by Vivian Ward
Wrapping my legs behind his back, my hips are at the perfect angle so he can penetrate me as deep as he wants. He grabs my wrists and holds them above my head, against the pillows, as he watches my breasts bounce with each thrust he delivers.
I love watching him fuck me, feeling him move inside me, and looking into his eyes as my hips rebound against each of his deep movements.
It doesn’t take long until his cock is pumping in and out of me at a wicked speed before his face tenses and I feel him swelling inside of me, my large breasts gaining momentum as he fucks me harder. I smile knowing that he’s about to cum in me and start to match his rhythm as he delivers a thick cream pie.
My favorite.
Nobody could ever fuck me like my husband does.
Not ever.
Chapter 3
My husband started to seem overly protective of his computer, tablet, and phone which I found odd. One day while he was helping his mother move a giant cabinet she just had to buy, I decided to go through his browser history since he was gone on my day off.
That’s the great thing about having Sunday’s and Monday’s off. I get one weekend day and one weekday.
I couldn’t find anything of importance on his tablet, so I decided to go through his computer next.
Nothing. It was all clear. He must have cleaned his cookies before he left. Damn.
But then I minimized his browser, and that’s when I found my first two clues, but I didn’t realize they were clues just yet because I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.
“Hey, Cathy!” my co-worker yells as she walks by me.
“Hi, Judy,” I wave at her.
Grabbing the machine schedule, I note what material we’re running today and start getting my station ready. I hate shift changeovers because the managers want you to be quick, yet not make any mistakes.
I’ve made lots of new friends since I started working at the factory. I go to company events where I brag and like to show off my family, I’ve joined different groups within the community and started to find a new purpose in life. Hell, I’ve even picked up a few new hobbies like crocheting even though it’s very grandma-like, but hey it prepares me for the next stage in my life, right?
Margie became my closest friend shortly after we met at work, though she started after I did. She’s short and a bit stocky, looks Italian but she’s not, has unruly brown, curly hair and is way loud. I think she runs on two volumes: mute or Metallica.
She has a great personality and tits that any woman would kill for because they’re so big and perfectly centered on her chest. Despite being almost a decade older than me, her boobs look much better than mine.
Some bitches have all the luck, but she’s my bitch, and I love her. She’s so fucking fun to hang around, and she can cheer you up no matter what’s going on.
My friends at work invite me out to the bar and over to their houses pretty often. A lot of them have kids the same age as mine, so we give the kids the house while all of us grown-ups hang out around a campfire in the backyard, drinking and laughing until the wee hours.
Sometimes we play pool, sometimes we swim, or sometimes we all get together and play cards. There is always something to do with all of my friends that I’ve made at my job, but I never hang out with Jeremy or Larry; or Randy for that matter.
I could never hang out with any of them outside of work, not like I do with my girlfriends and their husbands.
Bent over digging out the end caps that I need to fill the packing boxes, I hear a soft whistle.
“You need some help with that or should I sit back and enjoy the view?”
The powerful machines make it impossible to tell who’s talking to me, so I turn my head and look over my shoulder. It’s Jeremy.
I should have known.
“Are you the supply runner today?” I holler at him so he can hear me.
I hate being a woman sometimes. Our voices don’t have the base they need to be heard over all the equipment at work, so I do a lot of yelling at my job.
As a result, my husband and kids tell me how loud I am every time I talk, but I don’t notice it and can’t help it. Maybe Margie and I are more alike than I realize.
“Yeah, what do you need today?”
“Look at my supply sheet. I don’t remember everything that was on there,” I yell as I finish scooping the last of the end caps up that I’ll need until the first break.
Walking over to my work area, I drop the end caps in a basket next to my station and step closer to Jeremy as we read my machine schedule together. He doesn’t move, and he smells so good.
I guess I’m not the only one who can spray shit on.
Without meaning to, I lean a little too close to him and deeply inhale his cologne, soaking in the aroma. Polo Blue to be exact. It’s one of my favorite scents, and I know what it is because I bought it for my husband for our last anniversary.
We’re standing close enough that I can see his stubble. It’s probably been two days since he last shaved, maybe three. I like a little scruff; it adds character.
He’s not the best looking guy out there, but I think he’s cute. Jeremy’s about 5’10 with light brown hair and brown eyes, a complete contrast to my husband.
Brett is well over 6 foot tall, so he’s got some height on Jeremy, and he has dark brown hair that’s almost black, and his eyes change color with the season. For the most part, his eyes are blue, but sometimes they turn hazel in the fall or appear green in the spring.
Jeremy and I are almost the same age, he’s a year older than me, and a bit overweight but not bad. He’s just a typical guy with an average build.
“Looks like you’ll need some Gregory boxes,” he says, pinning my schedule back to my post.
“Gregory boxes? What the hell are those?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “How long have you been working here?”
