The Bitch Is Cheating on Us

by

Caution: This contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: : something a bit different

"What did you just say?"

I looked over at my wife, shocked. She'd just told me she intended to go to the Bahamas for a three day weekend with another man.

"Please, Mike. It doesn't mean anything, just a little fun."

"Not no, but hell no. This isn't what we agreed on, not at all. You better rethink your position. This is a deal breaker. Fuck, it's a marriage breaker. Does the group know about this?"

"I need to leave now, I think I'll take a bike ride."

"You need to think while I'm gone, seriously. This whole thing's gotten out of hand."

I walked out over her protests, hopped on my chopped out Sportster, and smoked the tire leaving. I ended up at a bar and grill thirty miles away.

It was one of my favorite places, had been around as long as I could remember. It was a popular spot, people from all walks of life would be there, mostly for the grill. They had the best cheeseburgers in town, hells bells, maybe in the whole universe. And you could feel safe there no matter who you were. The first sign of trouble and Bossman[the owner, an old biker] walked you outside with another bartender, and tapped you a couple of times with the bat he kept behind the bar, just to get your attention. Then he would explain in detail how much he hated anything that would cause his customers any unpleasant memories of his establishment. You were then sent home and told not to come back for a month. If you caused another scene, you were barred for life. After he beat the shit out of you.

For a place that served alcohol, had pool tables and an overabundance of bikers and rednecks, you never saw a more polite group of people. It wasn't the least bit unusual to see a guy in a suit playing pool with a biker, cussing each other on a first name basis, grinning the whole time.

I had just taken my first bite of burger, admiring the way the grease dripped delicately into the plate, when I heard my name called.

"'Sup, dude." said Garth, trying his best to look like a biker and failing miserably. I think he was born in a tie. And he was scared to death of motorcycles.

His wife Abby could definitely pull off the biker babe look. Blonde, nice rack, wearing a Harley shirt tied under her boobs, no bra, cut offs that almost showed cheek, and cowboy boots. I'd have bet my bike she wasn't wearing panties.

I took her on her first bike ride, and she was instantly hooked. She nagged Garth until he agreed to let her take driving lessons, if they were from me. I taught her how to ride on a 125 dirt bike, moving her up to small street bikes until she was ready. It took me awhile to find the perfect bike for her, a small Honda Rebel. Garth drove the support truck when our group rode.

They piled into the booth with me. Her nipples were standing straight out. We were in the back, so I reached over and pinched one.

"Glad to see me, Abbs?"

She giggled while Garth grinned. She tapped my arm.

"Behave! I'm still sore from last night. You live on Viagra or something?"

"No, just blessed with a good sex drive. And while you were screaming a lot last night, I don't recall it being 'stop' once." I grinned, remembering.

I'd spent a pleasant two hours with them last night. She loved being double teamed, and we let her fuck us to exhaustion last night. They were probably the best friends I had in our little group, maybe the best friends I had period.

They got their burgers and we talked a little. Abby could tell I was a little down, and in her usual forthright manner, asked what was bothering me.

"I think she's cheating on me."

Both mouths flew open.

"Belle? No way. What makes you think so?"

So I sat and told them. About her desire to go on vacation with someone else. About some of the things she had been doing lately. Their faces grew long, and Abby got pissed.

"Not cool. Not cool at all. I might have to call a meeting. This is a game changer."

I put my hand over hers.

"If it comes to that. But before you do, let me try to deal with it, okay? Maybe I can get through to her."

Garth spoke up.

"He's right babe. Best if he can handle it before it gets out of hand or back to the group. Luck, dude."

Abby hugged me as we stood up to leave, groping me and giggling, before pulling back and getting serious.

"You need us, call. Any of us. Understand?"

I nodded, kissed her cheek, hugged Garth, and we left.

He had met her there, she had ridden her bike.

She rode with me almost all the way home, both honking their horns when they turned towards home.

She wasn't there when I got home, just a note.

"It doesn't mean anything. I wish you wouldn't be such an asshole about it. I'm spending the night somewhere else, to let you cool down. Not with a man. I love you."

