So much for planning my life. It sure hasn’t gone the way I would ever have expected. But that’s not a bad thing as you will see.

I had a pretty normal childhood and upbringing in our small Midwest town. Got laid a few times in high school because I was at least a half-ass athlete but went to college and got a software engineering degree that let me come back home and make a decent living. I now worked remotely from my older house in a vintage neighborhood where I could even walk to many necessary places.

Perhaps I should have been less naïve about Sarah. I met her our senior year in college. She discovered I was a tekkie with a job offer from a major company and was quite quickly in my bed. Her b-cup tits, slim hips, and shaved pussy were certainly attractive components of a pretty blond woman. She screwed me a couple of times a week and seemed rather attached although she still maintained a life of her own.

She was a marketing major and the job offers weren’t coming so we married after graduation and moved back to my home town where we bought a modest house.

She was a big city girl and insisted we make the two-hour drive to the one nearby every other weekend to enjoy the sophisticated pleasures she was accustomed to.

Our sex was interesting but relatively infrequent. She often requested variations that I’d never heard of but wouldn’t elaborate about their source. When she got a part-time job in the city she was delighted even though that meant she’d be staying there a few days each week.

We had never discussed children so I was rather surprised when she said her career was more important. Her doctor then supposedly came up with the news that she had to stop her birth control for medical reasons. That meant I was requested to get a vasectomy at the tender age of twenty-five.

She was a marketer, remember? I soon accepted that this was best for her and I also thought it might improve the likelihood of her fidelity when away from me. Wrong.

At first she seemed to prosper in this career opportunity. We’d go to the city for a weekend of activity and she would stay in the small apartment she rented. I’d leave early Monday morning while she’d ride the Greyhound home on Tuesday or Wednesday evening.

Our sex life picked up with her sense of fulfillment and our brief separations. Things seemed to be going well.

I wanted to keep in better physical shape because of my desk job so I worked out every day at a wellness center not far from home. Our older neighborhood had an alley that ran behind the rows of houses. Over the years, privacy fences had been added with gates for access. This, it turned out, allowed visitors to discreetly come and go.

At the center I met some neighborhood stay-at-home moms and wives and got to having coffee with them. They were anxious for company and would often ask me questions about the PC’s they used for recipes and entertainment. A few times I was asked to stop by to fix a problem and got a nice lunch as a reward. I thought, more than once, that a more intimate thank-you was being offered but maintained my marital commitment.

Then I found out that Sarah was far less diligent with keeping her wedding vows. First it was her new practice of staying overnight in the apartment rather than coming home the evening of her last work day. She claimed having to work late so the bus schedule didn’t fit.

The next sign was her lack of enthusiasm for sex when she did arrive mid- morning. She’d always been responsive to screwing early in the day. When we did it, she rarely orgasmed, also unusual. No explanation given.

The final piece of evidence was my discovery in our medical billing, of a contraceptive implant recently done. She usually paid the bills so thought it wouldn’t be noticed, I guess. I researched these devices and, sure enough, there was a bump under her skin.

When I hadn’t fucked her for several days she asked why. I told her what I had surmised and she blew up. She got her bottle of vodka and poured a big one over ice. After half of it was gone she refilled it and sat down across from me.

“I never should have married you. I will apologize for that but nothing else. Except that I’ve been less than honest with you. I felt a little bad but you never asked the questions either.”

I knew enough about the psychology of women to just listen for a while.

She slugged down some more vodka and continued, not looking at me, “When we were dating I was screwing at least one other guy the whole time. As a matter of fact, I remember that I’d been laid the afternoon of the first time I fucked you. I didn’t give up my other lovers until we got engaged. I was faithful to you, with effort, until relatively recently.” She stopped and look at me.

I simply said, “Oh really?”

More vodka. “I learned in high school that pussy is a great tool to get guys to do what you want. I enjoyed learning how to use it well, and continued in college. By then I was husband hunting so, like in your case, when a guy seemed like a good candidate my clothes would come off. There were probably about a half-dozen of those try-outs a year with two or three going at any given time. I’d fuck them until a new possibility came along then drop the one I liked the least. One guy screwed me for two years until I decided to marry you.”

