Cheating. As others have observed the range of emotions that sweep over you when you find out your wife (or husband) has made a cuckold of you behind your back are fascinating for the complexity and power: humiliation, fear, jealousy, frustration, anger, embarrassment, and all topped off or contradicted by raging sexual arousal! From references on other threads, I suspect the individual responses and the circumstances in which those responses were made vary widely. I suggest there may be some interest in hearing about the occasion of and response to discovering and confronting the fact that you've been made a cuckold. In any case, it should at least be supremely arousing to hear about. I shall begin with my own account.
How did you find out and what was your response to finding out that your wife was cheating?
- Thread starter regn
- Start date
I should preface this by explaining that when we got married, being made into a cuckold was probably the last thing I thought possible. But it turned out my naivete and powers of denial played right into her lust for experiencing a new hard cock offered to her. And after she had discoveed how easy I could be made a cuckold, she took a particular delight in taunting me about what was going on behind my back: she knew I wouldn’t be able to admit the humiliation to myself that some guy had boned my wife. The following explains how I was finally forced to confront the facts behind those tauntings.
When we were splitting up, she called me up, and I assumed this was going to be another testy discussion on some detail of the divorce. Instead she immediately said she wanted to relate something which she said “I should have told you long ago.” It was during a business trip in Paris. I was to join her there shortly after the incident she described to me. She had a room in a pensione run privately by a very nice middle-aged woman. My wife said she was feeling discouraged at the solitude of a foreign city, and went down to the local café one evening. She was approached by another American, a sailor who had taken the train up to Paris from wherever his ship was docked. He was new in the Navy, on his first tour, only 18, and the next morning was leaving to get back to his ship. That would make him about 10 years younger than her at the time, and they spent the evening drinking (something she very rarely indulged in). She drew my attention to how young he was I imagine as a matter of pride that a young stud would try scoring with her. And I guess it was to let me know that a guy a lot younger than me was, as I was about to find out, in fact going to be scoring big time with my wife. According to her, when he walked her back to the pensione, they got into it along the way, he drew her into some building’s doorway and he fucked her right there. The one other bit of information she gave in her description was that the owner of the pensione was furious with her the next day.
I have no reason to doubt the authenticity of this incident. It is difficult to see what advantage she got during the divorce process from admitting to being taken by another guy. I suspect she simply wanted to take a last chance to make it plain to me that those tauntings she had doled out were in fact accuate snipets of what had been going on behind my back. But on reflection I have some problems with the details as she presented them. The pensione owner was very nice to me when I arrived, probably because she knew the humiliation I would feel in staying in this place if some people, staff or guests, knew that some teenager had banged my wife. But how would she have known that my wife had been fucked in some doorway? Also, this was a sailor, just off a tour and about to ship out again, and 18! If he was lucky enough to pick up some girl who would let him get her pants off, would he really be satisfied with just a quick fuck in a doorway? Even if one believes (I doubt it) that they could pull this off on a street of a busy city like Paris, and he found a girl ready to enjoy his erection, why would he limit himself? Why not invite her back to his hotel where he could, shall we say, store up the sexual enjoyment of my wife for the coming tour. And at 18 a quick fuck would hardly seem likely to exhaust his sexual energy.
It occurred to me that since her goal with this phone call was to make me know with no option of denying it that she had treated me to the humiliating experience of accepting that some guy had plowed my wife, it was only needed that I understand that he had had his aroused cock in her to achieve her goal, not necessarily revealing the full length of pleasure she experienced while I was being given the cuckold’s horns. I realized that the probable reason for the coincidence of a sailor on the prowl being in that local café that night was that he too was staying in the same pensione as my wife and had seen her there. It would also give him an opening if they were staying at the same place. More importantly, it would account for how the owner could have known my wife had just made her husband into a cuckold (the proprietress had strict rules about no guests in the rooms). She, or one of her staff, likely saw her going into his room that night, or perhaps coming out the next morning. Realistically, I had to accept that at 18 he could probably get hard without end all night, especially as he was just was just off a shipboard tour.
I arrived a few days later. What I now know clarifies some of the odd behaviors I ran into during my stay there. My ex’s remark that the owner was furious with her as I said probably accounts for why that lady seemed to be so kind to me: sympathy for the guy who is walking around with cuck horns and completely unaware of it. But of course the news that the young sailor had spent a night enjoying my wife was not likely a secret. There were two young girls on staff. Whenever I passed them in the hall I would say hello, and their response was to exchange quick, awkward glances and then giggle nervously. At the time I assumed they thought my French accent was amusingly bad. But in fact these girls probably knew I had just been made a cuckold, and by a teenager only slightly older than they were. They may never have run into a cuckold before and were uncomfortable in the presence of someone who surely would be deeply humiliated if he knew the facts. My situation, even if I didn’t know about it, made them uneasy.
