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I'm forced to admit my wife is a slut

After years of self delusion a husband is forced to face the fact that he married a slut
I stand very still, not daring to breathe, my heart pounding so hard that I'm sure they must hear it hammering against the walls of my chest. All my will power is concentrated on stopping myself from screaming out loud.

I've known for a long time that my marriage is on the rocks but I guess I've never truly admitted it to myself. Not until now that is, now I have no choice.

I don't know what made me follow her tonight; it would have been so much easier to carry on pretending that although we were in a bad place, it was no more than that. I could have continued lying in bed imagining what she was doing but then telling myself that it was just my mind playing tricks and that her behaviour was all quite innocent.

The truth, if I own up to it, is that I lie in bed masturbating as I imagine her in strange rooms, the backs of cars and even in fields or parks. Sometimes I see her on a beach, sailing in a boat, in the darkened corner of a night club, the list seems to be endless.

Wherever my imagination takes her, I picture men touching her as she closes her eyes and tells them how good they make her feel and how much she loves their hands on her body. My cock, the cock she used to love, is hard when I think about her telling other men that she wants them to fuck her. Inside my head they make her cum over and over filling her with their seed before sending her back home to me. They don't love her and she doesn't love them. They use her to satisfy their lust then move on to the next married woman desperate to spread her legs.

Oh god, it's making me hard just thinking about it. What's wrong with me?

The signs were all there, the phone calls halted unnaturally when I entered a room, the entries in her diary so clearly in code, the stains on the gusset of her underwear that looked and smelled so much like semen. Changes to the way she dressed, shorter skirts, tighter tops and a return to her old habit of allowing her breasts the freedom that made them look so tantalising. All of these things I could, and had rationalised, convincing myself that I was reading too much into them.

Not any more.

I watch her arrive at the house where the flashing lights and blaring sounds clearly signal a party in full swing. She told she is seeing her friend Mandy tonight, well maybe Mandy is at the party but in my heart of hearts I know she probably isn't.

I hide outside like the coward I feel, peering in windows trying to see what she's doing.

It's no use.

In desperation I move to the neighbour's back garden to look in the rear window. It's then that what little is left of my self delusion falls apart.

In my stupidity, I would make an excuse for almost any behaviour, but how can I pretend after hearing a group of men referring to my wife of 20 years as a slut. They lead her out of the open patio doors into the back garden of the house. She is between 2 of them, their arms round her, she's laughing, telling them they're very naughty and what sort of woman do they think she is. That's when they tell her they think she's a slut, a married slut who needs to be fucked, and hubby doesn't do it enough for a woman like her, does he?. They stop and hold her so their hands can play with her breasts and run down over her stomach and legs. There is only one way to describe what they're doing, they're groping my wife and she's loving it.

It's clear that she's being brought outside because they want to do things to her they can't do in the middle of a party.

The spaghetti straps of her long red dress are pushed down over her arms. The two men peel the cloth over her firm breasts leaving it hanging round her waist, her breasts are exposed to the cool night air and to the fingers that explore, twist and squeeze her flesh. Is it my imagination or can I see her nipples tight and hard. Hands, I don't know how many, but hands, paw at her body. There are no words of objection passing her lips, no actions that would suggest she's a reluctant participant. Instead her moans and the way she arches her back tell them, and me, that she wants them to pleasure her.

I know what you're thinking. Why am I staying and punishing myself the way I am? You know why, so do I now.

They move her further into the garden away from the lights that illuminate the area near the house. I move deeper into the neighbour's garden, further into the darkness that protects me and I watch my wife being used.

This isn't some quick furtive assignation that's about to take place. There's a familiarity as if this isn't the first time. My wife shows no concern about the number of men who are touching her sexy body. The way she turns her face to be kissed by them and the way she twists to welcome their hands tells us all that she's gagging for it. These men are totally relaxed in a way that suggests they know my wife well and know they can take their time with her.

They probably know her better than I do.

Fingers try to push between her legs but the dress is too tight. Not for long. The hem is gripped firmly and the thin red cloth peeled up over her long lithe legs, something tears.

She would say it's typical that my first thought is how much I paid for that dress.

The dark neatly trimmed hair at the crown of her thighs is exposed; no one seems surprised that she isn't wearing panties. Briefly I wonder if this is just familiarity or did these men take them off her in the middle of the party. My mind has enough time to conjure up the pictures of them lifting her dress in a dark corner of the house and sliding her final protection down over her thighs, an elastic string of her womanly excretion clings briefly to the fabric before snapping. Fingers gather her moisture and elicit a moan that rises in pitch as fingers delve into her depths.

Her real groans snap me back to reality, if indeed this is reality.

She opens her legs as far as she can, the men gaze at her glistening pussy lips and comment to each other about how desperate she is to have one of then do her. In seconds, a hand and insistent fingers press into her moist flesh. A voice, maybe the owner of the hand, maybe not, tells her how much she loves having her cunt played with and how hard it's going to get fucked tonight.

I hear her groan softly again as the meaning of their words takes hold. The men laugh.

They talk to each other as if she isn't there, confirming with every word that my worst fears are true. One man tells another how much better this is going to be than the previous Saturday. That had been fun, he says, but there had only been 2 of them fucking her then and this one tonight will be awesome.

That was the night she told me she was visiting her parents but didn't want me to go along.

I listen as he suggests that even she might have had enough cock by the time they've all finished with her tonight.

