My Hot Wife - The Transition

[jw_kk]

I published this on Literotica several months ago, I'm placing it here, in the Library based on some PM questions I've gotten recently about our path to the hot wife lifestyle.

This has been a narrative long in the works; hard to write, filled with difficult memories, connected to intense, conflicting emotions. My wife, KK and I have long history together, more than 40-years of marriage, nearly 50-years from the time we started dating. Both of us experienced numerous infidelities, from opportunistic one-night stand sexual encounters, to "traditional" affairs interweaving sex, emotional attachment, even financial entanglement.

Between our "old life" and the start of our hot wife adventures, there was a transitional time. This narrative documents the transition from a tumultuous relationship riddled with cheating and infidelity, to our current, stable relationship. The transition from cheating and sexual secrets to an open, supportive approach that indulges both my wife, and my sexual interests has been enlightening and rewarding for both of us.

Probably in honesty and fairness, the true catalyst for our current hot wife lifestyle combines two big things: KK was never happy with monogamy, and I was never able to resist pursuit of sex with women I was attracted to.

The last affair I engaged in was complex, blending sex, depravity, addiction, emotion. It was the trigger for transition into the hot wife lifestyle we now lead.

The affair was devastating, nearly resulting in the complete destruction of my marital relationship with KK. I had become entangled with a much younger women, 18-years my junior. It was an affair that blended emotional entanglement, an almost insurmountable sexual addiction, as well as financial complications. My affair partner, Beverly (Bev for short) pushed every "button" I had, some I wasn't even aware of. Even after trying to end the affair, I could not let go of the amazing sex.

Toward the very end of the affair, as KK and I were trying to reconcile, I still suffered back-sliding events, indulging in sex with Bev. Frequently, after going into what amounted to withdrawal, I'd end up in a 'lost night' with Bev, furtively fucking my brains out with her, until guilt or terror overcame my lust. Then I'd make up some excuse to part company, and go home.

On one of those 'lost nights' I got home around midnight after a desperate, physical, emotional round with Bev. I was mentally and physically exhausted. While I was off-the-air, cavorting with Bev, KK noted my unexplained absence - calling, texting, all of which I ignored. I later discovered KK even tried to track me down, 'hunting,' hoping to catch me with Bev.

After arriving home, noting KK's car was in the garage, I expected to either find her waiting up, angry, or better yet, asleep. Neither was the case; KK wasn't home - there was no note, no nothing. I sent a text, waiting up maybe 30-minutes before I felt like I had to lie down and get some rest.

I recall a brief awakening around 2:00am, finding myself alone in bed. Just before 3:00am, there was some commotion, a dog barking, the sound of the entry door opening and closing, then the distinct sound of heels clicking on the tile floor.

I waited, lying in bed, feigning sleep to see what was going on. I caught a glimpse of KK as she came through the master bedroom doorway. The hallway lighting was sufficient to give me a reasonable view; KK was dressed in club-wear, a leather skirt, white silk top, and heels.

I kept on with my ruse, pretending to be dead to the world, asleep. KK started talking - at first I thought she was talking aloud to herself.

"When you called to tell me you were going to be late, I decided something. I went looking for you and that nasty little bitch. Lucky for both of you I couldn't track your sorry asses down. So I went and got myself fucked. Not that you care... since you were out fucking your dirty little whore!"

My heart was pounding - I was uncertain as to what might happen next. While KK's speech was a little off, slurred, perhaps from drinking, she was very matter of fact - "...I went and got myself fucked."

With racing thoughts, fixated on "...I went and got myself fucked," I felt like I was in shock.

Despite the clarity that KK's monolog was directed at me, one tactic was continuing my ruse of being sound asleep, dead to the world, as opposed to engaging KK in conversation. Almost incongruently, my cock was rock-hard, as I obsessed on KK's comment, "...went and got myself fucked."

KK continued, her slurred speech a clue - I concluded she'd been drinking; "Yes baby, well and truly fucked... such a good, hot, nasty fucking... he's coming over tomorrow, to fuck me some more, since you don't seem to want to..."

I continued feigning sleep, wondering where this was going, with a painful, raging erection I tried to conceal by rolling over. KK continued her monolog; "I went for a drink after I couldn't find you and your dirty little whore. I met a nice man at Oliver's (a local lounge), and well, one thing led to another, I took him to my car and we fucked."

I was reeling. KK's matter-of-fact, "...took him to my car and we fucked" was deliberate, clear, and cutting. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. In the moment, I was denying the possibility, trying to reconcile KK's disclosure as some sort of emotional sadism, a lie. She couldn't possibly have gone and gotten herself fucked in her car. It just seemed inconceivable.

Unexpectedly, KK stripped the sheet off of me, exclaiming, "I knew you were awake, you sorry bastard! Why try faking being asleep you pussy? Look at that hard dick... why is it so hard? It's all twitching and throbbing... what made it all hard? Me getting fucked? Is that why your weenie is so hard?"

My head felt like it was spinning. I couldn't really believe what I was hearing, what KK was saying. On one hand, I considered it was all just lies, that KK was bullshitting me, trying to get me jealous, or bait me into a fight. On the other hand, the possibility it was real, that she'd gotten herself fucked was mind-boggling.

KK was on the bed, positioned at my side, on her knees. She said, "You wanna fuck me? Or is that little bitch the only thing that gets you going?"

KK hiked up the leather skirt over her hips. She was wearing stockings and garters, but no panties. Without another word, KK mounted me, squatting on my cock. I penetrated her with no effort, no friction - my cock slid into her pussy; KK was already wet! Was my wife's pussy soaking wet, gaping, as a consequence of a stranger's cock, slathered inside with his cum?

I lasted maybe ten strokes, before unloading in KK's pussy. I'd completely failed to satisfy her. Without any warning, KK dismounted me, squatting squarely over my face, mashing her jizz-filled pussy onto my nose and mouth. KK started grinding away. I managed to deliver an orgasm for KK, despite the feeling that she was going to suffocate me in the process.

It was disgusting - the taste, the smell, the almost grotesque slimy mess oozing from my wife. I felt disgusted with myself, but powerless to stop her. I couldn't tell if the gunk oozing from KK's gaping twat was my own, or a blend of some stranger's cum intermixed with mine. I fought off waves of nausea, holding back the urge to vomit, feeling disgusted, humiliated, outraged, but still incongruently aroused.

When she was done, KK climbed off the bed and said, "Well, at least you're good for something!" She turned and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I heard the lock click, so despite the urge to follow her, I stayed in bed, flaccid, my face covered in spunk.

I heard the shower running, then indistinct sounds, before KK came back to bed. She was wearing one of her oversized sleep T-shirts, towel around her hair, smelling of soap and water. I was unsure what to say, what to do, feeling paralyzed - a combination of fear, fascination, lust, jealousy, and uncertainty were my dominant emotions.

KK laid down beside me, then said, "You realize I'm going to fuck other men now. You made me do it. You wanted me to do it anyway. You left me no choice. So just enjoy your dirty little whore, and we'll continue the charade that everything's just fucking perfect. Nighty-night you fucking bastard!"

I lay there in silence. I could not sleep. KK drifted off, her breath sounds heavy, I suppose from having been drinking. At one point I was uncontrollably erect, thinking about what was transpiring, and I made myself cum - stroking, imagining what she might've been up to a few short hours before, thinking about her statement, "...he's coming over tomorrow, to fuck me some more..."

As my mind raced, a vortex of confusing, conflicting thoughts, I wanted to believe it wasn't true - on the one hand, it was plausible that it was all just a lie, KK taunting me, tormenting me, using a tale of sexual retribution to punish me for backsliding with Bev. On the other hand, the possibility that it was real, that KK had given herself to another man, used him for pleasure was excruciatingly erotic. I knew it was possible - given that KK had stepped out before, her most recent affair had ended just two years ago. Somehow this seemed different. It seemed terrifying - KK's matter-of-fact tone, her open admission, her deliberateness all felt like a gut-punch of hard reality.

At daybreak, I was still awake, drowsy, foggy, but awake. I got up to make coffee, feeling anxious and stressed out. About a half-hour later, KK appeared in the breakfast nook. She demanded, "Pour me some coffee, and I'd like eggs and toast. Get to it!"

I balked at KK ordering me about, asking, "Would you like to talk about it?"

KK's response was intense; "No. After you make my breakfast, you can go fuck yourself. You better tell that little whore of yours to sleep lightly. I'm going to take care of her, you know. I'm fucking fed up with you, with her, and your bullshit. Time to put a stop to the nonsense..."

KK was simmering, clearly angry, on the verge of irrational behavior. I tried another track, asking, "What's gotten you so upset baby? I'm doing the best I can."

I got an icy stare, then KK's expression wrinkled to a snarl; "The best you can? Really? Fucking that dirty little cunt after you promised me you broke it off? That's the best you can fucking do you pathetic bastard? Fuck you. Fuck her. I should go find that stupid little slut and gut her like a fish... make you watch... fucking cut her nasty twat out and feed it to her..."

KK's intense jealousy was surfaced, I didn't want to press the issue - I did as KK'd demanded, poured her a mug of coffee, started a fresh pot, then got to work on eggs and toast.

Once she'd eaten, KK's mood changed slightly. She said, "I've got company coming at 2:00pm. You can either leave the house, or you can stay in your study until I text you. I don't want any lip or interference. Do you understand?"

I tried objecting, getting maybe two stumbling words in before KK emphatically said, "Shut the fuck up. I'll do as I please - as I please is some hot fucking. Remember, this is your fault, your doing. And no, fuck you very much, you are not invited. Now clean this shit up. I'm going to go relax, take a long hot bath, and get ready for my guest. I want you gone, or in your study by 1:45pm sharp."

The unfolding events were shocking. Sure, for decades I'd pillow-talked KK along the endless variation of fantasies about fucking other men. This particular situation was not included in any of those fantasy scenarios.