“Apparently, not long enough to know what Gregory boxes are,” I shrug, pouting my bottom lip out.
“Jesus, woman. What would you do without me?”
“Probably get fired, but you’d miss me too much, so you’ll never let that happen.”
“Yeah, I got your back. Wish I had more, but you know,” his voice trails off.
I know exactly what he means.
Out comes the blushing and grinning. I’m the worst at hiding my thoughts and feelings, but it also works to my benefit when I’m upset about something because I have no problem addressing that, either.
Turning back to my station, I get my boxes ready and set up for the next order while Jeremy runs off to get the Gregory boxes, whatever the hell those are.
At break, Larry, Jeremy and I go outside to smoke even though I quit years ago. I still like the smell, and it gives me a reason to hang out with them.
The cold morning spring air bites my skin as whips past us. We’re sitting at a wooden picnic table behind the factory, and I scoot closer to Jeremy to stay warm. Since he’s a big guy, he’s good at blocking the wind.
He sits up, straightening his back like a gentleman to shield me from the chilly wind and smiles down at me.
“Have you seen the latest Impractical Jokers?”
“Yeah, it was really good. I watched it with Brett last night and it was hilarious.”
He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket, “Wanna watch it again?”
“Sure,” I say, grinning up at him, leaning in just a bit closer .
Larry’s busy texting on his phone while Jeremy and I laugh together until the end of break before we all go back inside and finish out our shifts.
And maybe that’s why I feel so damned guilty. Had I known what has been going on in my husband’s mind, in my own house, I might not have felt as bad. But you never really have a way of knowing what’s going on inside someone’s head.
The two clues were porn clips that he downloaded to his computer, but all guys watch porn. I mean, any guy I’ve ever met usually has a backup porn stash for or from their bachelor period
. My husband came equipped with his own, so I was surprised to find porn downloaded on his computer.
And it wasn’t that I was surprised at seeing porn on his computer, but it was what kind of porn that I found most baffling.
One title was Wife Cheating Fucks Stranger and the other video was Slut Wife Taking BBC.
I had no idea what the hell they were so I decided to watch them. He apparently liked them so much that he had to download them to his computer which he’s never done in the past. At least, not that I know of anyway.
Normally, he just streams porn from various online sources. In all the years we’ve been married, I can’t remember a single time that he’s downloaded porn.
I push play on the first video and watch a woman being taken from behind by a man of average size. There’s nothing that stands out to me about the video, but I do notice it’s amateur porn. If there’s any type of porn my husband likes, it’s definitely amateur videos.
Continuing the video to see what happens, I begin to notice something else.
Where the fuck is this being recorded?
It looks like they’re in a bedroom. Maybe hers?
But where is the camera? Where is it being shot from?
No sooner than I think this, the camera moves just a bit so I stop the video and rewind it back a few frames.
Someone’s holding the camera. I keep watching. Oh shit! He’s in the closet.
But who would be in the closet? I’ve never seen any camera man hiding in a closet.
That’s when it hits me that the husband is in the closet video taping his wife fucking some guy he doesn’t know.
That’s….odd? What the fuck? Why would this guy record his wife doing such a thing?
Ohhhhh.
Probably for evidence that she cheated so he can keep the house, kids and whatever else he wants.
Nonetheless, it was still a good video of this wife getting it real good from someone the husband didn’t know so I can see why he’d like it. He’s always been a fan of doggy style.
I’d give this video five thumbs up because it was pretty good, even if she is a cheater and about to lose everything under the sun. The sex was really hot and intense.
Moving onto video number two, I press play and right off the bat, I notice this is also an amateur video. No surprise there.
A woman with the whitest, creamiest skin I’ve ever seen—even whiter than mine— is lying on the bed, masturbating and a tall, dark brother approaches the bed. He’s as black as an Ace of Spades.
He wastes no times lifting her legs over his forearms and starts hammering it into her. As I’m watching her get what looks like the pounding of her life, I suddenly notice another dick on the screen! It’s at the bottom of the screen, barely visible.
What the hell is this?
I keep watching and that’s when I realize that whoever is recording has their cock out, jacking off and that the camera’s at the perfect angle to record this guy stroking himself while he films.
This one ends very anticlimactically with the guy pulling out and cumming all over the girl’s tits and then the footage cuts off right away.
I’d say this one gets three thumbs up but that’s only because of the way she was able to fit his monstrous dick inside of her. There’s no way I could ever handle something that size.
I make sure that I restore my husband’s browser back to its normal position and get everything back on his desk just the way it was before he left so he doesn’t know I was trying to spy on him, but what I found doesn’t help me any.
He’s watched porn since the day I met him and I know his taste. These two videos were really racy so I can see why he likes them, especially the first one.
But none of this explains why he’s become so secretive about his electronics.
Chapter 4
There are men galore at my factory job, and some good looking ones, too. There is enough testosterone in that plant to last for hundreds of years.
