Chapter Fourteen
The revelation came on a Tuesday morning barely two, sex-free weeks later. I had left home for work at my usual seven o’clock leaving Caroline sipping tea in bed. The plan was for me to travel to Scotland that afternoon and stay in a hotel overnight before a business meeting the following morning and a long journey home.
Caroline was working only a half day, after which she was to take Marcus to meet two of our male friends who were into cycling in a big way and who, given his obvious interest in exercise, she and I thought he would get on well with.
It was only as I was packing my briefcase in my office mid-afternoon that I realised I had left an important file on the desk in our home study. Without this file, both the meeting and my journey would be useless. I had to have it.
This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened; it was one of the perils of my doing so much work at home as well as in the office. Under normal circumstances, I would have phoned Caroline and she would have met me along my route to the motorway to hand over the documents.
That day, however, I knew she would be out and unable to help. I would have to go all the way home to retrieve the file before embarking on my long journey North. That would add the best part of an hour to what was already a long drive, but it seemed unavoidable. So, angry with myself for my carelessness, I left the office with a scowl and set off towards my home.
At this point, the heavens opened and it began to rain hard. I groaned; as if getting wet wasn’t bad enough, this weather would add another hour to what was already beginning to feel like a long and miserable journey.
The first thing that I noticed as I turned into our road was that both Caroline and Marcus’ cars were in the driveway.
My initial thought was that the bad weather must have made the idea of cycling very unattractive. Clearly, their get-together with our friends had been postponed.
My second thought was that I could have called my wife after all and saved myself an annoying detour. Why hadn’t that idea even crossed my mind?
My third thought was that with both cars in place, the driveway was now full, as was the street so I would have to find somewhere to park nearby.
Increasingly annoyed, I parked on a road two streets away from our house then, with my jacket collar pulled up around my face, half-ran the hundred or so yards to our house.
As I ran towards the front door, intent on flinging it open and getting out of the rain, I couldn’t help noticing that the guest bedroom windows and curtains were closed.
Years ago when Caroline’s grandmother had been ill, we had converted the house’s integral garage into to a bedroom with en suite bathroom for when she came out of hospital. The old lady had sadly not needed it, but it had been convenient to have a good-sized, ground-floor suite available for the kids to have sleepovers without disturbing Caroline and me in our bedroom upstairs.
The closed curtains were odd; I was sure they had both been open when I had left for work. The window might conceivably have been closed against the rain and the cold, but to have the curtains closed at two o’clock in the afternoon suggested another reason entirely.
I brought myself to a halt underneath the house’s awning and paused, at first puzzled, then suspicious.
My movements muffled by the heavy rain, I padded down the grass verge alongside the driveway, circled round the side of the house where I would be out of sight of anyone in the bedroom, then stealthily approached not the front, but the back door.
I tried the handle; it was locked. As quietly as I could, I took my keys from my pocket, selected the right one with as little jangling as possible, and then inserted it into the lock. It turned easily and to my relief, silently.
Gingerly, I turned the handle and pushed. The door swung silently inwards on its well-oiled hinges as I knew it would. I slipped through the doorway and into the kitchen, closed the door as quietly as I had opened it, and then stood stock still with my ears open wide.
I was just about to call out to Caroline, announcing my presence when I noticed an open wine bottle on the kitchen table and heard the sound of music coming from deep inside the house. I slipped off my wet shoes and padded as silently as I could across the kitchen and into the hallway, peering into the lounge, dining room and study as I passed.
There was no one in any of the rooms; the music was clearly coming from the converted garage.
In my stockinged feet, I padded along the short corridor to the guest suite, taking care to walk on the outside of the floorboards where I knew from sneaking around sleeping children that the creaking would be much less noticeable.
As I approached the bedroom door, the music became louder, its rhythm more pronounced and its romantic overtones more obvious. The bedroom door was open too; the door through which the music was definitely coming.