KK got up from the table, silent, leaving me standing in the kitchen. As I tidied things up, my phone rang. It was a call from an associate, inquiring as to where KK and I were, if everything was OK, as we'd missed a morning coffee session for planning an upcoming holiday party. I glanced at the time, feeling stupid and embarrassed; indeed we'd missed the social obligation. I made excuses then ended the call.

My anxiety level was overwhelming. On top of all of it, I got series of texts/sexts from my Bev, teasing me, begging me to come over for sex. Given the threat level, I invented some excuses to say no, despite the almost overpowering desire to go and fuck away my cares.

Time passed achingly slowly that morning. I knew if I left the house exactly where I'd end up, what I'd be doing - thoughts of banging Bev into oblivion had me turgid, but it felt hollow, terrifying and empty all at the same time. I knew if I stayed home, I'd be overcome with angst and curiosity - the thought of being confined to the study, in my own home, while KK was banging some stranger was simultaneously erotic, and anger-producing. In fact, it was outrageous. I felt hot all over, flushed with waves of rage, thoughts of violence.

Each tick of the clock brought an increase in my anxiety. Unable to concentrate, overwhelmed by conflicting thoughts and emotions, there was no obvious plan of action, no clarity on how to respond to the situation at hand.

The time crawled by. I still hadn't showered, or seen KK since breakfast. At 1:40pm, resigned to what I perceived as the lesser worse fate, I went to my study. That room has glazed French doors, with shutters on the interior side. I left the shutters open, vanes partly angled, thinking I might catch a glimpse of whomever KK's "date" was.

At 1:45pm, KK, without knocking, opened the study door. She was completely nude, save for a pair of high-heeled 'fuck me' pumps. I stared at her, taking in the details; her hair was down, combed out, her make-up was on, her lips a pouty, taunting bright red. KK looked sexy hot, my cock was twitching just looking at her. KK pulled down both shutter rods, closing the vanes, turned, glaring at me, and said, "I'll text you when you can come out. Be a dear and don't cause trouble, or I'll go hunt that little cunt down right now." KK turned, closed the door, her heels clicking against the tile as she strutted off.

That quarter hour passed glacially. I was anxious, terrified, hard as rock (the sight of my angry naked wife in fuck-me heels, prepared to bang some dude was extraordinary...), and uncertain. Still, none of this was as I'd ever envisioned, not even close. The emotional conflict of being so aroused, while simultaneously nearly overcome with jealousy, anger, and uncertainty was overwhelming.

I kept expecting the bell to ring, or a knock at the door, or something - but there was nothing. An hour passed, excruciating, agonizingly slow, but no visitor appeared. I began having doubts, thinking maybe it was all some kind of ruse, a revenge-based means of torment for my transgressions.

Thirty more minutes passed. I couldn't take it any longer. As quietly as I could, I got up from my recliner, intending to go look around to see if I could sort out what was happening. When I carefully pulled the door open, I heard the distinct crash of breaking glass...

It seems KK had booby-trapped the door, by balancing a wine goblet across the handles. When I pulled the door open, the glass crashed to the entry hall floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces... I knew I was screwed.

Avoiding the broken glass, I peeked out the entry door side-light. Looking around the curve of the front drive, I could see the fender of a strange vehicle street side, but that was all. I was on pins and needles, expecting an outraged KK to appear at any second, given I'd violated my "confinement" to the study, yet my curiosity was overwhelming.

I made my way to our bedroom door, gingerly testing it with a slight turn on the knob. It was locked. I could hear the sounds of passionate sex, even without pressing my ear to the door! KK was fucking a stranger in our own bed... in my house, our house!

I backed away, feeling like I was on fire, my skin hot, burning, my head pounding. KK was in our bed, fucking some stranger. I was locked out, banished. This was nothing like what I'd imagined or fantasized.

In all the years of pillow-talk, fantasy and imagination, nothing like this had ever come to mind - my carefully orchestrated scenarios of KK getting fucked had always included me, at least being present to watch, most often to participate. I was locked out of my own bedroom, while KK was banging away with some dude...

I gingerly tried the door again, confirming it was locked. I put my ear against it, hearing KK's distinct moans, and occasional vocalizations, "Oh my God! Fuck me! Do it baby, do it! Fuck my pussy! Fuck that pussy baby!"

I found myself partially erect, simultaneously aroused but sickened at the realization of what was going on. I kept listening to the action; sounds of the bed frame creaking and rocking, groans, moans, KK's loud verbalizations - "Do me baby! Fuck me with that big hard cock! I want it inside me, put it in me! Cum baby, cum, oh God cum in me!"

At that point, I ejaculated spontaneously, splooge running down my thigh, my balls feeling like they'd been drained dry. It was humiliating, self-degrading, I'd cum without a touch, just from the sounds of my slut of a wife verbalizing the pleasure she was taking from a strange man in our marital bed. My knees were weak, I felt wobbly, off-balance, disoriented, like I might collapse. It took minutes for me to regain some semblance of the situation.

I was thinking about how it was I'd avoided hearing KK's "date" come in. It occurred to me that one path was via the garage. I quietly went and checked, finding the lights out, the garage entry door locked. The second possibility was that "Mr. Fucker" had been let in through the garden gate at the side of the house.

It was a risk, but I snuck outside to assess. The gate was closed, but unlocked. I cracked the gate, looking into the garden, seeing the coast was clear. I snuck down the path, intending, hoping to get a glance of whatever was going on with KK, in our bedroom through the garden-side windows. She'd thwarted me by both closing the shades, and pulling the draperies... I quietly snuck back inside, relieved that I hadn't inadvertently locked myself out of the house. I found a dustpan and broom, then hastily cleaned up the broken glass from KK's booby trap. Of course there was no way to "reset it" - I knew that I was caught red-handed, having broken out of exile, my own doing.

I stayed in my study, anxiety level off the chart, waiting for either a text, or for KK to burst in, expecting her worst for the transgression of violating my "confinement."

Finally, a little after 4:00pm, I got a text from KK, or more appropriately, a sext - of my wife splayed out on our bed, legs wide open, heels dug into the sheet, a stream of white, creamy cum running out of her gaping pussy. It was obvious whoever had been fucking KK took the photo using her phone. I felt my cock spasming, as I spontaneously ejaculated in my shorts at the sight of the photo.

I felt dizzy, slumped forward, banging my head on the door frame as I was stumbling around the study. Another text followed, "I'm done. You can come out... again."

I got my bearings, heading straight to our bedroom. The door was still closed, but no longer locked. I entered, finding KK pretty much in the same position as the shot in her sext; completely naked, her legs open, playing with her cum-filled pussy!

KK's gaping pussy looked more like a wound, pink-red, oozing; even from the foot of the bed, I could see inside her open hole, like she'd just delivered a softball through it.

The message was not subtle - KK was flaunting her fresh-fucked condition, her display a garish, whorish signal that she had just enjoyed a hot fuck session - with another man...

KK said, "Run me a bath, then get the fuck out."

I was feeling anger, and hesitated. KK said, "Are you fucking deaf? Run me a bath, then get the fuck out of here!"

[jw_kk]

I was speechless. Feeling too uncertain of the situation to argue, I did as KK said. On making my exit, I said, "Let me know if you need anything..."

KK said, "I need you to get the fuck out of here."

I felt mostly dejected and despondent, along with a nice slice of terror. I left KK there, went puttering around, uncertain about what was to come.

Around 5:30pm, KK showed up in the den. KK was wearing some sexy jeans, a button-down blouse, with hot-pink heels. I'd been trying to read, but fundamentally was too distracted.

KK said, "I'm hungry. You're taking me to dinner. Go clean your sorry ass up - you're still in your shorts! What's that stain there, by your sorry little weenie? Have you been playing with yourself? Did you jack off, and make yourself cum? What a sorry little bitch! Go take a fucking shower and get dressed. I'm hungry, and I don't want to wait much longer."

I rushed through the shower, feeling angry and humiliated.

During dinner, the conversation was strained. I mentioned to KK our missed planning session at morning coffee. KK said, "Oh well, fuck that, and fuck them. Turns out I have other plans that night anyway."

I was stunned. I asked, "What other plans. You know we're co-hosting that event, as in 'we', right?"

KK said, "You're on your own. I just told you I have other plans. Don't you ever fucking listen?"

I wasn't ready to give up, and kept pressing, "This is important. We can't bail on the program, it's for charity."

KK retorted, "I can do whatever the fuck I want, just like you. You can't even deal with a simple request. I told you to stay in your study this afternoon, and I find you creeping around, you dirty perv. Did you listen, did you hear how good he was fucking me? Did you jerk your nasty cock while you listened? Fuck you. I'm not going. It's not up for discussion. I'm getting bored, if you don't finish your dinner, I'm calling a cab to take me home."

Other diners noted KK's loud response, and I turned beet-red. That was certainly conversation closed, at least on that topic. The ride back home from dinner was in silence.

When we got inside, KK said, "You can go to your study, or if you are too tired from all your jacking off, you can go sleep in the guest room. I just don't care. I don't want to hear from you until I text you tomorrow to make me breakfast."

I was being kicked out, banished from my own bed!

I paused, trying to extend the monolog into a conversation, but KK wasn't having it; she glared at me, eyes like ice, and said, "I already gave you your options. If you're not happy with either, just get the fuck out. Now leave me alone, go about your business."

My phone vibrated in my pocket - unfortunately KK noticed. She gave me an intense, angry stare and said, "That'd be your stupid little whore. You can go fuck her if you want, but I'll find you, cut off your whore-fucking cock, and choke her to death with your disgusting wandering dick. Your call... I should take your phone, go find that little cunt, and shove it sideways up her dirty ass... you mother-fucker..."

KK's rage was palpable - I almost ran to the study. Indeed, the text was from Bev, pleading for me to come over. I ignored the text. That was followed by a string of ever-escalating texts, some provocative, some desperate. The last was a photo, a bizarre, terrifying selfie, Bev was holding a little .38 revolver to her own temple, with an accompanying series of texts threatening suicide if I didn't "get over there right now."

