No matter what you say, no matter how you believe you would react, until it happens to you, you can’t possibly know. It was around 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon, and Wendy had been gone since before lunch, “running errands.”

She came back in, carrying a bag from Crate and Barrel.

“Hello, there,” I said.

“Not now, sorry, I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, eluding my hug and rushing by me.

She came out of her bathroom, nude.

“Well, well. I was just coming for a hug, but since you’re naked...” I said, playfully.

“Please, I got really sweaty,” she said, trying to get by me and into the shower.

I grabbed her from behind and pulled her toward me, burying my face in her hair, kissing her neck.

“Chuck!” she said sharply, pulling away.

It was just a trace of a wisp, almost undetectable, but I knew instantly. Pulling away from me, she looked in my eyes. In that second, she realized I knew.

I had introduced them, just two weeks ago at a party hosted by one of the senior executives at my company. They had spent the evening in conversation, while I talked shop with the other executives. Bill Morgan was a junior executive, about thirty five. He had a reputation around the office as a notorious womanizer.

Devilishly handsome, he was tall, witty and charming. However, he hadn’t progressed as quickly as he might have. A twenty two year old that brags of his conquests is bad enough, but at thirty five, it just shows a lack of maturity that top management recognizes.

For all that, I liked him well enough. He was always fun to be around. He was highly intelligent and well liked by our clients. If he grew up, there was no limit to how far he could go.

When I smelled a trace of his cologne on Wendy, I was pretty certain that she had spent at least part of the afternoon with him. When I saw the fear in her eyes, as she saw that I knew, it was confirmed.

Funny; until it happens to you, you think you have an idea how you’ll react, but it’s something you can’t possibly prepare for, especially after eighteen years of relatively happy marriage, a good sex life, and two beautiful teenagers.

When you get punched hard in the gut, then kneed in your groin, there’s no yelling, no crying, nothing. All you can do is fall to your knees and ache, waiting for the pain to subside.

My head swam, and I felt dizzy as I left our bathroom. Going out to the garage, I sat on my work stool, idly flipping washers into a jar. There was no cohesion to my thoughts, I just shut down.

Finally, I went back in the house and told Megan, our sixteen year old, that I was going to go to the driving range and hit some golf balls.

There’s nothing better for dissipating aggression than hitting balls with a driver. I hit two buckets of balls with my driver, sending shot after shot sailing high and far, with the slightest draw, landing far out on the range. The feeling of hitting a ball squarely with a driver is so satisfying, and uses your nervous energy.

After I wore myself out hitting drives, I went to the putting green, opening a sleeve of new balls. Placing two tees into the green about twenty five feet apart, I threw the three balls down near one of the tees, and practiced lagging the balls as near as I could to the other tee, then turned around and hit them back at the first tee, over and over. I putted for over an hour.

Putting is so therapeutic, because it’s impossible to putt well if there’s a single thought in your mind, other than your target. Even while looking straight down at the ball in the split second before your putter makes contact, there can be nothing in your mind other than the target you’re shooting at. If you focus on the target and make a good pass at the ball, it’s amazing how your mind does the rest. And the clearer your mind, the better chance at making a good putt.

Two hours after I got there, I put my bag in my truck and left. The trip to the range had helped me recover from the pain of the shot to the gut and groin. Now that the initial pain was gone, the rage set in.

Why would the bastard do this to me? It couldn’t be because of Wendy. She was ten years older than him. And while she had a nice figure and was fairly cute, she couldn’t be compared to the young trophies he usually notched. No, he suspected this was exciting for Bill because Chuck was a couple of notches above him. Even if he couldn’t brag about his conquest, at least he knew he was getting one over on an executive senior to him.

And why would Wendy do this? Wasn’t she happy enough? They had never really fought in their marriage, and he considered himself a thoughtful lover. Soon after their marriage, he had bought her the first vibrator she had ever owned, and they both climaxed almost every time they had sex, which at this point in their lives was two or three times per week. Not bad for a forty five year old couple.

I thought about the kids; why is it always the kids that get screwed when somebody decides they’ll just throw a hand grenade in the middle of their marriage? Fortunately, the kids were almost grown, one sixteen, the other fifteen. Megan was driving, Stevie had lots of friends with a license, so they didn’t spend a lot of time with their parents anymore. Still, it’s always painful for anybody when their parents divorce.

Pulling into the garage, I unloaded my clubs and went inside. I dreaded going into the house. Wendy was getting dinner started and the kids were gone. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went outside. I sat in the shade, petting our dog as I sipped my beer.

“Who’s going to get you, old fella?” I said, wistfully, as I stroked the dog’s fur.