I took a tentative step forward, then another… Then I heard it and froze in my tracks.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”
The sounds were soft but unmistakable. I had heard them so many times over the years they could only be coming from one person and for only one reason.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”
They were sounds I knew well and loved to hear; the sounds of a real, fertile woman well on the way to being inseminated and loving every moment of it.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”
There was no mistaking it; my wife, my Caroline, the mother of my three children was being fucked and fucked well.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”
They were sounds I had heard beneath me so often, and which had three times been followed by the creation of a child inside her womb.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”
But this time, it wasn’t me her husband whose cock was deep inside her vagina. This time another man’s erect penis was plumbing the depths of her soft, warm, body. This time another man’s smooth rounded head was being pressed against the smooth pink peach of her cervix.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Oh God; that feels so good!”
As if I needed to know whose cock it was. There could only ever have been one other cock buried inside my wife’s warm vagina; the same one that had first penetrated her all those years ago. The cock that had claimed her virginity as I had held her hand and watched was claiming her again.
“UH! UH! UH! UH!”
The sounds grew louder and more passionate and the bed started to creak.
“UH! UH! UH! UH!”
I should have called out and stopped it. I should have shouted out in anger, bursting in on them, punching the man I used to call my friend in the face before throwing him out of the house, closely followed by my deceitful, unfaithful wife.
But I did none of these things. My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe, let alone shout. My hands, though knotted into fists, remained fixed by my side. Only my legs were capable of movement, and however strong my instinct to run might have been, the only movement I could make brought me inexorably closer and closer to the open doorway and the terrible things that were taking place in the room beyond.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“UH! UH! UH! UH!”
My stomach felt sick, my chest ached through holding my breath, my heart thumped like I had never heard it before as, slowly and carefully, I peered around the door jamb and into the room that until that moment had been a haven of love and fidelity for my wife and me.
The heat and smell hit me like a blow. With its windows and curtains closed, the room was steaming and simply reeked of sex. Whatever might be taking place on the bed at that moment was most certainly not the first copulation of the afternoon.
And what exactly was taking place on that bed?
My sweet wife lay fully naked on her front, her legs splayed improbably wide, her parted feet pointing towards the door where I stood, transfixed, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene before me. The rest of Caroline’s soft, familiar frame was all but obscured by the slim, athletic, male body firmly placed between her spread thighs, its tight, buttocks rising and falling with a rhythm, power and rapidity that my own hadn’t achieved in many years, no doubt driving its hidden, erect cock forcefully into her vagina from behind with every downward stroke.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“UH! UH! UH! UH!”
Marcus’ muscular chest was pressed hard against my wife’s back as he fucked her, cruelly crushing into the mattress the full, rounded breasts that had fed our three children. Caroline’s hands were stretched outwards and upwards, her fists opening and closing as her pleasure mounted.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“UH! UH! Oh, God! Oh, God!”
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe but most of all, I could not tear my eyes away from the scene before me. My oldest friend was fucking my wife hard, relentlessly. She was responding with a passion and desire I hadn’t seen for decades, turning her head hard round so her lover could kiss her deeply on the mouth as she became more and more aroused.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“UH! UH! Oh, GOD! Oh GOD oh GODD!!”
This was the Caroline of old; the Caroline I had first fucked in London; the Caroline that had been such a tiger in bed during our early, pre-children days. At Marcus’ obviously expert hands, the years and reservations had melted away, leaving the hot, passionate woman I had married fully exposed and available.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“UH! UH! Oh, God! Fuck me! Fuck me oh God fuck MEEEEEEE!”
And then she came and came hard. Before my helpless, watching eyes and impaled on my best friend’s cock, my sweet wife reached the kind of orgasm I had only dreamed about or seen in porn. Not even in our youngest, most adventurous days had my own appendage produced the body-flexing, lip-biting, leg-spasming climax that I witnessed that afternoon.
“OHHHGODDDYYYEEESSSS!”
Caroline’s hands reached back, her fingernails digging hard into Marcus’ thighs and buttocks as he hammered himself into her helpless, prone body mercilessly, driving her from climax to climax until with a wail choked off in her throat, she reached the highest peak of female arousal I had ever seen; far beyond anything she and I had achieved between us.