Things seemed to have spiraled completely out of control. I did what I thought was right, called Bev, trying to to talk her down. I had to fight off the urge to go to Bev, if for no other reason than to disarm her. That fight was tempered by KK's threats of harming Bev. I figured it was all theatre anyway, but I was still concerned enough to be scared for her, and for me. In the end, I talked Bev "off the ledge" trying to buy time.

I spent the night exhausted, fitfully sleeping in my recliner. The saving grace was no texts or calls from Bev. I felt isolated, afraid, and terribly confused. I was also overwhelmed with guilt, feeling like all of this crumbling shit was entirely my fault.

The next week to ten days were pretty awful. KK was barely cordial, and would not let me sleep with her - sex was out of the question. Banished from my own bedroom, KK forced me to work around her use of the space so that I could shower or dress. In effect, I was camping out in my own study.

Bev was going through sequential melt-downs, each increasingly more dramatic, threatening suicide, threatening to show up at my house, or KK's studio. Any of those things would have been an outright disaster.

KK held her ground, refusing to participate in any form in the holiday event planning. She continued to taunt me about her "date," but every time I tried engaging her in conversation about it, the "who" and "when," I got stonewalled, icy stares, and "None of your fucking business you dirty whore-fucker" responses.

I personally dislike all of the obligations, external to family things, that are part of the holiday season - the overload of work, professional and social events that feel obligatory instead of voluntary. The day of this particular holiday event, I awoke to find KK packing her bags.

I panicked. I started asking questions, all of which pissed KK off. I think she was enjoying my terror. After a series of belligerent responses, KK closed the discussion, "Look... I fucking told you already. You do your thing, I'll do mine. It's just an overnight. I'll be back if you behave. You keep in mind that if I find you with that fucking whore, we're done. And I'll kill her. We don't have anything to talk about right now, you're just pissing me off, and making me late."

I gave in, feeling dejected and terrified. An hour later, KK got a text. She called out, "It's my ride. I'm outta here. Don't call. Don't text. I'll be fine."

With that, she was out the door, purse over her shoulder, overnight bag in hand, dragging her roller bag. I watched her get into a cab and depart.

It was a horrendously long day. I whiled away the hours until it was time to get ready for the gala, forced to attend solo. The excuse-making to acquaintances and colleagues was awkward - I held to a simple lie, a story line that KK was off to address a family need.

I had my phone on silent, throughout the evening, I kept getting texts/sexts from Bev, imploring me to "come over right now," a stream of naked selfies, taunts, teases and pokes designed to push my buttons. To this day, I've no idea why I didn't break down and go for a round of sport-fucking Bev - other than pure terror that KK would make good on her possibly legitimate threat.

The gala seemed to have no end. I exited at the earliest opportunity, feeling ill at ease, completely stressed out, like I wanted to run away, destination unknown. When I got to the car, I texted KK, ignoring her request not to bother her. I waited, no response on the drive home, no response at all. I still had a sporadic chain of texts, voicemails and naughty sexts from Bev, to the point I was wrestling with the idea of going to see her.

I fought it off, using a bottle of wine and some good pot as a crutch to take the edge off, before finally trailing off to sleep. KK never responded, while the last text from Bev was accompanied by a close-up of her little hand, gesturing "fuck you," middle finger raised.

The following day was anxiety filled - still no word from KK, no texts, no nothing. Bev on the other hand was unrelenting. The stream of texts and calls started just before 11:00am, growing increasingly desperate, threatening, sad, and taunting - all over the map. I finally turned off my phone. Around 5:00pm, KK still absent, I turned my phone on again, and a few seconds later a flood of notifications came in, missed texts, voicemails, all from Bev. I deleted them all without looking.

I heard the honk of a car horn, but before I could get to the entry hall to see what was going on, KK came in through the front door, dragging her roller bag in one hand, juggling her purse and overnight case in the other. She looked like a wreck! KK had on some workout wear, yoga pants and a warm-up top, her hair was loose, flying about, she looked tired, exhausted. I tried a warm greeting, despite my low-level anger and disappointment at KK having abandoned me the prior evening, despite her being AWOL. My attempt went nowhere. Instead, KK said, "I'm fucking exhausted. Why don't you make us some dinner while I go shower?"

KK's facial expression and tone was clear - she was in no mood for discussion or debate. I muttered in agreement, telling her I'd go put something together for dinner, suggesting a half-hour to forty-five minutes. KK said nothing, trudging down the hall toward our bedroom.

There was no meaningful conversation at dinner, with my every attempt at gaining insight into KK's overnight adventure admonished by an angry glare, met by silence. My smalltalk about the charity event garnered no interest or comment from KK. Finally, toward the end of dinner, as I got up to clear the table, KK asked, "Did you fuck your dirty little whore last night? I bet you did. I bet you just couldn't resist!"

I assured KK that I'd come straight home after bailing from the event, and that I hadn't spoken with, or seen Bev. I delivered the most sincere, convincing response I could muster, but KK's response was just another stern glare, a pause, and "All righty then... you know there's a time coming, I'm gonna gut that little bitch and make you watch."

Then she stormed off, leaving me with the kitchen mess. KK disappeared into our bedroom - I trailed her by several steps, by the time I got to the door, she'd locked me out.

That night I slept, if one could call it that, in my study - fitful, anxiety filled, curious about what KK had been up to, who she'd been with, if she'd been getting fucked, a stream of images flowing through my head, a blend of visuals that featured KK sucking cock, taking it in her pussy and ass, like a porn slut gone wild. The only bonus that night was the endless stream of texts and calls from Bev had come to a halt.

When I got up the next morning, there was a post-it note on my study door; "Gone to work, early shoot. Be home late this afternoon. Make dinner."

I had coffee, puttered around, finally deciding to go shave and shower. Before I made my way down the hall, I got a text from my admin at work, telling me the morning meetings had been cancelled due to attendee travel problems. In all honesty, I'd forgotten completely about this, so it was a relief. I texted my admin that I was going to take the day off.

When I got to the bedroom, I saw that KK's roller bag was still out, in one corner of the room. Having prior experience that snooping sometimes paid off, I picked it up, noting the heft, an indication it was still probably packed. I laid it on the foot of the bed, then opened the zipper. It was a jumble inside - KK's never been particularly organized at packing a bag, especially on the return trip.

I rifled through the contents. I was initially struck that the bag was under-packed given KK's normal predilection for taking along a veritable steamer-trunk wardrobe. There was a rumpled up pair of her jeans, a pair of unexciting "every day" panties and a bra, a blouse, and a pair of worn socks - that was it for street clothing.

Underneath that mundane stuff, I came across the clues I was hoping to find; one of KK's shoe bags, a mesh lingerie bag, and most unexpectedly, her Canon G-series PowerShot camera. KK's shoe bags are one of those "girl things." She has these nylon bags that hold a single pair of shoes, KK's obsessive thing is wrapping each shoe in tissue to avoid scuffing, then they go in the bags. In this one was a pair of KK's "fuck me" platform pumps - black patent, six inch heels, which have no practical purpose unless one happens to be a stripper, domme, or something along those lines. I could see that whatever was in the mesh lingerie bag was black and shiny.

I set the camera aside - KK normally takes it everywhere, but for whatever reason had left it behind in the roll-aboard bag.

I unzipped the lingerie bag, finding something that made my cock harden - KK's merry-widow, a prior year anniversary gift I'd given her. The crotchless, cup-less black satin and lace garment always got me hard when KK wore it; finding it in her bag, for whatever had transpired on her overnight getaway had my head spinning.

The merry-widow and shoes had only two purposes so far as I was concerned - making KK feel sexy, and getting someone's cock hard. My cock was now throbbing, painfully hard. The mesh bag's sole contents were the merry-widow, and a pair of black stockings. I unfurled the nylons for examination, finding one had a big runner on the inside of the thigh, while the other was intact. With my thoughts racing, I stuffed the garments back into the mesh bag, zipped it, and laid it on the bed.

I went through the rest of the roller-bag's contents, but didn't find anything else of interest. I stuffed everything back into the jumble, except for the camera. My heart was racing, my head pounding, my cock was throbbing. I had more or less forgotten why I'd even come into the bedroom to begin with. I decided to see if anything was on the camera, but its battery appeared to be dead.

My solution was to take the camera to my study - it used a now old-school large format compact flash card. I opened the little door, ejected the card, fumbling around my shit until I found a card reader and cable, finally getting it connected to my computer. I made a folder, selected all the files on the card, and copied them to my hard drive. I decided to pause, to restore KK's stuff to the bag in case she came home unexpectedly. It took a few minutes for me to compose myself, and get everything back in place like I thought I'd found it.

I went back to the study to see what the camera image files might reveal. I was shocked by what I found. There were probably a hundred or so images. The first I looked at was of KK in what appeared to be a hotel room, or perhaps an apartment - the scene was in daylight, with KK partly in silhouette in front of a plate glass window. The background was washed out, out of focus, so there was nothing that gave a clue as to the location. KK was wearing the jeans and blouse that I'd found in her bag. The furnishings were contemporary, the room was neat, but otherwise unremarkable. To one side of the room, there was a bed. On the other, a chest of drawers. Whoever was photographing KK was on the opposite side of the room, maybe 10-feet or so from her.

The next image was like getting gut-punched. KK was standing in the same spot, however she was attired in the merry-widow, stockings, and fuck-me pumps! My wife's big tits protruded from the open cups of the satin merry-widow. Despite the distance from KK to whomever was photographing her, I could see that her nipples were erect, spiked up hard, she was smiling seductively at the camera.

I felt like I was suffocating - unable to get my breath. My heart and head were pounding, and despite being seated at the desk, I felt dizzy, off-balance like I was falling. My cock was agonizingly hard.