The kids weren’t coming home to dinner, so we ate alone at the bar, barely saying a word to each other. What do you say? When there’s an eight hundred pound gorilla in the middle of the room, and you don’t care to talk about it, any other topic you can think of seems absurd to discuss. I definitely wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Wendy was waiting for me to say something.

I had never really suffered from depression. I guess everyone has their own, unique way of coping with it. Me? I shut down. By seven thirty I was in bed, and soon after I was asleep. It must have been several hours later when I felt the bed stir, and heard Wendy slip under the covers in the dark. I pretended I was asleep.

I slept until after nine the next morning. I usually slept seven or seven and a half hours a night, but my mind needed the break from cognizant thought. I had a golf match with friends the next day, but called them and told them I couldn’t make it. Then I grabbed my clubs and went to the range again. Wendy wouldn’t expect me for at least five hours, since she thought I was playing. Hell, for that matter, who cares when she expected me? She probably hoped I’d never return, I thought, angrily.

“How does she expect this to play out, anyway?” I wondered.

It’s not like a thirty five year old playboy is going to be interested in a forty five year old mother of two for long. For that matter, it was unlikely that Wendy was the only one he was currently seeing. It’s difficult for a married woman to get out more than once or twice a week, especially if she works and has kids, and especially if she’s trying to be discreet.

A thirty five year old rake, who’s only pastime is hunting pelts to hang on his wall isn’t going to be satisfied to have sex once or twice a week. Why would she ruin our marriage to have a fling that had nowhere to go with a man who would be tired of her quickly? I just couldn’t understand it.

My mind turned to Karen, my divorced secretary. Wendy had told me once that she suspected that Karen had the hots for me, and told me she’d cut my nuts off if she caught me cheating. Karen was younger, and very attractive.

“Stay away from her, she’s trouble,” Wendy had told me. “You could lose your job and your marriage.”

I allowed my mind to dwell on the satisfaction I’d have of showing Wendy she wasn’t the only one that could attract a younger lover. But I knew that I just had no desire for anyone else; at least not yet. I was still in too much pain.

We barely spoke over the next couple of days. The kids had to know that there was something wrong, but they didn’t say anything, at least not to me.

Tuesday, after dinner, Wendy said she was going to spin class at the gym. She often went to spin class on weeknights, but I suspected she would make another stop, as well. Sure enough, she was gone over three hours, finally getting home at nine.

“I stopped at the mall after,” she said, casually, trying to act as normal as possible as she walked to her room.

I don’t know if she went to spin class or not, but I suspected not. I doubted she would ever go out in public after sweating through an hour long spin class, and she never showered at the gym. I do know that, even if she did go to spin class, she also saw Bill. I was certain of it.

As she went into her room, I became enraged. Here I was, sitting at home, depressed and in pain, and she was seeing him, then trying to pretend that everything was normal.

I stomped into our master bath, just as she was coming out of her toilet area. She had stripped in the bathroom and put her dirty clothes in the hamper, in preparation for a shower.

When she saw me, I saw a look of fear in her eyes, which made me realize just how enraged I was. For the first time in our marriage, I could see that my wife was afraid I would physically harm her.

All I could think of was that rotten bastard, Morgan, seeing her body as I was seeing it. He shouldn’t get to see that, and he certainly had no right to touch it.

I quickly stripped off my clothes.

“No, Chuck…” she began, but I glared at her, and she stopped in mid-sentence.

She knew I had every right to take her.

I pushed her onto the bed and fell on her, then began pawing at her cunt. Her slutty little cunt, that seemed to be doing all the thinking for both of us lately. She didn't participate, but she didn't resist either. Her legs were clamped tightly, making it impossible for me to penetrate her. Putting my knees between her legs, I held them open as I guided my dick to her pussy.

Her pussy lips were closed tightly over her slit, as they always were before she became aroused, but I forced my dick between them, using all my weight to push against her tight hole. She grunted in pain as I rammed my dick in her roughly. Good. Maybe that would keep her out of action for a while. Finally, I got the head in. Working it in and out, her lips began to spread and my shaft began to slide more easily.

Now I laid against her, holding her body against mine with both hands, rolling us onto our side in a spooning position. There was no tenderness in this act, no love. Hell, I really didn’t even feel lust. Only anger.

When a dog smells another dog’s urine in his territory, he will pee on top of it to mark his claim, and that’s what I felt like.

The satisfaction I felt as I pounded her pussy as hard as I could was exactly the same sort of satisfaction I had felt on Saturday, when I was pounding golf balls with my driver as hard as I could hit them.

