We were naked on the bed in our bedroom. We lay there sticky and spent from epic make-up sex. We’d come together after six months separation. The sex had been carnal. Crazed. Sweaty. We’d been quiet for several minutes after. Just breathing.
Then my wife said, “I was with some guys while we were separated.”
I was quiet for a bit, absorbing that revelation, not totally surprised and somewhat relieved, then I said, “I was with G.”
She turned to look at me, “My friend?”
I turned to look at her. I said her friend’s full name.
She inhaled, blinking rapidly. Turned away from me and stared at the ceiling.
“Quantify ‘some guys’ for me.” I said.
After several long moments she cleared her throat and said, “Three.” She told me their names, prefacing one of them with “a guy named.” I knew the other two. Well.
I turned away from her and looked at the ceiling too. My heart was beating so hard it almost hurt.
After several more silent moments she turned on her side reached and placed her hand on my chest. “You okay?”
I sat up. Exhaled slowly. “I will be.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not … that’s okay though.”
She didn’t say anything. Her hand lay on the bed between us.
“It didn’t mean anything.” She said. “It was just sex.”
“Yeah … I understand.”
She didn’t say anything for several long moments. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m hurt. Maybe I’ll get mad later, but right now this is difficult for me.”
She said, “You think this is easy for me? You had sex with my friend. Several times sounds like. She didn’t tell me she was seeing you … we met for coffee a week ago and she didn’t say a thing.”
I turned to look at her. She sat up, hugged her knees.
“You mad that I had sex with your friend? Or are you mad that your friend didn’t tell you she was having sex with me?”
“Both … and you didn’t just have sex with her; you had a relationship with her. My friend!”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘a relationship.'”
“I bet she would. How long you seeing her?”
I shrugged, “Couple … not quite three months.”
“You stay with her?”
“Sometimes.”
She got up from the bed, snatched her glass from the bedside table and walked over to pour herself more wine from the bottle on the dresser. She drank it looking at me.
“You fuck her in the ass?”
“Jesus!”
“Did you?”
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad! I’m hurt!” She exaggerated the last word, using air quotes.
“Fuck you. You had sex with three guys! How many of them fucked you in the ass?”
She poured the remaining wine into her glass.
“Well? How many?”
She didn’t say anything.
“All of them … right? You let all of them fuck you in the ass. Even ‘a guy named’ R.”
She finished her wine, blinking tears from her eyes. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “I’m not mad at you for fucking my friend in the ass. I’m mad that she LET you fuck her in the ass.”
I looked at her. Confused. “So you’re mad at her.”
“It means she likes you … like … a lot.”
“So you’re mad at her. Not me.”
She shrugged, “She let you fuck her in the ass.”
I lay back on the bed. “So you’re mad she and I had anal sex?”
“Far as I know you’re the third guy ever to fuck her in the ass. Her college boyfriend, her ex-husband and now you.” She ticked them off on her fingers.
“She didn’t act like it was a big deal.”
“Because she knows we do it.”
“Did.”
“Did.” She agreed.
We said nothing for several moments, just stared at each other.
My wife said, “I’m going to open another bottle of wine.” She walked out of the room & went downstairs.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute feeling confused and irritated. I got up and took a piss, then went downstairs. My wife was standing at the patio door in the kitchen, still naked, looking out on the backyard. She didn’t turn to look at me.
“Now what?” I asked.
She didn’t say anything for several moments, then she sighed. “What about my friend?”
“What about her? What about the three guys you fucked?”
“Are you in a relationship with her?”
“No.”
“Does she know that?”
I hesitated, “I don’t know … I think so … I mean, I didn’t say anything that would make her think that’s what I was after. Least I don’t think I did.”
My wife was blinking tears from her eyes.
“What the fuck? Why am I defending myself here? You fucked three different guys! One of whom was a stranger. I fucked someone we know. Jesus, did the guy even wear a condom?”
My wife didn’t say anything.
“Jesus fucking Christ … you’re such a slut.”
“He didn’t cum in me. He pulled out.”
“Oh? Well … that’s so much better!”
“Fuck you.” She sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands and started crying. Hard. It made her breasts shake.
I let her cry for a minute. Stood there trying to be tough. Hard-hearted. Then I started feeling bad. I went over and sat down, put my hand on her shoulder.
She looked at me, her face was mess. “I don’t want to fight.” She said.
“I don’t want to fight either.”
“I want you to come home.”
I hesitated.
“Please.” She said, “I don’t want to divorce.”
I sighed, “Alright.”
She leaned over and hugged me. Then she kissed me. Then she kissed my cheek several times. Then she hugged me for a long moment. Then she kissed my neck and slid her hands down my sides to my waist, then to my cock and balls. She kissed my chest awkwardly, then she was on her knees with my limp prick in her mouth. She moved aggressively. Hungrily. I leaned back and spread my legs wider. She worked on my prick. It got a little harder. As I stiffened she began to slow down, using her hands more – both on my cock and balls. When I was fully erect I took hold of the back of her head and pulled her head towards me, thrusting my hips forward, lifting my ass off the chair.