The next several images were marginally executed by whomever was photographing my provocatively dressed wife - kind of standard figure poses. The sequence ended with a single shot of KK on the bed, legs spread wide apart - she was finger-fucking herself on camera! My eyes burned, tearing up, while I experienced waves of incongruent lust thinking about the scene captured in the photograph. I fumbled around, taking my throbbing cock in hand, stroking it while I stared at the image of KK masturbating on camera.

I lost track of time, stroking and staring at the image of my wife, my darling, engaged in an obscene scenario, entertaining, performing for some unseen stranger, allowing herself to be photographed. She was looking at the camera, a sly, dirty, knowing smile on her face, fingering her pussy for her audience.

Finally I advanced to the next photo. What I saw stunned me - I felt as if I was going to black out from the wave of combined emotions that the scene provoked:

KK was obviously kneeling between a pair of male thighs. Her right hand gripped an enormous cock! KK fingers wrapped around the erect organ, at its base, exposing at least another hand's length of penis shaft up to the circumcision scar, which was capped with a plum-size glans, pink-red, engorged. My throat was closing, I felt unable to breath - KK's hand on this monster cock was enough by itself to evoke conflicting feelings of rage, jealousy and unmitigated lust.

She was looking at the camera, smiling, with wide eyes, clearly pleased with the thick, long cock in her grasp. KK's tongue protruded slightly, curled against her upper lip. I knew what was coming - I'd see her mouth taking that monster meat in, I knew she was contemplating pleasuring that cock-meat with her tender lips and wet tongue.

I stared at the shot, my cock throbbing, my entire body trembling, sweat forming on my brow, my disbelief at what I was seeing in the image was a gnawing in my core, tearing at my gut.

The next several shots were as I'd predicted, depending on my oscillating perspective, worse, or better than I was able to imagine. KK was between the man's legs, giving his monster dick a dirty, naughty, totally perverted sucking and licking. The final shot in the sequence was probably the most erotic. One of KK's hands was not directly visible, probably squeezing or manipulating the stranger's balls, or possibly she had a finger in his anus - the other hand grasped the horse-cock at its base, as KK had her pretty red lips wrapped over the cock-head down to the coronal ridge.

My cock was beginning to leak, semen dripping onto my hand as I stared at the perverted scene while I stroked myself. I forced myself to advance to the next image, trying to distract myself from blowing a load of cum all over myself, my desk and everything nearby. The next several images were some sort of train-wreck - whomever was handling the camera was distracted. The images were out of focus, disoriented, useless. There were a dozen or so like that, which proved enough of a distraction to bring me back from the edge of an explosive orgasm.

The two final images were the most stunning, simultaneously heart-breaking, yet totally erotic. The penultimate shot was in focus, framing KK's torso, and her lover's torso just as she was lowering herself on the enormous hard cock - the stranger's cock-head was almost, but not quite in contact with KK's obviously wet labia, her pink-red pussy lips were slightly parted to receive him. I found myself salivating, burning with sweat and denial of what was obvious - my wife was going to sit on this cock, impale herself on it!

In the final shot, the logical, inevitable conclusion, KK had managed to take the entire gigantic organ totally, she was impaled on the enormous cock, it was buried inside her, they were pressed together pubis to pubis. The image was otherwise free of context, just a man, and a woman, my wife, coupled intimately together. I ejaculated, spraying cum all over as I was overcome by the provocative sight.

In that moment of terror and orgasmic delight, the world around me went black, first a blur, then dimming, then total darkness. I can't fully describe the experience - otherworldly, out-of-body, like I was momentarily snuffed out of existence.

At the point I regained my composure, I found myself panting, unable to catch my breath, hot, dripping sweat, yet feeling chilled to the bone, shaking, my eyes tearing up, feeling alternating waves of anger, hurt, lust, and disgust. My own spunk was covering my hand, and my cock was still turgid, twitching.

[jw_kk]

When I was able to move again, I rose from my desk chair, my cock dangling, wet with cum, then went to the bedroom. I felt the need to shower, that somehow it might wash the inexplicable, conflicting feelings I was immersed in away. It was all a blur - several times in the shower, I found myself stroking, visualizing KK impaled on that monster cock, imagining what she was feeling, what she was experiencing. It made me ill, sick to my stomach, at the same time, it made me throbbing hard, overcome with lust.

I stayed in the shower so long the water began to cool off, as the hot water was exhausted. I finally got up, finding my fingers pruned up a little from having been wet for so long. After I dried off, I put on fresh clothes, deciding to get fully dressed, in the hopes I could restrain myself from the urge to spend the rest of the day jacking off, looking at the photos of my wife's illicit 'congress' with the horse-cock stranger.

I managed to avoid that waste of a day, after making extra copies of the images, and putting them into my encrypted hard drive for some later purpose.

KK got home in the late afternoon. She was marginally conversant, even a little pleasant in contrast to her more recent tone. I wanted to take her - to reclaim her - I wanted to throw her onto our bed and fuck her senseless, use her body, spend myself inside her - it was all I could think about. I had to fight the urge to man-handle KK, to regain some form of husbandly 'control' over my wandering wife. It took every ounce of energy I could muster.

Over dinner, the conversation was nothing of consequence - distracting small-talk, boring, mundane stuff, while my mind was occupied with thoughts of pressing KK for details about her overnight encounter, demanding to know who the horse-cock stranger in the photos was, I went with the charade and distraction of meaningless small-talk.

Although I couldn't find a reason for it, as dinner was nearing its end, KK retorted, "Did you talk to your little mistress-cunt today? How is your stupid little bitch? Any news?"

I was feeling trapped, stunned, and stammered out, "No... don't know..."

KK's comeback was terrifying; "I talked to the dirty little bitch... told her to do us all a favor. It'd be so fine if the nasty little cunt would end it... end it all... maybe she'll save me the trouble. You just make sure that you keep your dick in your pants, and maybe things will work out OK... for you..."

I could feel the chill wash over me, the slack feeling of fear, like a rabbit in the teeth of a fox. KK got up from the table, with a "Thanks for dinner. I'll leave you to clean up, and maybe we'll talk tomorrow."

That night I slept in the study again, unable to fight the compulsion to jack off, looking at the collection of KK's little photo collection - I stroked until I was unable to cum any more, my balls drained, aching, stimulated by the illicit photos.

Over the course of the following week, things around the house got a little more cordial between KK and I. Texts and calls from Bev continued, but they were more sparse - I kept ghosting her, deleting the texts and voice mails without reading or listening to them. KK was still banishing me from our bedroom, but at least we were having polite conversation in between work and other activities. There were no new threats of violence against Bev.

Then on Thursday, things took a negative, dramatic turn. I got a call from my admin at the office while I was off-site in a meeting. It seems KK had been at the office, looking for me, had flown off the handle, enraged that I was not where she expected me to be. Never mind that my shared calendar showed me in a business meeting - KK's conclusion was that I'd snuck off to rendezvous with Bev...

As I was contemplating what to do, I got a '911' text from Bev. The one text became a stream of texts, misspelled, minimally coherent, something about being chased! Then Bev called. I answered, mostly out of reflex, partly out of concern. Bev was screaming, crying, I could hear what sounded like honking, along with the sounds of wind and traffic.

Sparing the knitting together of it all, Bev relayed to me that KK was chasing her by car, in the north part of town, having accosted her in the parking lot of Bev's office. Bev told me that KK had her purse and her wallet, and that she thought KK was trying to ram her car, or run her off the road. It was a total shit-show. I tried to figure out where Bev was, and when I had an idea of her location, I told her to go to a familiar place, an office building that had a relatively secluded parking garage - that I'd meet her there in 20-minutes. I told her to drive around, and not get out of her car until I could meet her, that I'd handle KK.

I left my meeting in a panic. It took me a little more than 20-minutes to get to the parking garage. I made my way up the ramps, finally as I crested the 4th floor ramp, I had Bev's and KK's cars in sight. KK had Bev blocked in. She was out of her car, bashing Bev's driver's side window with a purse, both hands on the strap, swinging for the fences, screaming obscenities; "whore," "cunt," "slut," "I'll fucking kill you!" - an endless, awful stream of curses and threats. It took me another 15-minutes to even begin to deescalate the situation. I got KK into my car, moved hers out of Bev's path, picked up the torn, tattered purse and handed it to Bev through the window. I hurried out of the garage with KK in my passenger seat, crying, enraged, still cursing a blue streak - just as I was turning out of the garage onto the street, a police car turned into the garage. I just about shit myself, but I kept driving.

We did not head straight home. In the mix of things, I turned off my phone - Bev had begun texting and calling, which did not help matters with KK. It inflamed her even more, the threats KK was spewing were almost incoherent, "cut out her cunt," "chop off her tits," and worse...

I drove for almost an hour, until we were in suburbia north of town.

We found a nice wine bar that had outdoor seating. It was late afternoon, but I managed to talk KK down sufficiently to go have a glass of wine and sort things out.

I figured that Bev was not going to take any of this lightly, I was worried, concerned about the aftermath; a police report, assault charges, a bucket of worries and troubles that would all require unwinding.

KK and I shared a bottle of wine, by the time it was emptied, she was calming down. I ordered another bottle, hoping to continue deescalating things. KK was somewhat conciliatory, in that she'd not found me banging Bev, or the two of us together. KK even gestured at an apology, for making a scene.

She was still intermittently injecting death threats against Bev, which I tried to "shush" - fortunately there were just a few other customers on the patio, and KK's tone was reasonably quiet, so I don't think anyone heard the specifics. I stopped drinking, because I would have to drive home eventually. KK polished off the bottle, becoming calmer, a little more docile, a little worn from all the anger, emotion and intensity. She said, "I need to go lie down. Take me home, let's forget this awful shit. That little dirty whore-cunt can go fuck herself."

On the ride home, KK fell asleep. When I got her in the house, she put herself to bed, taking half an Ambien, against my objection. I waited a while, checked on her, and when I decided KK was safely out/asleep, I called a sympathetic friend to assist me in retrieving KK's car.