The adrenaline running through me gave me stamina I hadn’t had in years. I pumped her ten minutes, hard, non-stop, and I still didn’t feel an orgasm approaching. Everywhere our bodies touched were drenched with sweat, and her yelps of pain had turned into grunts, as I bottomed out in her pussy over and over.

Now she began cooperating, meeting my thrusts with her own, and the contact became more pleasurable, my dick sliding in and out more easily. She put her hand in her crotch, and began rubbing her slit. Since I had introduced vibrators into our marriage, many years ago, she had stopped using her hand to play with herself. The vibrator made her orgasms more certain, and easier.

I was surprised that she would use her fingers now, but she furiously rubbed herself as I continue driving my shaft as hard and deep into her as I could. Her naughty cunt would be sore for at least a day or two, so if nothing else, it would make it less pleasurable for her to go to Morgan.

When his name came to mind, it infuriated me all over again, and I angrily pounded her even harder and faster. She was moaning incoherently as I pounded her, riding the edge of an orgasm. Her legs tensed momentarily, then her hips began bucking as she climaxed.

“AWWWMMMMMM, mmm, mmm, mmm, aww, oooh,”

As she relaxed, she stopped cooperating, totally drained. I pulled my dick out of her and got up, pointing it at her face as I pulled it.

When I climaxed, spraying my load on her cheek and nose, I felt better than I had felt since I first found out. I don’t know why spraying my load on her face felt so satisfying. Perhaps I felt that I was degrading her as much as she had humiliated me. I don’t know. All I know is, seeing my cum covering her face felt as good as the orgasm I had.

I got up and dressed, leaving her in a heap on the bed. I was still full of nervous energy, while she was drained. By the time I came back into the room after showering, she had wiped off her face and fallen asleep with the lamps on.

I covered her, and thought, “It’s been a pretty full day for you, Miss Wendy, hasn’t it?”

The dirty slut.

+++++++++
As Wendy got herself ready Friday night, putting on her makeup and dressing, I knew she’d be going to him. I fumed, ready to spit blood, but what could I do? I sat in my chair, pretending not to care, unable to concentrate on the game I was watching.

“I’m going out,” she announced as she came into the room.

No lies, no flimsy alibis, no nothing. Just, “I’m going out.”

So that’s how it was to be. “I’m going out,” anytime she wants, and I get nothing to say about it. She doesn’t care that I know, doesn’t care what I think, and doesn’t care about how I feel.

After two and a half hours, I began pacing the house, my stomach tied in a knot, cursing her, cursing him. I would have killed him if he were in front of me at that point.

“So fuck him, if you have to,” I thought to myself. “But what could be taking two and a half hours. Why do you have to fuck him, anyway, the son of a bitch?”

Finally, almost three hours later, she breezed back into the house. She tried to appear cheerful, but I could tell from her eyes she was fearful. When I saw her face, my gaze darkened. I practically saw red, I was so angry. She tried to shuffle past without a word, but I grabbed her, just as before, and yanked her into the bedroom.

This time she made little in the way of a protest, simply saying, “Not so hard, Chuck. You’re hurting me.”

I loosened my grip on her arm and led her into the bedroom, throwing her on the bed. She lay still as I stripped, then I began taking off her clothes, threatening to tear them in my haste. She helped me, afraid I would tear them.

When she was nude, she reached over to get her vibrator out of the nightstand, but I yanked it from her and threw it across the room. She could fuck her cheating clit with her hand, if she wanted, like last time, but not with her vibrator. It was too easy. She didn’t deserve any more easy pleasure tonight.

This time she didn’t resist, taking my dick easily into her pussy, which had been serviced already once tonight. I tried to hold onto my anger, dwelling on it as I pumped her. It seemed to make me feel better, somehow. Again, my adrenalin allowed me to pump her for over twenty minutes without cumming, and again she pleasured herself with her hand, writhing in an explosive orgasm, just before I pulled out and sprayed my seed on her butt.

We never talked anymore, and I missed her terribly. The only time we had sex is after she went to Bill, and it could hardly be called ‘making love’. Fortunately, the kids weren’t around much, hanging out with their friends or busy with school activities. We had become a dysfunctional family, just at the moment Wendy and I had begun to dream of in recent years, when our kids were old enough that we would have more independence to do fun things without them. Why had she gone and ruined it all?

Then, as I had expected, the trysts became less frequent, and I began to notice Wendy more morose. Even though I had called it ahead of time, it brought me no satisfaction to see her miserable. It made me no less miserable.

It had been ten days since she had gone out, and I thought it was over, but one night she was obviously excited, and after dinner she went to her room, then came out all dressed up and announced she was “going out.”

