My Wife and the Stairs

I’d been married to my wife for seven years. Our marriage was going pretty well, though it had gotten rocky in parts. One day, my wife started going for “long walks” at night by herself. She said she needed to clear her head and walk by the waterfront. Right away I didn’t buy it – she would dress a little too nice for a night walk. When she would come home, she would avoid coming to bed right away, but when she eventually did, I could smell alcohol on her every time. I quickly surmised that she must be going to one of our many local neighborhood bars, so I resolved to follow her one night.

It wasn’t very difficult to follow her. One night, after she left our apartment, I listened for the elevator bell – as soon as she was on the elevator, I shimmied down the back stairwell (we were on the fourth floor) and managed to make it to the back of the building quickly. I knew if I didn’t hurry, I might lose her. But I moved swiftly, and spotted her leaving the front of the building, and she didn’t spot me back – her back was turned to me as she headed towards what I knew was the nearest bar in proximity to our apartment.

I followed her all the way to the bar. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to find a spot outside the bar where I could sit on a bench and see her through the windows.

It was not what I initially expected. She sat at the bar and chatted with the bartender all night. I could tell they had spoken before as their manner with each other seemed very familiar. I should have just gone home, but I stayed on the bench for almost three hours. By then the bar was closing down, so I figured that I had better move from my spot or she would spot me on her presumably imminent exit. So I sauntered across the street where I could follow her after she left. I figured that once she got close to the apartment, the bartender would drop her off. and I could circle back around to the back entrance and make it up the back stairs before she got to our door, thus preventing her from knowing I had ever left.

But I was again surprised. After waiting nearly 30 minutes after the bar closed in my new hiding spot, she finally emerged – arm in arm with the bartender. It looked like he was walking her home. At first I thought they were going back to his place, but as I followed them a fair distance behind, they were clearly headed toward the apartment my wife and I shared. And I was right. I was thinking that I could watch from outside our building’s front entrance to see what would happen next. Watch to see if he would just drop her off or if he would go in for a kiss. I figured that was about the worst that could happen given that she knew – or thought, rather – that I was at home, so I wasn’t worried they were going to back to my place. I started feeling silly, like this whole adventure was probably my overactive imagination. But then, with me following behind far enough not to cause suspicion, I received yet another surprise – they went straight in the front entrance of the building, together.

At this point I panicked, figuring they were headed for our apartment. They hadn’t kissed out front so maybe he was literally walking her to her door. I had lost sight of them, so I ran to the front entrance, but by the time I got there, they had already gone up the elevator -or so I thought. The night security guard, who I had been tipping very well lately to keep his eyes and ears open, put his finger over his mouth to signal silence, and silently pointed toward the front stairwell door, which was next to the elevator. Had they taken the stairs? Yes they had indeed.

I gingerly opened the front elevator door and it slid open without a sound. I could hear them on the next level up, on the second floor stairwell landing right above me. They were talking quietly, so I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Then it got quiet suddenly. I inched forward up the steps. Now I could see them, and if they had been facing a different direction, they would have seen the top of my head peeping up and around the corner stair.

She was facing the wall of the second floor stair landing, with her hands pressed against the wall. The bartender was behind her, also facing her, and lifting up her skirt. He lifted her skirt to her waist, exposing her ass, as she wasn’t wearing any panties. He gently moved her legs further apart. Then he unzipped himself and dropped his pants. He lifted his erect penis with one hand, spread my wife’s ass cheeks open with the other, and slid inside her. They fucked quickly, and I didn’t watch it all for fear of being seen, but the parts I didn’t see I could still hear from lower down in the stairwell. When he told her he was going to come, she told him he could come insider her, which I could then hear him doing.

After they had finished, I suddenly realized I had better scram. I slid back out the first level front stairwell door, and went up the elevator, and managed to get home before her. I was in the kitchen when she came through the door. She asked what I was doing up, but before should could finish her sentence I was after her. She ran for the bedroom but I caught her first and threw her down on the bed. Saying nothing I lifted her skirt up and put my fingers inside her, and they came out wet. Now she knew that I knew. But she could also tell, since I was lying on top of her, that I had an erection. She grabbed it and started rubbing me, saying nothing. I entered her right there, and she was still slick and wet from the bartender. What followed was the best sex we ever had. And she stopped going out at night after that day. Our marriage improved for a bit, and we didn’t speak of that night much. But it wasn’t meant to last, like so many things in life. After about a year, she left the country suddenly with a European businessman she met online, and I never saw her again. While I’ve moved on, I will never forget that night, or her.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/km9zlo/my_wife_and_the_stairs