I went and picked him up, then headed to the parking garage. Fortunately KK's car hadn't been towed, but there was an orange 'tow' sticker plastered on the side window. I swapped places with my friend and we ferried the cars back home, then I went to drop him off. When I got back to the house, KK was still out of it. I decided to scrape the towing sticker off, and inspected the car for other damage. I half expected Bev to have done something in retribution, but there was no damage, no key-striping, no dented doorways, nothing.

Later, on checking email, I found a series of blasts that Bev had sent after the incident; threats to call the cops, press charges, etc, mixed with the expected "your fucking wife is a crazy bitch" retorts. I decided, probably against better judgement, to call Bev and see if I could talk her down. Sparing the details, I was mostly successful, promising Bev I'd manage the situation, if she'd just give me a chance.

It was a long, lonely, anxiety filled night as Thursday passed into Friday. I got almost no sleep. I left KK in our bed, alone, checking on her every once in a while, but I decided not to press my luck and sleep with her. I had to be at work Friday, leaving before KK got up. It was a difficult internal debate as to whether to take KK's car keys with me, or hide them somewhere, to reduce the possibility that she'd awaken and go hunting Bev again. I decided against it, and left her keys on the hook by the garage door.

The day was uneventful, the next several days, generally less tension-filled, were incident free. KK seemed to be leveling out, Bev's constant texts and calls had nearly ceased.

I was still ridden with various anxieties from the incident between Bev and KK. I couldn't shake the curiosity, morbid, prurient curiosity about KK's recent encounters, especially the overnight "date."

The totality of the recent series of events seemed mostly surreal; from KK's 'car fuck' in the parking lot of Oliver's, the certain knowledge of her fucking that same stranger in our marital bed the next day, and her overnight encounter, corroborated by photographic evidence, I felt overwhelmed with conflicting sensations of lust, anger, remorse, guilt and anxiety.

A week passed, and things generally seemed to be smoothing out. There was no more discussion about the Bev-KK car chase incident, and nothing apparently in the works by KK on the getting fucked front - I'd started concluding that perhaps it was blowing over, that I'd brought it all onto myself, that KK was just taking revenge for my backsliding with Bev, that I deserved what I was getting.

Over that weekend, I got a call from a colleague inviting us to a holiday party event in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. In discussing the event, there was really no polite way for me to decline it. I left the opportunity open, as an unconfirmed "maybe," with the excuse that I'd have to check with KK to see if her schedule would allow for it.

I looked at our shared calendars, finding nothing that was in conflict. Later that evening, over dinner, I broached the possibility with KK. To my surprise, she agreed. KK gave the go-ahead to make plans for the trip, which would require a morning flight, rental, hotel, and late afternoon return the day following. KK asked me to send her the detailed itinerary once things were set, telling me she'd add it to her calendar. I reserved a suite at one of the Marriott hotels near the event location, booked tickets and a rental car.

In the next several days, not much of note took place. KK was still banishing me from the bedroom. I was feeling the anxiety associated with the lack of sex on top of everything else. Bev was ever-present in the sense of nagging, begging, coercive, dramatic and threatening because I was ignoring her. Bev was doing her best to seduce me into a booty call, a constant flow of sexts, lewd photos, and teases/taunts about the opportunities I was missing kept me at a high simmer; they were mentally exhausting, as I tried to cap the lust I was feeling for Bev.

The time came for KK and I to make our trip to the DFW area. KK packed the night before, consulting me only about the nature of the event and any dress code - I didn't help her pack, or prepare, still mostly banished from our bedroom. The morning of, I drove us to the airport, we navigated the gauntlet in the terminal, boarded, and had an uneventful flight. I left KK in the terminal exit area while I took the rental shuttle to pick up the car, then returned to fetch her.

When we got to the hotel, KK was with me at the desk. I used Marriott's efficient express check-in - the clerk asked me how many keys I needed - KK interrupted me, with "Two please."

It seemed a little off, but I was nervous and unsettled, off-balance, and didn't challenge or question it. The clerk generated two keys, placed them in folios, passing them to us on the desk. KK grabbed one, almost as if she was trying to make sure I didn't have a chance to claim both keys.

The remainder of the afternoon was uneventful. KK used the hotel's spa service, so I spent most of the dead time working from our suite. KK was back by late afternoon, and the two of us dressed for the event.

I became hopeful, optimistic, (later to be proven unrealistic) that I might finally get laid after the event. KK had a new (to me) dress, a black number that was embossed or embroidered with a pattern, form-fitting, with the hemline ending just above her knee. It was semi-sleeveless, with a deeply cut, kind of squared off neck-line. It was extraordinarily sexy. The sexiest part was she donned the dress with no panties, and no bra, leaving her sexy legs bare, wearing a pair of black mid-heel pumps - KK almost never goes out without stockings or pantyhose. Sans underwear, I was hopeful KK was feeling horny because of the hotel stay, being away from our routine, and Bev. KK even let me zip her dress up, but was otherwise quiet and seemed a little distracted or detached. I was unavoidably turgid, that sense of arousal from too long without sexual release, but I pounded the urgent need to fuck down without pressuring KK for pre-event sex.

The details are unimportant - KK and I met our obligation by attending, giving everyone at least the appearance of normalcy. The entire time, I was distracted, my cock semi-erect, leaving me with a feeling of self-consciousness, worried that someone might notice - I was visualizing taking off KK's dress and ravaging her in our hotel suite, fucking her senseless.

I did my speaking thing, we had dinner, socialized, then left for the hotel around 10:00pm, as the event wound down.

As I pulled into the hotel drive, things took an unexpected turn. KK said, "You can let me out at the entrance. You'll need to make yourself scarce for the next several hours. I've got a date. I'll text you when I'm done. I don't want you hanging around here like a lost puppy, so be a dear and cooperate."

I was speechless. I gurgled out, "What the fuck? A date?"

KK's response was, "Exactly - a date - I'm going to get well and thoroughly fucked. You run along now - keep your phone on, and I'll text you when I'm done. No arguing."

KK got out of the car, strutting off through the hotel doors. I was completely stunned. I felt physically ill, confused. My skin felt like it was burning. Waves of nausea were welling over me. I sat there in the drive, until the valet knocked on my window and asked me if I needed assistance. I lowered the glass, and told him "No, I just needed a second to think about directions..."

I left the hotel drive, aimless, dazed, overcome by terror, dread, jealousy, rage, mixed with a conflicting sense of sexual arousal - was KK really on a "date," intending on getting fucked in our hotel room, having given me the boot? It was surreal.

I ended up over by Dallas Love Field, in somewhat familiar territory. A block or so ahead, I spotted a familiar "gentleman's club" - I figured I could kill some time there. I pulled in to the parking lot, then ditched my suit jacket and tie, tossing it into the back of the rental car. I found an ATM in the establishment's lobby, and pulled $400 out. I paid cover, which was annoying, then went inside the club.

Unable to think clearly, I got nabbed by one of the hostesses, who navigated me to the second floor of the club, where the VIP tables are located. I ordered a drink, vodka on the rocks. The first couple of ladies that solicited me for a table dance were blondes, attractive, but neither really did much for me. The third entertainer who came to pester me was different, a brunette, with big eyes, long hair, full lips, and petite. She was "my type" for certain. Long story short, I blew all the cash I had in hand, along with another $700 on my Amex on her. I drank far too much, lost track of time - at 2:00am, the club shut down, and I got escorted out to a waiting cab. The sole saving grace was a text from KK; which read: "Don cam com back."

It took me a minute to interpret the text, as "Done, can come back." I was not fully coherent myself, but I managed to tell the cab driver where I needed to go. When I got back to the hotel, I had to scrounge for cash - the cab driver wasn't taking credit cards, and I ended up making a jaunt to the hotel lobby, to extract cab fare from the ATM. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, I found that I'd left my jacket, the pocket of which contained the folio with my room key, in the rental car, now miles away in the titty-bar's parking lot... I had to run the gauntlet with the annoyed desk clerk to get a replacement room key.

Adding insult to injury, I was developing a splitting headache from too much booze, feeling queasy, and I had to piss like a race-horse. I was almost doing the pee-pee dance like a little kid I had to go so badly. It seemed like an eternity before the elevator got to my floor.

I did an ungainly, knock-kneed sprint down the hall, fearing I was going to piss myself. It took me two tries to get the key card to work - I was convinced the desk clerk had fucked it up. Finally the LED blinked green, and I got the door open.

Then things went all upside down for me. The room absolutely reeked of the stale scent of alcohol, sex, a blend of musky pussy scent, cum, and a hint of "ass." KK was sprawled out naked on the bed, snoring. The room looked like it had been tossed.

The scene was the aftermath of absolute debauchery!

In the overwhelming confusion, I pissed myself, unable to hold it any longer, then I vomited, trying to choke it in, instead barf dribbled out all over my shirt. I went to my knees in a puddle of piss and vomit, feeling as though I was on the verge of blacking out.

I stayed on my hands and knees, facing the floor until the waves of nausea passed and the room stopped spinning, then crawled around to close the door. I nearly tore the buttons off my puke-stained shirt trying to get it off before the smell made me barf again.

Still on my knees, I could hear KK snoring like a freight train. To my right, I saw a pile of trash on the floor; a champagne bottle on its side, a couple of plastic cups, and stuff that wasn't immediately recognizable - my eyes were burning, my vision blurred. When I was able to focus, I could see a pile of condom wrappers, and what were clearly several used condoms there on the floor beside the bed.

I managed to use the foot of the bed to get to my feet. There was another champagne bottle in the bed next to KK, with another shriveled, used condom near it. I looked toward the window, drapes open, to see KK's party dress tossed over a floor lamp. One of her pumps was orphaned next to the lamp's base.

Scanning the room, I saw the mate near the chest of drawers. I turned my attention back to KK. She was completely out, butt-naked, lying on her back, legs apart. There were what looked like pink-purple bruises around one of her areola, a bite mark on the inside of her right thigh, along with what looked like smears of makeup and lipstick smudged on her face. I felt another wave of nausea welling up, and hurried to the bathroom.