The speed with which it had all happened and the outrageous things I could not stop myself from watching had completely stunned me, but as the pace of Marcus’ thrusts increased and my wife’s cries grew louder and wilder, it began to dawn even on my dazed mind that the action on the bed would soon reach its natural and messy conclusion.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“CUMINMECUMINMECUMINMEEEE!”
Soon, Marcus’ cock would start to throb and pulse within Caroline’s vagina. Soon, his back would arch, his face would grimace, his body would go into spasm and he would do as she had demanded; fill her with his seed.
Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!
“CUMINMENOOWWWW!”
From where I stood, my eyes glued to the bed, I could not see whether the supposedly huge cock plunging in and out of my wife’s body was clothed in latex, but from the passionate way she begged for insemination, I guessed not.
Creak-creakity-creakity-creeeeaaak!
Then before my eyes his rhythm broke, loud hoarse grunts burst from his open mouth and Marcus’ much-desired ejaculation began.
Frozen to the spot, all I could do was watch and imagine as before my eyes, millions of tiny, live and lithe sperm erupted from the end of his cock in a torrent of warm, sticky semen and began their desperate journey into Caroline’s womb in search of one of her eggs.
“GOD YES! YES! YES! OHMYGODYESSS!”
With a dozen slow, powerful thrusts that drove her bodily up the bed, Marcus delivered his load deep into my wife’s eager, accepting body. Her legs opened grotesquely wide to receive it, her hands clasping first him then the bedsheet tightly, her lips seeking and finding his as the two lovers reached a pinnacle of mutually orgasmic insemination.
Then reality began to strike.
As the movements on the bed faded to a breathless stillness, suddenly I became aware of my secret voyeuristic presence, and the real possibility of discovery finally hit me.
I can honestly say that at that moment, the idea of breaking in on their tryst, discovering them in flagrante delicto and bringing their affair to a sudden end, never even occurred to me.
All I could think was that I needed to get away and to get away quickly before I was caught.
Chapter Fifteen
It makes no sense now, but for me at that moment, the shame of being discovered as a voyeur far exceeded the need to remonstrate with my unfaithful spouse and her lover.
As Marcus’ softening cock was slowly withdrawn from my wife’s spent, satisfied body, their happy, post-coital kissing and pillow talk began. As he rolled onto the bed alongside her, panting, I backed away as silently as I could, padding across the landing and down the stairs, then retraced my steps out of the back of the house and along the street to my car.
I needed to put time and distance between me and the unfaithful, deceitful couple on that bed.
I needed time to think.
I sat in the driver’s seat, heart thumping, gasping for breath, trying to make sense of my terrible discovery.
My wife; my sweet, innocent Caroline; the mother of our children had been cheating on me with my oldest friend. There was no doubt; I had seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears. I had even smelled their infidelity.
And she had loved every moment of their illicit copulation. She had cum longer and harder than I had ever seen her cum and had welcomed his semen into her body as freely as she had ever welcomed mine.
There was no way of telling whether this was their first time together, but it was crystal clear that my wife had been an enthusiastic participant in the performance.
Was this it for us? Was Marcus going to beat me one last time? Had I just witnessed our marriage coming to an end?
One thing I knew instinctively: no matter what Caroline had done I did not want that to happen.
But how should I behave? What should I do? What could I do?
It was far too late to burst in and catch them in the act, but could I just ignore the flagrant breaching of trust and vows that had taken place and carry on as if nothing had happened? Surely that would only result in it happening again.
My mind was spinning.
In the end, I took the coward’s way out, blinked back the tears that were forming in my eyes and began my long journey north, driving far too fast and feeling far too upset.
I was halfway to Scotland before I realised that I still did not have the file I had needed so badly.
And that throughout the whole dreadful incident, my cock had remained as hard as it had ever been.
***
The next forty-eight hours passed slowly and like a nightmare. For six and a half of those hours, I was driving Northwards, alone, with nothing but my memory and imagination to torment me. I tried listening to the radio, to music and even to audiobooks to distract myself but it was hopeless. No matter what I did, vivid images of the woman I loved being fucked and inseminated by my oldest friend came flooding back.