I have always told myself, “Cathy, don’t even go there. You’re married,” anytime I flirt with the guys, but I can’t help it.
We are on the same crew, working 12-hour shifts together three to four days a week and spend all of our breaks together.
At first, I was just the new girl, and they were training me when I first got my job, teaching me how to do things. Jeremy was the one who primarily taught me, which might be why I connect with him so well. There have been plenty of fuck-ups on my part, but he’s always covered my ass to keep me from getting in trouble.
But then one day things changed.
I caught him looking at me. He noticed me.
We smile at each other, laugh, tell jokes and often flirt. Eventually that fun, light-hearted flirting became a bit heavier, more dramatic.
Initially, I thought, “What’s the harm? We’re both married. Neither of us would ever go there.”
Would we?
I mean, he loves his wife. Yes, I’m sure of that.
And I know I love my husband. I talk about him all the time, so surely everyone knows how I feel about him.
Every time I come home from work, my husband asks how my day went, and I describe all the machine break-downs or how swamped we are and, somehow, his name always came up.
Jeremy.
Like I said, my husband knows me better than anyone else. In fact, he knows me so well that he can almost read my mind. It’s like he knows what’s going on in this head of mine.
It’s scary.
Too bad I can’t say the same for him. I never know what he’s thinking. His poker face is much better than mine.
One thing that doesn’t help my cause is that I’m an honest person. I’m an open book, and I suck at hiding shit. I’ve told a handful of white lies in my life, but I’ve always come clean about them sooner or later.
Brett notices the grin on my face every time Jeremy’s name comes out of my mouth, the way my eyes light up, and how I even giggle when I mention him.
I didn’t even realize I was doing it until my husband started calling me on it.
“Look at you,” Brett says. “Look at how your face lights up when you talk about him. I know that look,” he sets his beer on the patio table.
It’s a lovely summer evening, and the two of us are enjoying the warm breeze with a small fire in the backyard while the kids are fast asleep inside. It’s a rare occasion that we get to enjoy.
My eyes turn into round saucers. I don’t know why I’m so shocked that he’s blatantly asking me this.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Deny. Deny. Deny.
Yep, that’s what I do. I could never tell my husband about the boyfriend joke at work. There’s no way he’d understand.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cathy,” he leans closer to me. I can smell the hops on his breath, and I hate the smell of beer. “I used to watch you tell all of your little friends about me when we first started dating, and that’s how your face always looked when you talked about me.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I take a long sip of my wine cooler and poke the fire, pretending that it needs my attention.
“And that’s the same look you get when you talk about him,” he pauses. “Or your other little boyfriend, Larry.”
The way he emphasizes Larry’s name makes my stomach twist. How the fuck does he know? How can he tell?
I knew I was developing a little crush on Jeremy, but that’s all it was.
A crush.
Right. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. I’m a married woman. Married women don’t get crushes or go outside of their marriage. Do they?
“You know what I think? I think you’ve had too much to drink, Brett.”
“Maybe,” he says, tossing his empty bottle into the trash. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I see it whether I’m drunk or sober. Don’t forget, Cathy, you’re mine and I know you better than you know yourself.”
He’s right, and I can’t deny that.
&nb
sp; “We better get to bed soon,” I slide out of my seat. “If we’re going to move into our new house, I can’t waste my day off tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.”
Brett takes one last swig before he rises to join me and the two of us go back inside, leaving the fire to burn out on its own.
“Hey, babe,” Brett says to me. “How are you planning on getting the rest of the stuff from our house?”
We’ve been moving for the past week, and although it hasn’t been fun, it is nice to move into a bigger house that gives us more room.
Our little family has been living out of boxes while we unpack in the new house, but there are still a few odds and ends at our old place. I’ve been dreading going back over there to finish up our move, but I’m so ready to be done with it.
“I’m not sure. It sucks that you have to stay put with the kids and work because I’d like some help.”
I need some help. Some of those odds and ends include a window unit on the second story and taking down our curtains, which means my small ass will have to carry around a ladder and climb the damn thing to get the rest of the window dressings.
“I wish I could go over to the old house to help you but I can’t. What do you think the best way is to get the AC unit out of the window upstairs? I don’t think you’ll be able to lift it out, at least without dropping it.”
Honestly, there’s no way I can do most of the things that are left by myself, and I need a second pair of hands to help me. Jeremy instantly comes to mind. He’d give me a hand in a minute; I know he would.
“I could maybe ask one of the guys at work,” I offer.
Brett presses his lips together, not missing a beat, and tilts his head. His body language tells me that he’s already accusing me of something before anything even happens.
For all he knows, I could ask my friend Amy to help me. She’s a big girl who can reach high stuff and lift heavy things. I’ve seen her do things at work that I’d never be able to do in a million years.
“One of the guys, huh?” he looks at me from the corner of his narrowed eyes. “And which guy would that be?”