That space too was a total wreck - towels on the floor, the toilet seat up, more condom wrappers on the floor, in the trash can, along with clearly spent condoms carelessly tossed around, one in the sink basin, another drooping over the rim of the toilet, a third on the floor near the tub. I hurled again, trying to hit the bowl, but splashing it, the floor, and the side of the vanity with puke.

[jw_kk]

It was awful! My head was pounding, I had difficulty standing, weak-kneed, wobbly, feeling gut-punched and overwhelmed. There was one wash cloth left, the only remaining clean bath linen, which I ran cold water over, to wipe my face and chest. I wrung it out, and rinsed it again, hanging it over the shower curtain rod.

I was lost for what to do. KK was clearly bombed, from the looks of things, she'd either been fucked senseless by a guy with amazing stamina, or she'd been used by more than one man. It wasn't at all obvious what had transpired, other than drinking and crazy sex. It crossed my mind as a positive that whoever had been fucking my wife had at least used condoms - KK hates them, and would never have "made" someone use a rubber.

Before I left the bathroom, in the pause of feeling like I was going to die or puke, I kicked off my shoes, managed to take off my piss soaked socks, my suit pants and boxers. I rinsed the one sock that had taken the brunt of it, and hung it over the shower rod. The pants were another story - I shook them over the tub to knock off the vomit, made sure the pockets were empty and put them onto the shower rod along with the wet sock. I stood there naked, shivering slightly, which oddly made me feel a little better.

Leaving the bathroom behind, I went back into the main part of the suite. The first thing I did was root through KK's cosmetics bag, until I found a bottle of Advil. I took four, went back to the bathroom, using my hand to get a gulp of water, as all the cups were dirty. After I downed the Advil, I returned to the suite. My original intent was to start cleaning things up. It took less than 30-seconds to figure out I wasn't going to complete that task in any meaningful way - I was feeling too ill, the mess was overwhelming, nasty, basically disgusting.

I dragged one of the soiled towels from the bathroom, spread it onto the floor, kicking various chunks of trash onto it. I managed to get most of the crap onto the towel without having to touch it, save for the used condom on the bed next to KK, and another I found in her shoe!

I ended up with a towel full of condom wrappers, spunk filled rubbers, three empty champagne bottles (I'd found a third, partly filled bottle half way under the bed, which had spilled onto the carpet), cups and Kleenex, which I dragged to the bathroom. I rounded up the remainder of the trash in that space, filling the trash receptacle to almost overflowing.

Staggering at that point, I made one more scan of the room. In one corner, I found a man's dress sock, brown. Under the desk, wedged between the leg and trash can, I found a pair of men's "tighty-whities," and near the foot of the bed, almost out of sight, a men's white athletic sock! The evidence spoke for itself - there had to have been at least two men KK'd been entertaining that night!

I felt another wave of nausea coming on, so I paused, hoofed it back to the bathroom, took some deep breaths, splashed my face with water, taking another gulp from my palm, until the sickness passed. That was all I could do - I looked at my watch, noting it was after 4:00am. We had a noon check-out, and a 2:00pm flight - it was going to be ugly.

Back in the main part of the suite, I collected KK's shoes, her dress, laid the dress on the back of one of the chairs, setting her shoes on the desk. Setting the alarm for 10:00am, I was done. I turned off the last of the room lights, and collapsed on the bed next to KK. My head was spinning, I was dizzy, even lying down the room was spinning.

Incongruously, my cock was hard! Not rock hard, booze and fatigue were interfering with a proper erection, but I was still erect, turgid. KK was naked, passed out, and I'd not had any sexual release in weeks. My alternatives were few - I managed to get off the bed, found a small tube of complimentary lotion in the basket on the bathroom sink. I returned to the bed with it, uncapped the tube, slathering up my cock with the cold gooey lotion.

I was beyond horny. I stroked my cock like a madman, until I blasted jets of cum all over my belly. The whole of the time, I was imagining, visualizing what must've happened in that hotel room in my absence; the fucking, sucking, fingering, unhinged sex that must have transpired, my wanton wife getting banged by two or more men. The longer I stroked my cock, the more men I imagined in the scene, two, five, ten... who knows.

My pathetic erection was persistent - even after unloading what seemed like a gallon of cum, I was still aroused. Still feeling conflicted over the situation as a whole, I decided to go at it again. It took me forever to cum, but I was determined to pump all the cum from my aching balls as I was able, fueling my mad stroking with the visualizations of KK, penetrated by strange men.

I crashed, still feeling ill, my head pounding, stomach churning - I could feel my pulse thumping in my temples, hearing it in my ears.

When that wretched alarm went off, it seemed as though only moments had passed since I'd laid down. Sunlight was blasting through the open window - I'd neglected closing the drapes. KK was still out, rolled on her side, facing away from me, snoring away.

My head felt like I'd been in a prize fight, my mouth tasted like booze and vomit. The room was cold, I was shivering, naked and covered in goosebumps. When I had my bearings, I called housekeeping, requesting two sets of fresh bath linens.

The room still smelled of sex and stale champagne. I got some sweats from my bag, putting them on, in anticipation of housekeeping arriving with towels. The room was an absolute disaster - I was going to have to leave a big tip for the housekeeping staff, because there was no way to disguise or otherwise cover up the horrible mess. The towels arrived, I scrounged a ten-dollar bill out of KK's purse, exchanging it through the partly open door of the suite for the linens. The housekeeper's face screwed up, likely from the awful smell, and she went on her way.

I let KK continue sleeping while I showered, doing my best to pack things up. It finally dawned on me that the rental car was still in the titty-bar parking lot! That was going to be a bitch to explain, and would be a pain to retrieve. My suit jacket and tie were still in it, and I couldn't remember if I'd left anything else in it - for a brief period, I considered sacrificing the jacket and tie, just calling the rental car company to go pick the damn thing up. I decided against it, scrawled a note for KK, and went to the lobby to get the concierge to round up a cab ride - while I waited, I got more cash. Fortunately traffic was light, I made the trip in just over a half hour. I had the valet hold the car, since it was nearing noon.

When I got back to the suite, KK was just getting around. She was completely hung over, bitchy, crabby, somewhat disoriented. I told her there were fresh towels in the bath, that if she could manage, there was time for a quick brunch before we had to catch our flight. I was rewarded with the sound of KK retching, as she tossed her cookies onto the floor... it was definitely going to be a rough morning and afternoon. I managed to get her cleaned up, dressed, and packed up, but we were 30-minutes past our scheduled check-out time. I couldn't find her hotel key, but I tossed mine into the express check-out box as we exited, dumped our bags into the rental car, and I tipped the annoyed valet an extra twenty for holding the car.

KK was silent on the drive to the airport, looking almost green from being hung-over. Somehow we got through the airport mess, and on the plane without further incident. KK was too hung-over to eat, so we skipped that. KK slept the entire flight, slumped against the window.

The flight was on time, but it was early evening before we got home. During the drive from the airport to home, KK never said a word - each time I tried talking to her, I got a nasty stare and grimace.

When we got home and into the garage, KK said, "Take care of the luggage. I'm going to shower and go to bed."

As she exited the car, I asked, "How about dinner?"

KK's only response was a head-turn, stern look, and gruff "No!"

She went in through the garage entry, leaving me to unload the car. I hauled her purse, and all the bags in, temporarily dumping them in the hallway near the door. After I got everything in the house, the garage closed up, I went to check on KK. The master bedroom door was locked. I felt a combination of anger, anxiety, disappointment along with discouragement. I felt like I was at least owed some sort of explanation. I waited at the bedroom door for a while, but there was no sign that KK was going to invite me in.

I trod down the hall, noticing the pile of bags in the floor, including KK's purse. I picked it up, intending to take it to my study to snoop. I hoped to find some clue about KK's "hotel date" - her phone was inside the bag, but she'd locked it with a PIN code. I tried a few things, until the phone would no longer respond. That was a dead end.

There was nothing else readily offering a clue, other than there was a strip of three wrapped condoms, and a little tube of lube in one inside pocket of the bag. While I probably should have felt some little sense of relief from that discovery, it only made me more anxiety-filled and angry.

The condoms and lube were clear indicators of KK's intent - she had been planning, prepared for sex.

I put everything back the way I found it, and returned KK's purse to the entry hall table where she usually leaves it.

I did the same routine with her overnight and roller-bag, each in turn, rifling through them in the privacy of my study in case KK ventured from the bedroom. There was nothing of interest in the overnight case; cosmetics, "girly junk" like her shampoo and conditioner, a card from the hotel spa, a small spray bottle of her perfume, and a couple of panty-liners. A bust..

The roller-bag was only slightly more interesting in terms of contents - some sexy black lace panties and a matching bra that seemed unfamiliar, a pair of unworn heels, wrapped in tissue - I think the heels may have been new; black velvet with sparkly stuff embedded in the fabric, another cocktail dress, one I recall having seen KK wear before, but no other clues about who, or how many "dates" she might have lined up for the hotel tryst.

I slept alone that night in my study, in a combination of despair and lust, reliving in my imagination what KK might have been doing in the hotel room, while I stroked my hard cock. I could see her in my mind's eye, sucking strange cock, bouncing on hard, glistening penises, the object of several men's attention, sucking, fucking and being used by many men. It was fodder for three good jerk sessions, before my balls felt empty. After the last session, I contemplated calling Bev, but fought off the notion.

Laying in the recliner, I felt simultaneously angry, in despair, and horny. I felt desperate for sexual release, somehow empty after my stroke session, using thoughts of KK being fucked by strange men in our hotel bed. I thought about picking the bedroom door lock, a simple thing to do, and going to reclaim KK in some sort of dramatic scenario, but I knew that would probably not go in my favor. I slept it off as best I could.

