felt that I had at least the tactical
advantage of knowing something that she thought was hidden.  I had to have
a few days to think my next move over, and just running off to a hotel
would show my hand.  It was now 5pm, and I would normally be leaving work
at this time.  Showing up at home with beer on my breath would raise far
too many questions.  Instead I texted Wendy that I would be staying a few
hours late at the office to make up for lost time due to the bomb threat
earlier.  She replied a few seconds later with two letters, "OK."

   I drove to a coffee shop near my office and spent the next couple hours
typing up some reports on my laptop.  I had to redo everything later, the
three beers and my distracted brain led to some pretty poor work, but the
distraction was a blessing.  By 8 I had summoned enough courage to drive
home.

   I walked in to find her upstairs yet again, but this time helping our
kids with their homework.  Just normal mom stuff, quite a contrast to what
I had seen today.  I looked briefly around the living room - nothing out of
place, and no sign of the wine glasses.  Walking through the dining room I
saw the wine glasses, washed, dried, and back in the china cabinet free of
any lipstick.  I walked to the fridge and got a beer to help me come back
down from the caffeine buzz.  She had left out a plate of dinner which I
re-warmed and ate.

   She walked into the kitchen just as I was finishing.

   "Sorry you had a bad day." She said, kissing me on the check.  "Those
lawyers get another bomb threat?"

   Bad day, I thought.  You have no idea.  "Yeah something like that." I
replied.

   "Are you OK?  You look a little dazed?"

   "Just a bad day is all.  I have had my hands full taking over Wilson's
work since he got canned and losing a couple hours for that bomb threat
threw my whole day off." Part lie, part truth, I had had my hands full
since my coworker got downsized a few weeks back.  And today lying just
didn't seem like that bad of an offense on my part.  She seemed to accept
that explanation uncritically.

   "Hope it gets better soon.  You are working yourself to death there
lately." She patted me on the shoulder and walked into the next room.  Such
was what conversations had become in our home these days.

   I could not believe how calm she was, completely confident that what she
would get away with what she had done today.  And she looked different as
well.  More there, as if something previously dormant was awakening.

   We watched TV together for a bit, occasionally talking about how the
kids were doing in school but not much else.  Around 9 I went upstairs to
tuck the kids into bed and soon thereafter made an excuse to turn in early
because of a headache.  Well, that much was true, my head was throbbing. 
She kissed me goodnight but stayed downstairs to finish the show she was
watching.

   I paused when I got to the bed.  They had been fucking on my side, and I
reluctantly pulled back the covers wondering what I would find on the
sheets.  Nothing.  The sheets were clean and crisp, freshly washed and
smelling of fabric softener.  She was covering her tracks well, I thought.
She didn't want to get caught, which meant she didn't want to just leave. I
climbed into bed and closed my eyes.

   I was still wide awake when she quietly joined me an hour or so later,
but pretended to be asleep.  Images from the day once again played in my
mind.  My imagination began to fill in the parts that had occurred before I
arrived.  I pictured them making out on the couch, his hands roaming over
her body and working up under her skirt.  Unbuttoning her blouse to reveal
her lacy red bra.  Moving up the stairs to the bedroom, pausing at the door
for a passionate kiss.  Now at the bed, him pushing her skirt down over her
garter belt and stockings.  Her kneeling before him, ruby red lips wrapped
around his shaft, taking him deep into her throat.  Now on the bed,
wantonly fucking in every conceivable position.  They were scenes from
every porno I could remember, but starring my wife and her nameless black
lover.  My dick was rock hard and my balls ached.  I was dying to
masturbate, but had to just lay there and take it.

   Several hours later I drifted off into a fitful sleep, confused and
nervous, but oddly comforted by the fact that she cared enough about our
marriage to try not to be caught.  My last thought before I slept was
wondering when she was going to do it again.
   To Be Continued