They don't strip her naked, they seem to enjoy leaving her dress bunched round her slim waist as if somehow this makes the act even dirtier. How much dirtier can it get than a woman opening her legs to let men play with her and push their fingers into her wet hairy pussy. They like calling her names, I really couldn't argue with any of them. Slut is the favourite, tart is a close second. They enjoy adding the word "married" as if a reminder of her infidelity will intensify the excitement.

The men push her back so she's leaning against a garden table, this is so they can open her legs wider and 2 men can now grope her cunt. From her moans and groans they both have fingers inside her and they're driving her wild. More men move behind the table and hands pull at her firm breasts, twisting her nipples. I imagine how much that turns her on, she loves her nipples being treated roughly.

Her head is forced back as one of her lovers grabs her hair and pulls her towards him. Her eyes seem to gaze into nothing and I hear the unmistakable sound of her orgasm building. The sound I love so much when it's for me now makes me feel nauseous. 2 men who I don't even know are hammering their fingers in and out of her sopping hole and driving her to her climax.

She loves the word "Fuck", she thinks it sounds so dirty. It's all she says now, repeating it quietly over and over.

One of the men feels the need to tell the others that the dirty fuckin' slut is cumming as if anyone could have doubted it. I watch her hips thrust back against the fingers between her legs, her howls get louder and louder and she cums hard, her eyes as wide as saucers and her mouth open in a silent cry. The men hold her up but their hands still roam over her naked skin, exploring, touching, groping.

She's talking to one of the men, I recognise him now my eyes are becoming more acclimatised to the dark. His name is Bill, I know now what the code "bp" means in her diary. I hear him tell her they're all going to fuck her posh married twat until they can't fuck her any more but that he's going to have her first. He shows them all he's in charge by telling one of the men to lift her left leg and hold it as high as he can while he, Bill, gives her a good seeing to.

There are more than enough hands holding her and groping her so she doesn't fall over even standing on one leg. Bill bends slightly at the knee and as he straightens his hard cock glides easily between my slut wife's legs and into her in one thrust. She hisses a sound that is pure pleasure.

He tells her she loves it, that she loves having his cock fucking her married pussy; that she can't get enough cock. He tells her she's going to be shagged until she begs them to stop. He tells her she's a dirty married tart who will do anything he tells her to and fuck anyone he wants her to. His words seem to turn her on even more.

I have to admit to feeling humiliated when he starts asking her how much better this is than being at home with her husband. He asks her if she gets enough cock at home, and if her husband can fuck her as well as this. He asks her if she's a slut who loves cock. He asks her over and over until she tells him she is.

All the time he's talking to her he's shafting her with long, hard strokes. I don't even know if she's listening to him any more, her face says she's about to cum again. He realises how close she is and starts to encourage her telling her how good she looks when she cums and how much he loves making her cum with his big cock. He asks her if she loves having his cock inside her, she groans a drawn out yes as she reaches her climax, her body shaking. The men have to hold her to stop her falling over.

Bill tells them to put her on the table so they can take turns with her. He tells them he didn't cum in her, he made her cum then pulled out so they don't have to have sloppy seconds. I count them now, there are 5 of them and they fuck her one after the other, each one forcing his stiff rod between her legs and hammering away until Bill tells him it's someone else's turn. After the first one pulls out he climbs onto the table and grabs my wife's hair. He tells her to suck his cock, that a nasty bitch like her must love having a cock in her mouth while another one fucks her cunt. All she does is open her lips and let him push himself into her throat; she gags slightly then takes him all the way.

I can't remember the last time she sucked my cock.

I watch as a merry-go-round of horny men fuck my wife at both ends. I listen as they call her every dirty name they can think of and tell her how much she loves it. Her only responses are groans interspersed occasionally with words when she doesn't have her mouth filled. Her dirty talk encourages them, if indeed they needed any encouragement. She tells them she wants their cocks and to fuck her cunt hard and make her cum for them. She tells them how big and hard they are and how they fill her pussy and how good they feel inside her. She tells them she wants them to cum inside her and she tells them when she's going to cum.

She has to tell them she's going to cum quite often. I lose count of the number of times; she's such a dirty bitch.

I know I should leave but, to my shame, my cock is hard, as hard as it's ever been.

They turn her over so she's face down on the table and carry on taking turns to do her. They make sure her head is over the side of the table so they can still use her face. One of them works out that her hands are doing nothing and soon she's made to stroke 2 more cocks.

Bill tells them to change but the man at my wife's head cries out that he's nearly there. They all stop to watch, enjoying the spectacle of their friend fucking my wife's face faster and faster. He holds her by the hair, pulling her onto him, there's no escape as he gives one last cry and buries himself in her throat. Even above the distant loud music, we can all hear the gulping noises.

It's as if this was the trigger they were all waiting for and one by one they empty themselves into her and onto her. I don't count how many cum in her mouth, how many in her pussy and how many over her body. From my vantage point only 10 yards away I can smell the unmistakable aroma of the men's sperm.

One by one they disappear back towards the house as if they'd just been down in the garden for a quiet beer.

Even Bill who was obviously the ring leader walks away after giving her bare arse a slap and telling her what a good girl she is.

I look at her over the fence where she's still lying semi-conscious across the table and it's so tempting to go over there, slip into her arse and fuck her like the nasty cock slut she is. She wouldn't stop me, she wouldn't even know it was me if I was careful.

She isn't worth it, instead I run my fingers faster and tighter over my rock hard shaft and empty my swollen balls against the garden fence. Without a backward glance, I follow the rest of the men in leaving her to recover. Of course I don't go into the house, I go home and wait.

This time, I really must talk to her when she gets home.

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