I had early meetings the next day. KK begrudgingly awoke, let me into the bedroom so that I could shower and dress, then returned to bed while I completed my routine.

I had difficulty focusing throughout the workday. My thoughts oscillated between visions of KK bouncing on a hard cock, being man-handled by strangers on the hotel bed, and simmering, seething anger and jealousy. It seemed an eternity before the day was over and I could depart for home.

When I got to the house, it appeared that KK must've taken the day off. Her luggage was cleared from the hallway, the house was orderly, there was a scent of roasting meat and vegetables - perhaps a pot roast. There was some music in the background, and when I entered the kitchen, I found KK sipping wine, and preparing a tray of rolls for the oven.

KK was wearing a pair of cotton draw-string 'short shorts', socks, and a crop-top tank without a bra. Her nipples were protruding through the thin material of the top, distinct, like she was aroused. The shorts were inappropriate for wear in public, KK's ass-cheeks were almost visible under the hemmed leg openings, and the shorts were tight on her skin - KK had a visible camel-toe, an indicator of no panties... It was an arousing sight.

I went to her for a hug, a kiss, and a grope, but she responded only with a peck on my cheek, pulling away from me, while wagging the knife she held in her right hand toward me, a slight smile on her face, and what I took as a joke, "Don't make me cut you..."

I stepped back, in retreat, as KK said, "Dinner in about half an hour... pot roast, taters, and carrots... yummy! Why don't you have some wine and relax until I call you?"

With her suggestion, I retrieved a glass, poured some wine from the bottle on the kitchen counter, and went to the den. I decided to play along, rather than press KK for anything, particularly the need to bend her over the kitchen counter and satisfy myself.

Dinner was uneventful - certainly enjoyable, but there was an air of artificiality, an "elephant in the room," plastered over with mundane conversation about work and general life bullshit. I was distracted, finding myself ogling KK's ample tits, nipples protruding under the thin cotton of her tank top, while visualizing her bouncing on some dude's hard cock - I only half-listened to her chatter.

The remainder of the night would best be defined as deliberate, low-level sexual teasing and torment, with KK parading around in her too-short shorts and crop top, bending over, stretching, and showing herself off knowing that I was on the edge of tossing her onto the den sofa and taking her. It was nothing short of torture, and KK knew it. Around 10:30pm, she announced it was bed time, and asked me if I needed anything out of the bedroom before she retired.

I felt angered, after her deliberate sexual teasing I was going to be shut out again. After a pause, I told her I'd just be a minute, and asked if she'd reconsider and let me sleep with her in our bed. Her retort was curt, harsh, "No, none of that. You're on your own."

I went, dejected, and rejected, down the hall to the bedroom to change into some sweats, sorting out whether or not I'd challenge her. In the end, I wimped out, and stayed another night in my study, left with nothing other than my thoughts, and the opportunity to jack off using the photos from KK's overnight encounter to soothe myself.

The days passed along similar lines, and with each passing day, I got hornier, feeling blue-balled at KK's sexual neglect, along with a simmering hostility - fixated on her infidelity, her rejection, her secrecy and refusal to discuss any of it with me. KK cut me off at every avenue, outright telling me more than once to "fuck off, none of your business."

By the time ten days of this treatment elapsed, I was beginning to feel desperate, my anxiety level off the chart, combined with the feeling of being 'starved' sexually. Off and on, I considered calling or texting Bev to arrange a hook-up, fortunately I didn't act on the impulse, fearing what might happen if KK became suspicious or concerned.

On a Friday night, I came home from work a little late. I was pressed for time the whole of the day, and when I made my way in through the garage entry, I found KK in a mood. It seems I'd neglected to respond to one of her texts, and I'd failed to let her know I was going to be late getting home.

KK turned that into an imaginary scenario in which I'd almost certainly been in a clandestine hook-up with Bev. She was enraged, angry, vicious toward me, and I got the third-degree interrogation, trapped between the garage entry door and my angry wife - I was experiencing a fight-or-flight reaction as KK chewed on me, accusing me of backsliding with Bev again.

I did my best to convince KK that nothing was going on, that I'd just gotten busy at the end of the workday, ran a little late, and apologized for being inconsiderate and neglectful. It didn't seem to take.

KK spun on her heels, down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind her. I felt sunk, hollow, yet angry and annoyed - by this point, I'd not had any interaction with Bev in weeks, certainly no sex or physical contact, while in the same span of time, my dear wife had been defiantly, blatantly fucking some collection of strange men.

There was no sign of dinner, so I optimistically decided to prepare something, hoping that KK would cool down, and better heads would prevail if there was something good to eat. I went to the kitchen, then to the wine cellar, returning with a bottle, which I uncorked and poured. I found some suitable ingredients for a meal; greens for salad, some left-over dinner rolls, and a couple of filets that I could grill.

I got dinner ready, assuming KK would appear, and hoping that she'd changed her outlook after having time to cool off and digest my apology. Hearing the distinct click of heels on the tile floor was the first sign that my optimism was unwarranted.

KK stood in the kitchen entry, and I'm fairly certain my heart skipped a beat. She was wearing an outrageously hot leather dress with a zipper front, her lace bustier visible beneath the partly unzipped bodice, black hose, and a pair of 'fuck me' platform stiletto pumps. KK's hair was down, her lips shimmering, bright red, luscious - she'd done her make-up to maximum effect, and the whole look was 'bend me over and fuck me.'

KK said, "I'm going out. You're on your own. Maybe next time you'll have the simple courtesy to call. If I find out you lied, that you've been fucking that dirty little whore, I'm going to cut your balls off and feed them to her, choke her to death on them. Don't wait up!"

KK turned on her heels, and exited via the garage door. I was stunned, at first more or less paralyzed, so it took me a few seconds to respond. I bolted for the door, intent on stopping her, but she was already in the car, backing out even before the garage door was fully raised. The tires on her X3 barked against the garage floor as she backed up, barely clearing the bottom of the garage door on her way out. The last thing I saw was the fury, a glare in her eyes as she flipped me off.

In the process, I burned the filets - a small grease fire on the grill turned them into cinders. Somewhere in the shocking turn of events, I'd even managed to drop my wine glass - it lay broken on the floor in a puddle. I had enough snap to snuff out the grill fire, pausing long enough to catch my breath.

After cleaning up the mess, I was no longer hungry, and my optimism was eroded completely - I was in a state of despair, near overwhelming anxiety, fear, anger, frustration, and a twinge of lust, occasionally visualizing KK in that fuck-me leather dress and heels, thinking about what she might be up to, fueled by her anger.

I texted KK a couple of times, about an hour apart each time, but got no response. Shortly after midnight, I got a text - it wasn't from KK - instead it was a '9-1-1-' from Bev. I didn't respond, and predictably within a few minutes, Bev called. Against my better judgement, I answered the call:

"You fucking bastard! Your psycho fucking wife's outside the house, throwing shit at the door. She's with some amazon red-head bitch, and I'm pretty sure they're both drunk. You got ten minutes to call the crazy bitch off, or I'm calling the cops!"

The phone went silent, and Bev ended the call. I was enveloped with a feeling of dread and panic. I went looking for my car keys, and couldn't seem to find them. While racing around the house, my phone rang again - it was Bev:

[jw_kk]

"The fucking psycho bitches are gone. Some dude just collected them from the street in front of the house, I think in her Beemer. You keep that fucking bitch away from me, or I'll call the cops. I'm gonna get a restraining order!"

I did my best to apologize to Bev, and begged her to not escalate - I explained that KK was still convinced that we were hooking up, and that we'd been together earlier that day. My explanation didn't seem to matter, as Bev's threats continued, talk of having KK arrested, a police complaint, the restraining order all continued to surface.

The saving grace was that I hadn't left the house to intervene - my misplaced car keys had saved me from what would've probably led to a bigger disaster. I was beside myself with terror - "some dude," "some red-headed bitch," "they're drunk," and so on, none of it was rational, none of it was good.

I spent hours pacing, texting, calling, but got no response. I figured the "red head bitch" Bev referenced was Becky, KK's best friend - combined with the descriptor 'amazon' (a reference to Becky's height) that had to be her accomplice. I texted Becky as well, but got no reply.

I went out onto the deck to have some tequila and a smoke to try and take the edge off while I thought about a plan of action. I heard a dog bark, breaking the night silence, then I heard what I thought was the doorbell, and a loud knock at the front entry. I extinguished the remains of the reefer I was trying to enjoy, knocking over the shot glass of tequila in the process as I rushed inside.

When I reached the front door, I couldn't see anyone on the other side. I undid the dead-bolt and latch, opened the door, and there was my wife, dead-drunk - she was slumped against the entryway, a minimally responsive train-wreck. There was nobody else around, no car, no nothing, just my sloppy-drunk, nearly passed out wife.

I got KK into the foyer, by fireman-carry, and managed to get the door closed behind me. I didn't have a clear idea of the time, other than it was after 3:00am, so probably none of the neighbors were witness to the scene.

Carrying KK down the hall, I placed her in our bed as gently as I could. She was barely conscious, muttering, spitting, her make-up a mess, her hair tangled and matted on one side, runners in her stockings, the knees torn open, with a little fine gravel mashed into the abraded skin on one kneecap. KK's dress was half unzipped, her bustier missing, leaving her boobs bare and partly exposed. She smelled of cigarette smoke and liquor.

Stepping back from the bed, I evaluated what to do next. Save for her disheveled appearance, the the abrasion on KK's knee, she didn't appear to be injured or hurt. I took her pulse as a precaution, and it was OK, not thready or week - it seemed she had really tied one on, whatever else she'd been up to.

I decided to clean her up a little, particular the abraded knee, so I left her there on the bed to go get a wash cloth, some Neosporin, water, and some Advil. Returning to the bedroom, I managed to get the Advil and water into her, before she passed out, basically limp, breathing, but dead to the world drunk.

