A mysterious change has come over my wife the past six months. We used to fight all the time about this and that. Silly stuff, really. If I said the sky was gray, she would say it was black just to argue with me. I've always been able to push her buttons and, Oh God, did she ever know how to push mine.
At first, I didn't notice the change. I was so caught up in my little world that her gentle manner went unnoticed. If she would've typically pouted, stopped speaking, or slept on the couch, I would have noticed right away, of course. However, she still performed her wifely duties in the bedroom and around the house without overt hostility. It was very strange. For example, she used to complain about my lack of foreplay and how I was slam, bam, thank you, ma'am, then would roll over and go to sleep. She stopped complaining about my performance. Or, before, if she got mad at me, I'd have to take my laundry off to have it done--that type of thing. Suddenly she did everything a man would want a wife to do, but there was still something missing; that little spark of joy, I suppose, in pleasing her man.
She surprised me by enrolling in Weight Watchers and losing 35 pounds. She got a new hairstyle that really looks cute on her. The next thing I noticed was she began wearing sexy clothes to work: short skirts, sexy blouses, thong panties, matching bras, and thigh high stockings and garter belt, for example. On weekends, though, she still wore sweats and grandma style underwear at home.
I couldn't complain when she bought a new wardrobe of stylish clothes, however, because she never spent money on herself. I'd buy new cars while she drove the last one to death. I'd buy motorcycles and boats, all without her complaining. I'd take Canadian fishing trips with my buddies leaving her behind to take care of our pets (we don't have children).
Last Saturday we were supposed to go to an office Christmas eve party. Typically, I didn't want to go so I told her to just go by herself. In the past, she wouldn't have gone without me. But this time she arranged for a limo to pick her up because, as she said, "I plan on having a good time and don't want to be on the road after drinking." She had a sexy set of Victoria Secrets underwear, a sexy black leather mini-skirt with a black sheer blouse. A new leather coat complemented the outfit. She carried in a separate bag a pair of 6-inch high heel platform shoes to wear at the party. She looked so hot; but my pride kept me from saying I'd like to go along with her. After all, that wasn't how we played the blame game.
While she was gone, I watched some Christmas movies I'd rented for the evening. I was very lonely. I went to bed and tried to wait up for her. I'd doze off and on and would check the clock. Finally, at 4 a.m., I heard loud laughter in our driveway. I looked out and saw a black Cadillac that had been lowered; it had dark glass windows and chrome wheels with very wide whitewall tires. I saw my wife get out of the back seat and, giggling, walked toward the house. The rear window rolled down and someone shouted something at her. A black man's hand dangled the panties she'd worn that evening. She laughed, took the panties, and bent in to kiss the man. He cupped her ass and was obviously trying to entice her to get back into the car, but she struggled free and pointed to her watch. She slipped the panties back on with some difficulty.
I heard her come in the front door. I pretended to be asleep when she entered the bedroom. I watched her undress and head for the bathroom. I heard her brush her teeth and step into the shower. I got up and sneaked over to the hamper to check her panties. They were drenched and the smell of cum was very strong.
Through the shower curtain, I could see she was douching. By now, I was in a state of panic. I had been so lonely all evening, she had been acting so strangely for months, and now my wife had come home having obviously screwed other men. I was so confused that I couldn't think.
With my heart rapidly beating, I returned to bed. Surprisingly, I had a raging hard on. I tried to get calm. Finally, she pulled back the covers on her side and slipped into bed. Slurring my speech to mimic just waking up, I said, "Hi, babe. How was the party?" She said she had had fun, but was very tired. I said, "I missed you, baby. I wish I would've gone. I'm so sorry for the way I behaved." She said, "No problem. Good night." I scooted over beside her, grabbed her face and began to kiss her mouth. The thought that this mouth might have taken a black man's penis was very stimulating. I stuck my tongue as far into her mouth as I could, exploring it to see if I could extract any remaining nectar. Her breath strongly smelled of alcohol.
She began to respond to the kiss. I was wild with desire. I moved down to her breasts and began a circuitous route with my tongue around her large pink aureoles and then gently sucked her nipples. I moved away to look at this beautiful woman I'd so under appreciated. The light spilled in from the window casting shadows over her body and her dark blond pubic hair.
"Wait," she said. She pushed me back and then climbed on me, squatting down. She held me tightly for a moment. Jealously, I thought of the other man, but was excited by the thought at the same time. She placed my penis at her vagina opening. The douche had taken away much of the slippery cum so she felt natural. Inch by inch, she slowly took me in. She finally reached the end. She kissed her finger and placed it over my mouth. "Don't move," she said. Her eyes were closed; her face had a sweet look of contentment. She did not move. Then, she began to rhythmically move forward and backward, up and down. From the depths of her vagina, cum untouched by the douching began to spill out, coating my penis and balls with a thick coating of cum.