I got another beer, sat in the dark, and thought about how we got here.


She was twenty three, I was twenty five when we met. It was at a party a friend threw. She had just moved to town, was there with a cousin. There was an instant attraction.

She was attractive, in a tomboy kind of way. Tall, lean, fit, a redhead with a killer smile. She had been a jock in college, had gone on a volleyball scholarship, and had kept herself toned, working at a gym as a personal trainer, using her degree to design and implement routines for rich men and bored housewives. She was very successful.

I was in pretty good shape. I ran, and did a lot of hiking, and a bit of rock climbing. I was two inches taller. When she took the urge to wear her five inch 'you're so gonna get fucked tonight' heels, she actually looked down at me.

I had a good job, made really decent money. I was a factory certified Harley Davidson mechanic. It was a lot more complicated than it used to be because of the electronics involved. I was the senior mechanic at the local dealership, or rather, I was when I met her. Now I owned my own shop. My old place actually farmed out work to me when they were overloaded.

I now had three guys working for me. I even sold used bikes, on consignment, and sometimes I'd find a deal, tweak it until I got it in perfect shape, and resell it. I could work seventy hours a week if I wanted. I would never get rich, but I made a decent living.

We bought a nice three bedroom house. I thought it was a little large for us. I'd had an accident while racing dirt bikes when I was fifteen that left me sterile. The equipment still worked fine, I just shot blanks. I had a vague notion of adopting somewhere down the road, but she made it clear she didn't want kids, so I dropped it.

We were good together sexually, because we both loved to fuck. Four times a week or better, and multiple sessions during the weekend. She was a bit of an exhibitionist, and we often vacationed at topless beaches. I can shut my eyes and see her lying on a blanket in a tiny thong, her firm 34a breasts glistening with suntan oil, her nipples standing tall from the attention I had just given them.

We had an extensive collection of toys, including bondage gear. She loved being tied down, a dildo up her ass, vibrator with clit massager shoved deep in her pussy, while I fucked her face. She wasn't happy unless I made her gag. When I had come, usually all over her face or tits, I'd walk off and leave her writhing on the bed until it dried. She kept after me to let her use the strap on she had bought, but I flat refused. It was one of the reasons I wouldn't let her restrain me.

We were happy with each other for four years, completely faithful, when she came home bubbling one day.

"Guess what? The lady I'm training right now is a swinger! She told me she wanted to get in better shape to keep up with the younger girls in her group. Isn't that wild?"

I had never thought about it one way or the other. I'd had threesomes when I'd been single, MMF and FFM, even been involved in a gangbang or two. We had never talked about our sexual past, but I got the impression she was the female equivalent of me.

She was in hyperdrive sexually for the next two weeks, fucking me until I was actually sore. I'd go to sleep with her still grinding away on her toys, actually glad she had them.

She skirted the issue, asking questions, giving hints, gauging my reaction. I could see her mind working, and wasn't really surprised when she came home with an invitation to dinner with her new client and her husband. Curiosity got the better of me.

Gail and Tom were both in their early forties. He held a position in the corporate offices of a national insurance firm, and judging by their house and cars, it paid well. She was a homemaker, by mutual decision. Their youngest had just left the nest.

They were an attractive couple. He was pretty fit for an office man, told me they had a small gym at work, and he spent his lunch hour there three times a week. Gail showed me a picture before she had started working with Belle, and I complimented

on her progress.

She grinned, hefted her 40D rack, displayed in her low cut dress, and grinned.

"It's the only time in my life I've ever considered these a drawback. I have to wear an industrial strength sports bra or I'd knock my self off balance on a regular basis."

We laughed, relaxed a bit more. They were a fun couple. It was a good dinner. We drank a bottle of wine, taking the last glass into the living room. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Belle told me about your lifestyle. I've got a feeling that's what this evening is about. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

They all seemed a little shocked, especially Belle.

Tom smiled. "Not at all. I appreciate your directness. Ask anything you like."

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Story tagged with:
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