I pulled off her heels, then reached under the hem of her dress expecting to find the waist band of pantyhose, intending to pull them off. Instead, I found she was wearing stay-up, thigh-high stockings. I stripped those off first, then knelt to wipe the gravel off her knee abrasion. I cleaned up the minor wound, and massaged a little Neosporin into it. Next, I unzipped the leather dress, and got her free from it.

KK was naked, out cold, limp. I couldn't resist, deciding to examine her, ostensibly looking for injury, but partially indulging my prurient interest to look for signs of sexual activity. I was simultaneously delighted, and disappointed, in that it was obvious that KK had been fucked. Her rectum was slightly in a state of prolapse, pink-red, irritated, a rivulet of creamy brown-white leaking from deep inside her. KK's pussy had clearly been abused, the skin of her labia irritated, she was open, almost gaping - it was painfully obvious she'd been fucked, and by the looks of things, fucked well.

The incongruent surge I felt combined lust, repulsion, and anger - my cock was hard, while I fought waves of nausea over what I was seeing. I was left with few choices, with overwhelming surges, waves of nausea, and decided to retreat to my study hoping it would pass, hoping the awful feelings I was immersed in would fade.

As I made my way to the study, I was overcome with a wave of nausea. I had to make a stop in the guest bath, barely making it to throw up into the toilet. I sunk to my knees, the room seemingly swimming around me. I vomited again, my skin clammy, but despite the sick feeling, I was hard again.

Once the nausea passed, I rinsed my mouth out in the kitchen sink, gulped down a couple of glasses of water, then decided to rest on the den sofa. I suppose at some point exhaustion got the better of me, and I fell asleep. I awoke late Saturday morning to KK bumping around the kitchen, fumbling about noisily trying to make coffee. I got off the sofa and went into the kitchen. KK had on a short silk kimono, and her hair was tied back, wet, as if she'd just come out of the shower.

I asked her if I could help with the coffee, her response was an affirmative nod. I took over, and got the brew started. I elected to stay silent until the pot was ready, pouring KK a mug full of coffee, asking her if she needed something to eat. Her reply was, "Maybe some toast..."

While KK sat at the table in the breakfast nook, I made her a couple of slices of toast, and topped her coffee mug off. I mustered the courage to say, "Babe, we have to talk. This is crazy... I can't keep doing it..."

After a lengthy pause, KK said, "I know. I can't either. I'm sorry about last night. I think I'm in trouble. I don't know."

We chatted for a few minutes about tactical matters; where her car was, her missing phone and purse, and related things - finally agreeing that while I showered and cleaned up, she'd call Becky to figure out next steps on the car and her belongings.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, KK had managed to speak with Becky - her car was safe, parked at Becky's, along with her purse, and phone. She'd arranged to have me drop her off around noon to retrieve it, and our plan was to return home for a more lengthy discussion.

Once we got past all that, KK and I spent the entire remainder of the weekend, into Monday morning, in deep discussion about the events of the last several weeks.

One outcome was an agreement to arrange for joint relationship counseling, to commence as soon as we could identify a mutually agreeable therapist.

Another outcome was to put a hiatus on drinking, at least for a while - booze wasn't helping either of us at that point, and it was clearly causing KK problems, along with posing big risks due to alcohol-clouded behavior.

The most immediate action from our discussion fell mostly to me. After a fairly heated conversation with KK, she demanded that I take a sort of public action with respect to Bev - "breaking up" with her while KK witnessed the moment. Her initial demand was that it would be in-person; my argument against it prevailed. An in-person situation would almost guarantee an emotionally out-of-control outcome, so we reached a compromise - it would be over the phone, with Bev on my phone in speaker mode, aware that KK was listening.

It was truly awful. The sole positives were placating KK, and that it wasn't in-person - my sense that it would've devolved into violence was pretty accurate. The intensity of anger and emotion on the call is too much to describe.

After it was 'over' KK demanded that I destroy the phone, and get a new number. I conceded to her demand, letting KK smash the phone to bits. We went to the Verizon store that Monday morning and I cancelled the old number, got a new one, and a replacement phone. It took almost a month of inconvenience to deal with the aftermath, restoring my personal and business contacts. I lived in fear that Bev would surface, either at home, at my office, or somewhere in public to confront me for cutting off all contact - fortunately I was spared that humiliation.

About two weeks later, KK and I started joint counseling - talk therapy. After the third session, the therapist recommended that we both engage in individual counseling in addition to the joint session.

After the sixth session, and discussion with our individual therapists, the recommendation was that despite the discomfort and pain, KK and I should divulge 'everything' to one another, in detail - including affairs, any infidelity, any thought or desire of infidelity, basically "coming clean" - the notional value included trying to rebuild trust, forgive each other, reduce or eliminate suspicion, and learn how to be open and transparent with each other about our sexual and intimate needs.

What followed was an extraordinarily rough year. The "coming clean" was Mount Everest difficult. The process we used was an amalgam of recommendations from the three therapists involved. That amalgam was to use a dedicated 'date night' every week - an intimate dinner, maybe a movie or other outing, followed by confession, taking turns while in bed together, touching, making out, essentially setting the stage as if the confession was some form of romantic pillow-talk or fantasy role-play. The idea was that it might take the sting out of things, and provide a foundation to turn something otherwise difficult and painful into something useful.

It took a while, and lots of effort on both my, and KK's part to accomplish this. Eventually, we got through it - our mutual confessions and disclosures were both profoundly painful, as well as oddly erotic. I experienced numerous spontaneous, hands-free ejaculations during KK's confessions, sometimes so intense that I felt like I was going into blackout mode.

Working 'backward' in time, KK's starting points for confession included her perspective of the car-fuck/afternoon-delight guy from Oliver's. In that case, it was an act of revenge, pure retribution for KK's perception that I was still fucking Bev.

Her overnight encounter was opportunistic, a one-night fling with a colleague rumored by her co-workers to be a horse-hung stud - more revenge sex, intended to gouge me for the Bev infidelity.

The hotel debauchery was intended to attract my attention - it sort of backfired so far as KK was concerned, she expected to engage in a revenge threesome with two guys she contacted on AFF - it ended up being a six-man, out of control drunken gang-bang that spiraled out of KK's control.

In the finale, KK was convinced I was home late after caving into an encounter with Bev - her anger led her to another revenge-driven fuck, with Becky as her 'wingman.' They got busy drinking, ended up drunk and threatening Bev, while a friend of Becky's drove them around, ultimately banging KK before depositing her on our front porch, drunk and fucked.

Sparing the narrative, I learned that KK had never been happily monogamous. Even though it was clear that she loved me, as her primary partner, KK needed the freedom to enjoy the attention of other men. Her personality traits included novelty-seeking behaviors, attention-seeking, a nearly compulsive need to feel attraction from, and to other men, and other lesser factors.

One thing we both sorted out was the result of misdiagnosed and improperly treated mental health issues with KK. She has an unusual form of bipolar disorder - it manifests as mostly a manic phase thing, without the classic highly depressive component. Before the 'transition phase' triggered by my disastrous affair, KK had, as part of recovery from her last infidelity undertaken treatment. The psychiatrist / therapist team that she worked with misdiagnosed her as suffering from depression - Zoloft was prescribed for treatment. As it turns out, Zoloft can exacerbate hyper-sexual behavior in individuals with bipolar disorder. For KK, that was the case - the Zoloft superficially appeared to treat and manage her depression, but in fact it masked things, then caused her to withdraw emotionally from me, while 'enhancing' her manic phase, with increasing bouts of hyper-sexual behavior.

In the 'now' context, eliminating the Zoloft in a controlled manner, my learning to accept and support KK's needs, even if they included sex with other men, and rebuilding trust led us into the lifestyle we've come to enjoy.

For many, all this may be inconceivable - for some of us, it seems natural and normal. Accepting, and experiencing one's partner engaged in uninhibited sex with someone else is indeed on one extreme of the distribution - no denying that. In our case, it has resolved dozens of issues we routinely faced, and is a mostly positive aspect of our relationship.

[OOAA]

What a terrible story in terms of hard and emotional suffering episodes.... You were brave, most of us would have broken the relationship with KK...

[two4fun]

i think there are some mental health issues involved here

[DaveS]

Both of us experienced numerous infidelities, from opportunistic one-night stand sexual encounters, to "traditional" affairs interweaving sex, emotional attachment, even financial entanglement.

I read this story from start to finish - very well told, both heart and gut wrenching in places.

The narrative seems to start with the aftereffects of your affair with Bev, but it seems you had both been previously unfaithful. I am curious to know to what extent KK had been unfaithful prior to this story.

And I also assuming that Bev was not your first indiscretion?

No judgment - my first wife and I were both having affairs toward the end of our 20 year marriage - I even fucked her sister a few times during the last year of our marriage. My second wife and I took a different path - and have kept it open and honest.

Edit - just by chance, as soon as I finished this, I just happened to come upon your comment in the "Who fucks other women?" thread - so I now have an idea of your history. Still curious about kk though.

[jw_kk]

Both of us experienced numerous infidelities, from opportunistic one-night stand sexual encounters, to "traditional" affairs interweaving sex, emotional attachment, even financial entanglement.

I read this story from start to finish - very well told, both heart and gut wrenching in places.

The narrative seems to start with the aftereffects of your affair with Bev, but it seems you had both been previously unfaithful. I am curious to know to what extent KK had been unfaithful prior to this story.

And I also assuming that Bev was not your first indiscretion?

No judgment - my first wife and I were both having affairs toward the end of our 20 year marriage - I even fucked her sister a few times during the last year of our marriage. My second wife and I took a different path - and have kept it open and honest.

Edit - just by chance, as soon as I finished this, I just happened to come upon your comment in the "Who fucks other women?" thread - so I now have an idea of your history. Still curious about kk though.

KK and I have both had numerous infidelities. That I know of, KK's indulged herself with more than a dozen, from one-night stands to more traditional emotional/physical affairs. She has never been happily monogamous, even from the time we started dating, through our engagement, and into marriage.