More pointed was the treatment I got from three college students (Americans) who were sharing a room. They often left their door open and when I passed it, or when I passed them in the hall, one would softly make the sound of a rooster crowing, followed by the laughter of the other two. Unlike the French girls these guys were in no doubt about how hilarious they thought my situation, and were eager to toss me hints that they knew about it. At the time I just thought they were being jerks for who knows what reason. I have to admit I would have found it quite embarrassing to realize these guys knew I had been made a cuckold. However, without intending, they also revealed that in fact I had been spared an even worse humiliation. If the sailor had taken the opportunity to put his cock in my wife’s pussy, then surely one (or all three) of these students would have done the same if they had gotten the chance. They were only a year or two older than the sailor. And if these students had managed to score with my wife, surely that is what they would have been keen to let me know, in some less than subtle way. That they were trying to humiliate me with the sailor’s success in fucking my wife was an indication that they, at least, had not managed to get into her pants. (I certainly hope I’ve got this right.) It is a consolation, if a small one, that it must have irked them badly that the sailor had succeeded in burying his erection in her, while they had not.
The minimal situation I had to deal with from this revelation by my wife was that another guy had taken her, and probably enjoyed her all night. Just as importantly, her “admission” had the greater toll of forsing me to admit that the taunts I was regularly treated to over the ten years we were together were hints about real goings on at my expense. But I do have to say that the sexual arousal from the facts, all these years later, is undiminished.
As visual aids, I contribute a few photos of my wife, about 3 years before the events she described [others are on view at: https://www.wifewantstoplay.com/threads/nina-for-your-tributes.62183/]
When we were splitting up, she called me up, and I assumed this was going to be another testy discussion on some detail of the divorce. Instead she immediately said she wanted to relate something which she said “I should have told you long ago.” It was during a business trip in Paris. I was to join her there shortly after the incident she described to me. She had a room in a pensione run privately by a very nice middle-aged woman. My wife said she was feeling discouraged at the solitude of a foreign city, and went down to the local café one evening. She was approached by another American, a sailor who had taken the train up to Paris from wherever his ship was docked. He was new in the Navy, on his first tour, only 18, and the next morning was leaving to get back to his ship. That would make him about 10 years younger than her at the time, and they spent the evening drinking (something she very rarely indulged in). She drew my attention to how young he was I imagine as a matter of pride that a young stud would try scoring with her. And I guess it was to let me know that a guy a lot younger than me was, as I was about to find out, in fact going to be scoring big time with my wife. According to her, when he walked her back to the pensione, they got into it along the way, he drew her into some building’s doorway and he fucked her right there. The one other bit of information she gave in her description was that the owner of the pensione was furious with her the next day.
I have no reason to doubt the authenticity of this incident. It is difficult to see what advantage she got during the divorce process from admitting to being taken by another guy. I suspect she simply wanted to take a last chance to make it plain to me that those tauntings she had doled out were in fact accuate snipets of what had been going on behind my back. But on reflection I have some problems with the details as she presented them. The pensione owner was very nice to me when I arrived, probably because she knew the humiliation I would feel in staying in this place if some people, staff or guests, knew that some teenager had banged my wife. But how would she have known that my wife had been fucked in some doorway? Also, this was a sailor, just off a tour and about to ship out again, and 18! If he was lucky enough to pick up some girl who would let him get her pants off, would he really be satisfied with just a quick fuck in a doorway? Even if one believes (I doubt it) that they could pull this off on a street of a busy city like Paris, and he found a girl ready to enjoy his erection, why would he limit himself? Why not invite her back to his hotel where he could, shall we say, store up the sexual enjoyment of my wife for the coming tour. And at 18 a quick fuck would hardly seem likely to exhaust his sexual energy.
It occurred to me that since her goal with this phone call was to make me know with no option of denying it that she had treated me to the humiliating experience of accepting that some guy had plowed my wife, it was only needed that I understand that he had had his aroused cock in her to achieve her goal, not necessarily revealing the full length of pleasure she experienced while I was being given the cuckold’s horns. I realized that the probable reason for the coincidence of a sailor on the prowl being in that local café that night was that he too was staying in the same pensione as my wife and had seen her there. It would also give him an opening if they were staying at the same place. More importantly, it would account for how the owner could have known my wife had just made her husband into a cuckold (the proprietress had strict rules about no guests in the rooms). She, or one of her staff, likely saw her going into his room that night, or perhaps coming out the next morning. Realistically, I had to accept that at 18 he could probably get hard without end all night, especially as he was just was just off a shipboard tour.