She gagged, choking, but didn’t pull away. I could feel the back of her throat. I grunted, holding her face tight against my pubes. Then I released her.
She pulled away. She coughed, a thick rope of drool hung from her chin.
“Turn around.” I said.
She immediately turned and lay her cheek to the kitchen floor. Lifting her ass she reached back and spread her cheeks.
I spit on her asshole. I took hold of the root of my penis and set the tip against her. Slowly I pressed down and forward. I felt her sphincter start to dilate. She grimaced, but pushed back against me. As my cock entered her she groaned. I could feel shit in her rectum. I pushed past it.
She cried out as I took hold of her hips and pulled her to me slowly, pushing against her tight hole until my pubes were grinding against her sphincter and her ass was mashed against my abdomen. She gnashed her teeth and winced, stifling a cry.
I paused, enjoying the feel of her. “Hurt?”
She grunted, “Yes.”
“Good.”
“Fuck you,” She chuckled.
I closed my eyes, rotated my hips slowly, then started a slow rhythm.
My wife licked her fingers, reached back and smeared her spit onto her asshole. She breathed in a steady, focused regularity. I could feel her fingers moving beneath my balls, she was rubbing her clitoris. Her sphincter began to relax. There was shit on my dick. I didn’t stop or wipe it off.
“You’re dirty.” I said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think we’d…” She hesitated and said, “Just … don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I said.
She chuckled again.
I moved steadily. She inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. She kept her eyes closed. I moved a little faster. She started to fart. She grunted quietly as I thrust myself into her. Her mouth was open slightly. She’d relaxed, wasn’t so tense now.
I sat back in the kitchen chair, pulling her with me, holding her ass mashed against my pelvis. She was breathing hard. She sat in my lap for a moment, leaning on my knees, then she lay back against me, her head on my shoulder, her ear to mine. She started moving her hips in a tight, frantic hula-type circle. Grinding her ass down against me. Her fat butt cheeks felt good. Comfortable. She reached back and gripped the back of my head. I reached under arms and cupped her heavy breasts, rolling her stiff nipples between my thumbs and fingers. I felt her smile. She was sweating. Her back was wet against my chest. I slid my hands down her tummy to her crotch. Dug through her damp pubes to find her clitoris. I felt her thigh muscles working against my palms, the tendons in her groin tighten and release. She whined as I rubbed her clitoris. Then she abruptly had an orgasm.
She panted and shook. Her legs convulsed. Then she slowed and sighed. She stopped moving her hips. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the kitchen table, my dick still up her ass. I rubbed my hand up and down her sweaty back, then reached and gripped her shoulder. She arched her back hard. I rocked my hips back and forth under her butt, my dick deep in her guts. She looked back at me over her other shoulder – a rapt look on her face that I found quite sexy. She pulled forward and sat back heavily.
I groaned, “I love fucking your ass.”
I got up from the chair, pushing her forward onto the tabletop. She turned away from me, reached across it and gripped the other side as I started to fuck her. I gripped her hips and thrust myself into her. Forcefully. Steadily. Rhythmically. I knocked the hot sauce over, the salt and pepper shakers.
She grunted and shook at I fucked her. Her ass made quiet huffing noises as I thrust into her. I pulled out and spread her ass, stared into her gape. I spat into her rectum and shoved my prick back into her. Now I was sweating. Breathing hard. I smacked her ass. Hard.
She said, “Yeah! Fuck me.”
I grabbed a wad of her hair and pulled her head back. I growled as I hammered my cock into her.
“Fucking slut.”
She wailed. “Yes. Yes. Fuck me! Yes.”
I held her hair and thrusted. I grabbed her tit roughly with my other hand, felt her nipple between my fingers. Felt my orgasm building.
“I’m gonna cum.” I said.
She groaned.
I came. I pushed deep. Clenching my ass tight. Thrusting a few more times. Then I relaxed. Breathing hard I stepped back. There was some shit. I left it and sat down.
She pushed herself up from the tabletop. She moved slowly. She pulled her hair from her face and hooked it behind an ear. She looked at me, then at my crotch. She reached behind herself, raising her hip to get between her cheeks. She looked at her hand and then went round the kitchen counter to the sink to wash her hands. She wet a dishtowel and wiped herself, folding it carefully, then again.
“We should probably just go shower,” I said.
She fished another dishtowel from a drawer, wet it and moved over to me, kneeling before me and wiped her shit from my dick.
She looked up at me, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
She stood-up, moved over to the laundry & dropped the dirty towel into the hamper. She was moving slowly, carefully.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
She didn’t turn around. “Didn’t you want to?”
“You okay?”
She turned. Nodded. “I will be … next week. Maybe.”
She winced as she sat down on the stool by the kitchen counter. Shifted so that she was sitting more on her hip than her ass.
We sat there looking at each other for a long time.
“I love you,” I said. “God help me, I do. But I hate you too.”
She smirked.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/a70ndw/making_up_is_hard_to_do_mf_anal