But it wasn’t just the terrible things I had seen that afternoon that returned. No, that would have been much too easy. Images I had kept buried for decades now began to join them; memories right back to my school days returned with a sharpness and precision I was sure they didn’t have at the time.
Above all, images of Caroline’s extraordinary defloration so many years ago filled my mind; of the way she had held my hand the first time her lovely soft body was penetrated, of the way our eyes had met and our fingers interlocked as her virginity was torn from her.
And in the months that followed, of the way she had looked and sounded as she had been fucked by Marcus so many times as alongside them I had claimed what at the time had seemed the greater prize of Annabel’s slender, athletic body.
I arrived in Scotland too late for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, so went to bed hungry. Too fragile to hazard a voice call, I sent Caroline a text message assuring her I had arrived safely then turned out the lights and tried to sleep.
It was hopeless. Every time I closed my eyes, the images returned, along with endless questions.
How long had they been lovers? They were too comfortable together for what I had seen to be their first fuck.
How many times had they fucked? From the way their bodies had merged in tune on the bed, they were clearly well used to each other’s needs and desires.
And who had made the first move? From what I knew of her, I couldn’t imagine it being my wife. But then I couldn’t have imagined the woman she had become being fucked so passionately by anyone.
Perhaps even after decades of marriage, I didn’t really know my wife at all.
How could I have missed their affair beginning? Was I really that stupid? That unaware?
Now, of course, Caroline’s change in lifestyle and her sudden loss of interest in sex with me made complete sense. Her desire to look and feel more attractive in the company of an attentive, good-looking man should have been obvious too.
Had her loss of interest in sex with me corresponded with their first mating and a desire to conceal the evidence? Or had there been signs on her body for much longer which I had been too stupid, too trusting or too distracted to understand?
But above all, why had I been so helpless in the face of rampant, undeniable infidelity happening before my very eyes? Why had I been unable to react in any way? Why had I stood there frozen instead of breaking in on the two lovers, sending my rival packing and reclaiming the woman who had vowed to be faithful only to me years ago?
And ever since that terrible discovery, why had I been tormented by an erection so hard and so constant that only repeated masturbation and ejaculation could subdue it enough for me to get a few minutes’ sleep?
***
Considering I had passed a largely sleepless night and had forgotten the most important file, my meeting the following morning went well. I was invited back for further discussions doon, but the biggest benefit for me was that, for a blessed ninety minutes, I had to concentrate so hard on my work that my newly discovered cuckold status was driven from my mind.
Indeed I was half an hour into my return journey before the memories and questions returned, but when they did, they returned with a vengeance. In only a few hours’ time, I would be back home with her and our kids, in the very house where only a day before I had witnessed her cheating.
Then another thought struck me. Why did I think that I had seen the end of their copulating? Why wouldn’t they be taking maximum advantage of my absence and still be together? Had they fucked again and again after I had run away?
The kids would have come home after school, so it was unlikely Marcus had stayed the night in my bed, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t visited Caroline again once they were asleep.
And once the kids had gone to school this morning, what was to stop my best friend and my wife from simply going back upstairs and carrying on from where they had left off?
Was Marcus’ cock even now inside my wife’s vagina as I drove the long, long way back home?
Oh my God!
What would I find when I arrived home?
How would she greet me?
How would I react given all I had seen?
Would her body still show the signs of recent, passionate sex?
Would she let me close enough to find out?
Would there be evidence of his presence in the house? In my bed? In my wife?
And why, oh why was my cock constantly and consistently hard?
Chapter Sixteen
“Hi! You’ve made good time!”
The pretty, familiar face that greeted me as I walked into the hallway of our house was smiling and welcoming.
“Daddyyyyyy!”
The two kids ran from the TV room and into my arms. I hugged them tightly as Caroline went into the kitchen to put on the kettle and put the dinner into the oven. Once their duties to their returning father had been done, the two teenagers ran back to watch yet more of the box set that was all they and their friends were interested in.
I joined my wife in the warm, bright kitchen, feeling deeply unsettled but trying to conceal the fact.