Even though I had thought I was no less miserable when she had stopped seeing him, I found that I was wrong. Experiencing the pain anew, when I thought the worst was over, was excruciating. The hours dragged by, and she finally came in at eleven o’clock, looking like she had been crying.

I left her alone that night. Over the next few days, she often looked like she had been crying. She became depressed, and called in sick to work two days in a row, barely getting out of bed. I didn’t know what to say to her. Hell, I didn’t even know how to cure my own depression.

Two weeks went by that way, and the kids began to ask questions.

“Mom’s not feeling well,” I told them. “Take it easy on her, she’ll bounce out of it soon.”

I wondered if they asked their mother the same questions about me, but I though not. I think I was probably able to do a better acting job. I had never seen Wendy even close to the condition she was now in.

Ever since finding out, I had done everything possible to steer clear of Morgan at work, afraid of what I might do. Now I went to even further extremes not to have to look at him. I began to fantasize about leaving that company, even leaving that town, finding a new place to live and work where there would be no chance of ever running into either of them.

Another week went by, and Wendy showed no signs of getting better. If anything, she was getting worse. Now that it was over, she had to deal with the guilt she must have harbored over hurting me and ruing our marriage, plus the added loss of her new lover.

One Tuesday night, I could take no more. I had thought about what to do for the last couple of weeks, and it was the best I could come up with. It made no sense to me, and I’m sure anybody else would think me out of my mind. Well, I was out of my mind.

After dinner, I said, “Get dressed up nice, Wendy. We’re going to go out. You need a night out of this house.”

She looked up, unable to believe what I was saying.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Go get dressed. Wear something nice.”

“Okay,” she said.

Though I can’t say that she looked exactly cheerful, she did look like she had perked up a little.

“Where are we going to go,” she said, as we got into the car.

“We’re just going to go out to a bar for a drink or two.”

“Okay.”

I pulled into the Doubletree hotel, near the airport. We never went to airport bars, but I thought it less likely we’d see anybody we knew there. For that matter, we never went to bars. We might go to a bar and grill, where they served drinks, like Chili’s or TGI Friday’s, but never a straight bar. Neither of us were big drinkers.

“Why here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s try it.”

“Let’s sit at the bar," I said.

There were several other patrons there, obviously businessmen from out of town. They were talking, though it became apparent from listening to them that they were strangers.

When two of the men got up to leave, I engaged the third man in conversation.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” the man said.

“Are you from out of town?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m from Pittsburgh. You?”

“No, I live nearby,” I said. “My name’s Chuck, this is Wendy.”

“Well, it’s very nice meeting you both,” he said, as he looked at Wendy. “My name is Ron. I’ve been in town for three nights, and I leave tomorrow. It’s nice to meet nice people when you’re alone in a strange town. What brings you out tonight?”

“Oh, we just wanted to get out of the house for a bit, and perhaps meet someone nice as well,” I said, with a smile. “Why don’t you join us?”

He eagerly slid down a couple of seats. Wendy was in between us. She barely said a word, looking down at her napkin.

Ron must have been a bit older than us. He had gray mixed in with his dark hair, but he had a nice smile, and a tall, athletic figure, beautifully accentuated by his expensive looking tailored suit. I had no idea if he was attractive to Wendy. I had never thought about Wendy being attracted to anyone, other than me, in a long time. But he certainly had the best physique of any man in the room, with pleasant features.

We chatted as we finished our drinks, then ordered another.

When Ron finished his drink, he said, “Say, how would you folks like to come up to my room. I’ve got a bottle there, and it’ll be more comfortable, and less expensive.”

“Very nice of you to offer, Ron. We’d love to. Wouldn’t we, Wendy?”

Wendy just looked at me, unsure where this was going, not sure what I wanted her to say.

“Come on, Wendy. Just for a while?”

“Okay,” she said, uncertainly. “Should you cancel your drink order?”

I had just ordered another drink.

“No, I’ll come up and join you when I’ve finished my drink. What’s your room number, Ron?”

Wendy looked taken aback by that, and she froze momentarily, not sure what to do.

Ron took her arm gently, and said, “Come on up, Wendy. I’ve got a bottle of some nice wine open, and we can sit out on my patio and get some air.”

Wendy went with him as the bartender brought my drink. An hour and forty five minutes later, Wendy came back down. I was nursing a glass of ice water, playing a game on my cell phone. When I saw her enter the bar, I got up and we left.

We didn’t say a word on the way home, each lost in our thoughts. That night, we made love, for the first time in a long time. It was very pleasant. Afterward, we lay together, cuddling and kissing as I held her breast.

to be continued.....