I arrived a few days later. What I now know clarifies some of the odd behaviors I ran into during my stay there. My ex’s remark that the owner was furious with her as I said probably accounts for why that lady seemed to be so kind to me: sympathy for the guy who is walking around with cuck horns and completely unaware of it. But of course the news that the young sailor had spent a night enjoying my wife was not likely a secret. There were two young girls on staff. Whenever I passed them in the hall I would say hello, and their response was to exchange quick, awkward glances and then giggle nervously. At the time I assumed they thought my French accent was amusingly bad. But in fact these girls probably knew I had just been made a cuckold, and by a teenager only slightly older than they were. They may never have run into a cuckold before and were uncomfortable in the presence of someone who surely would be deeply humiliated if he knew the facts. My situation, even if I didn’t know about it, made them uneasy.
More pointed was the treatment I got from three college students (Americans) who were sharing a room. They often left their door open and when I passed it, or when I passed them in the hall, one would softly make the sound of a rooster crowing, followed by the laughter of the other two. Unlike the French girls these guys were in no doubt about how hilarious they thought my situation, and were eager to toss me hints that they knew about it. At the time I just thought they were being jerks for who knows what reason. I have to admit I would have found it quite embarrassing to realize these guys knew I had been made a cuckold. However, without intending, they also revealed that in fact I had been spared an even worse humiliation. If the sailor had taken the opportunity to put his cock in my wife’s pussy, then surely one (or all three) of these students would have done the same if they had gotten the chance. They were only a year or two older than the sailor. And if these students had managed to score with my wife, surely that is what they would have been keen to let me know, in some less than subtle way. That they were trying to humiliate me with the sailor’s success in fucking my wife was an indication that they, at least, had not managed to get into her pants. (I certainly hope I’ve got this right.) It is a consolation, if a small one, that it must have irked them badly that the sailor had succeeded in burying his erection in her, while they had not.
The minimal situation I had to deal with from this revelation by my wife was that another guy had taken her, and probably enjoyed her all night. Just as importantly, her “admission” had the greater toll of forsing me to admit that the taunts I was regularly treated to over the ten years we were together were hints about real goings on at my expense. But I do have to say that the sexual arousal from the facts, all these years later, is undiminished.
As visual aids, I contribute a few photos of my wife, about 3 years before the events she described [others are on view at: https://www.wifewantstoplay.com/threads/nina-for-your-tributes.62183/]
Attachments
HubbyJohn
Male
Thank you for your detailed account. Would love to share mine in such detail as well.
I stayed with my wife after her revelation and have never fully confronted the embarrassment of really thinking back to how the people who knew treated me at the time. Accepting what she had done was enough to confront.
Will reflect and write down my thoughts. Feels a bit like therapy. Would love to chat with you about our experience. Like you, being a cuck and how turned on it made me was never in my plans or deepest thoughts before it happened.
I stayed with my wife after her revelation and have never fully confronted the embarrassment of really thinking back to how the people who knew treated me at the time. Accepting what she had done was enough to confront.
Will reflect and write down my thoughts. Feels a bit like therapy. Would love to chat with you about our experience. Like you, being a cuck and how turned on it made me was never in my plans or deepest thoughts before it happened.
From your story it seems that your ex was more concerned with hurting you than it was about the sex. There's a fine line in humiliation. Some things that don't mean anything to others means a lot to some. The fact that you are still sexually aroused by the facts your ex gave you is probably easier to enjoy in retrospect without her mean spirited attitude.
Cuckoldhubby
Male
I became a cuckold unknowingly but eventually wanted it. This is how it happened. About 16 years ago my wife was cheating on me and I found out when I found pics on her phone of his cock in her pussy. I then began watching her panties in the laundry hamper and found sperm stains in them fairly often. I was angry but I held back just to see how far it would go. After a month or so and many panty stains later ( and confusion as to why it made me hard) I confronted her. She started crying and told me she was sorry. By this time I had lots of time to “think” about it so I came out and told her that I understood that my little 3 inch cock was totally useless and I knew she was faking orgasms with me over the years. She was a little shocked but still tearing up. I also told her that I fully understood why she was cheating on me, because she is very sexual and needs more than I could ever give her. She was shocked but she listened intently. I then told her that I didn’t want her to stop seeing him but I wanted her to explain to him that I knew and I was ok with her having him as a regular lover and I wanted him to come to the house to talk. She was excited after being puzzled for a few hours but she called him and told him everything while I went into another room to give her some privacy to talk to him. He came over that night and had a look of fear on his face so I just shook his hand and told him to relax and come sit down. After about 3 hours of chatting, she was sitting beside him and was rubbing his leg for awhile. She then leaned over to kiss him and he looked at me awkwardly so I just said, ok you two I’ll go watch tv for awhile while you take some time to absorb this. About an hour later she came into the living room and asked me to