She realized how much she was spilling and stopped.

I said quietly, “And now?”

One more small drink to empty the glass. She was starting to slur her words a bit, “Having this job is important to me. You know that. When the opportunity for it to go full time came up I had to make some choices. There were others competing for the chance so I went back to using my body as a tool. The VP is older with a bitchy wife, so it was easy to get him into my apartment and my pussy. He got hooked so the job was mine.”

I spoke up, “Any more to tell me about?” She shook her head. Angrily I continued, “It appears you made some irrevocable decisions that I can’t live with. I guess our marriage is over.” She nodded.

I stood her up and roughly pulled her robe off, “I’ve turned down pussy from wives who were willing to cheat. I’m not going to decline any more so I’d better get in practice with cheaters.”

I pulled her to the floor and shoved my hard dick into her snatch. She bucked and whined drunkenly as I pounded her hard. As she climaxed the first time she yelled, “Oh God, I love you fucking my cheating cunt.” As I continued to slam into her, so hard with anger and lust that I couldn’t ejaculate, she moaned, “Gimme more cock ... I’m just a slut and that’s what I want.”

After I finally came and collapsed on top of her shaking body, she said, “Maybe it’s a mistake to whore myself for my career but what’s done is done. I love you as much as I can love any man, but it’s not enough and not fair to you.”

We fucked several times in the night and I put her on the bus in the morning. She and her paramour brought a van the next weekend to collect her belongings. When we met with the attorney to sign the divorce papers, she gave me a kiss and said, “If you’re in the city and want some familiar pussy you know how to reach me. Maybe it would be as good as our last time.” I’d remember that.

Of course, word quickly got around that I was single and the carnal offers from the neighborhood women noticeably increased. I didn’t politely decline anymore and when they found out I had a competent, clipped, and snipped cock there were even more attractive women whose pussies needed my attention.

I decided to stick to the married ones. They would be quite discreet and not be after me as more than an intimate friend. I wanted my autonomy for the time being, at least.

My first conquest, that is if you can consider having an almost naked woman dragging you to her marital bed a “conquest”, was Doreen. This mid-forties housewife was the first partner not in my own age range. Her solid “mommy” body with wide hips and pillow tits was also a first for me. Not pretty, not ugly, she was starved for affection in a loveless marriage which had produced a son my age.

I barely had a chance to explore her bounteous bosom before being pulled into the hairiest twat I’d even seen pictures of. It was surprisingly tight, rarely being used by a husband who wasn’t as well equipped as me. It took little hammering to trigger a thigh–clenching climax so strong she passed out briefly. I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. A bit more pounding and she came again, this time more calmly and she begged me to “put my seed” in her, not yet knowing it would be semen only.

That was quite satisfactory though, and she relaxed as I explored her voluptuous body while I refilled. She murmured how damn good I felt and wanted all of me she could get.

We both would have fucked every day but I held it to twice a week for several reasons. I knew there were other fields to plow and I also didn’t want her to get too attached. That wouldn’t be good for either of us.

Brenda was another woman in the coffee club at the wellness center. Mid-thirties with short dark hair, she was a real fitness buff who ran off all the fat on her body even including most of her tits. She had claimed to have computer problems in the past which had turned out to be quite minor and were good opportunities to rub her body on mine.

This time, knowing my changed status, she was more aggressive. When I felt her rubbing her hard nipples on my back as she leaned over my shoulder, I rose, turned, and planted a big wet kiss on her. She was surprised but shoved her tongue right back. My hand grabbed her firm buns and pulled her crotch into my swelling one. The computer forgotten, she murmured, “Not here. Meet you at your place.”

Soon she was riding me like a horse at full gallop. I just laid back and enjoyed the view and the sensations. Her pussy hair was trimmed short and her inner lips were very visible as they clung to my shaft on her lifts. I’d fucked Doreen earlier that morning so my delayed ejaculation clearly delighted this horny housewife. She worked herself through three climaxes before I let her know mine was imminent. Her response was “In me!” I let ‘er fly and it was good.