“I hoped you’d be back early,” Caroline said. “The kids have eaten but I waited so we could eat together. How was the trip?”
I explained it had gone well but that another visit would soon be necessary. She seemed pleased at this prospect, but it might have been just my imagination.
“How did the cycling go yesterday?” I added.
Caroline frowned.
“A washout. Literally,” she told me.
“You didn’t meet the guys?”
“We met them okay, but the weather was so bad that a ride was out of the question. Marcus and I had to find something indoors to do instead.”
I did not let on that I knew what that ‘something indoors’ had been, or that it had also involved a ride, but I also refrained from asking what they had actually done. Caroline seemed relieved when she realised that the question she had no doubt dreaded was not going to be asked, but I couldn’t have borne watching my wife lie to me so very obviously.
“How was Marcus?”
“Disappointed of course. I think he had looked forward to the ride as a means of letting off steam. He has so much energy.”
I laughed inside; I had seen some of that energy being burned off in our bed, along with a fair few calories of my wife’s too.
“Have you fixed another date?”
“We’ll meet again same time next week,” she replied overly casually.
“I meant for him to go cycling,” I smiled as naturally as I could.
“Oh. I’ll leave it to the boys to work out their diaries themselves,” came the unconvincing reply.
We ate dinner together as normally as we had for the last twenty years, me filling in the details of my trip, Caroline avoiding telling me anything at all about how she had spent the last two days.
I observed her carefully throughout the meal for any tell-tale signs of infidelity but could see next to nothing. She was wearing a blouse with a higher neckline than usual but that could just have been a coincidence. Indeed, there was so little to see that for a moment I began to wonder whether the whole thing had been some weird kind of dream.
But then the swelling in my trousers reminded me of what I had seen.
We watched the TV news together in our usual, separate chairs, then went up to bed. After more than six hundred miles of travel in two days, and a sleepless night in Scotland, I was far too tired for sex.
But as usual, it was not on the menu anyway.
I was, however, not too tired to notice that the bed in the guest suite had clean sheets, the windows had clearly been open a long time, or that my wife avoided being naked in my presence and had chosen a high-necked nightie despite the warm night.
***
Since then, I have read many stories about cuckolded husbands; how they had always dreamed of watching their wives or girlfriends with other men; how they enjoyed the humiliation of being compared unfavourably with their partners’ lovers in terms of cock size, or technique, or Alpha Male status.
They might be true; they might not. All I can say is that for me, finding out that the mother of my children was being fucked by my oldest friend was a truly baffling, surreal experience full of contradictory emotions.
I honestly did not know what to think or do about it.
I most certainly had not fantasised about Caroline being fucked by other men; I had already seen that when we were teens and knew what it was like. As far as I knew I had had no hidden desire to be humiliated either in her presence or outside it. I had not always wanted to be second place in her life or to be bound in chastity as other cuckolds seemed to desire.
But there was no denying that, far from being outraged at the betrayal that the two adults closest to me had inflicted, I had found it massively arousing at the time and to my distressed bewilderment, continued to find it so.
It was that inexplicable fact that prevented me from having it out with my unfaithful wife and her lover straight away.
Looking back, this was a serious mistake; the longer I delayed confronting them with what I had seen, the harder it became to do so. And of course, the harder it became to confront them, the more I delayed doing so and a vicious circle of prevarication and denial developed.
There really was no limit to my attempted self-deception. I told myself lie after lie:
I had not really seen what I thought I had seen; and if I had, there must be a perfectly innocent explanation.
Caroline had not really been in our bed with Marcus; it had been some other woman who looked the same.
His cock had not been inside her vagina; they had been performing some strange kind of yoga or exotic exercise.
My wife had not been begging him to fuck her and inseminate her; I had misheard her words entirely.
After all, our lives were continuing exactly as they had before, or at least they appeared to be, so it simply couldn’t have happened, could it?
Even as I lay awake night after night with my head spinning and my cock unbearably and resolutely hard, I knew I was deluding myself both about what had happened and how I felt about it. Eventually, I had no choice but to be honest with myself; Caroline really had cheated. Marcus really had been fucking her; I was a cuckold.