stand up. She hugged me and kissed me and asked me if it would be ok if they went to our bedroom to fuck. That hit me like a train for sure but excited me at the same time. I said “of course, go be happy”. Well I ended up listening to her squealing and calling his name over and over again while also hearing the sound of his balls slapping against her ass as he fucked her hard. I ended up going to the guest room to ...... but couldn’t get to ...... while hearing them fuck and of course stroking my little cock with the thought in my head that he now owned my wife’s married pussy, and that excited me sooooo much which again was still confusing me as to why I felt this way. I wanted badly to see the “proof” by witnessing his sperm leaking out of her married pussy, which she gladly let me see a few weeks later. About 8 years later and several lovers had cum and gone, she asked me if I would be upset if I never fucked her ever again. I told her that I would most likely miss it a bit but it wouldn’t upset me at all especially since I hardly had sex with her anyway. She kissed me and told me she loved me so much but really dislikes my little cock and that I cum in less than two minutes and have done that since we first met. I laughed and said that I understood. Later that evening when her boyfriend came over she broke the news to him that her married pussy now belonged to him exclusively and that I was never again going to touch it except to lick her clean when she demanded it, which I did quite eagerly, their combined juices had an intoxicating aroma and flavour. And knowing that his sperm was floating around in her tubes truly excited me in ways I never thought possible, and I was as hard as a rock! There are soooo many men just like me all over the world who enjoy being cuckolds, nature decided that it’s our paths in life and we decided to accept that. I truly love knowing a better man is making love to Cathy in my place! 🙂
its always " my little cock " and his was " the biggest I ever saw" cock routine .
i don't have a little cock and fucked my wife more than she needed . i was higher sexed than her and still am .
That does not stop her or other women getting turned on from being hit on to be fucked by other guys . They live for it ... as long as it is one they are attracted to ,and if one is not their type ,they can act all uppity and feel special being wanted by who ever .
My wife told me the girls at work would sex chat to each other ,about how much their bf or husband fucked them .
Later [ always when we had drinks and dirty sex talks] she said lots of the girls with bf's and married ones were fucking around at work .
And later, still, at my prodding , [ that whole thing made me hard] she said the girls asked her to pick a guy she wanted to fuck. she made out like nothing happened ,and She hid the fact that she got did fucked , on the night shift ,in the closed garden area . Until years later . Thinking, even though I told her too, i would be jealous .
She fucked him, not because i have a little dick or didn't satisfy her . She always came and i would finish fucking her doggie style which she would say ;hurry up Mr big dick! . it stretched her out, too much . i would respond; that's what you get for marring a guy with a big dick! While slapping her ass ,and telling her to be quiet and take it .
she fucked that other guy because it turns on women to get fucked by other cock.
i don't have a little cock and fucked my wife more than she needed . i was higher sexed than her and still am .
That does not stop her or other women getting turned on from being hit on to be fucked by other guys . They live for it ... as long as it is one they are attracted to ,and if one is not their type ,they can act all uppity and feel special being wanted by who ever .
My wife told me the girls at work would sex chat to each other ,about how much their bf or husband fucked them .
Later [ always when we had drinks and dirty sex talks] she said lots of the girls with bf's and married ones were fucking around at work .
And later, still, at my prodding , [ that whole thing made me hard] she said the girls asked her to pick a guy she wanted to fuck. she made out like nothing happened ,and She hid the fact that she got did fucked , on the night shift ,in the closed garden area . Until years later . Thinking, even though I told her too, i would be jealous .
She fucked him, not because i have a little dick or didn't satisfy her . She always came and i would finish fucking her doggie style which she would say ;hurry up Mr big dick! . it stretched her out, too much . i would respond; that's what you get for marring a guy with a big dick! While slapping her ass ,and telling her to be quiet and take it .
she fucked that other guy because it turns on women to get fucked by other cock.
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My wife told me while she was naked in the bath tub. I got instantly hard.
My experience was that my wife liked having sex with a variety of guys - even as we dated and became more serious. Initially she didn't come right out and say it was the "other cock" that she enjoyed - she more or less put it in the context of having sex with different guys. Not wanting to give up total package. As we grew to know one another better, she was more detailed about what she liked about sex with each of them - some of which related to their cocks, how quickly they recovered, messy loads and so on. But it took a while to reach this point.
Well, my wife is Asian . And she is one of the types that needs to have feelings for a person .
We were young and i was a horny kinky basted, haha . We didn't do anything outside of marriage.
But when she started spilling the beans about the women at work fucking around. That turned me on for some twisted reason .
Me thinking of them getting ready for work AND to get fucked at work , then coming home with a fucked pussy, then the horny husband fucking her fucked pussy unknown to him . Crazy .
So when she confessed the girls there told her to pick a guy she wanted to fuck, i said , yeah, do it !
She was afraid to admit to being fucked at work , because, as she said . "you are superman when you're horny , but after you cum ,you change ."
And that's true. You know , after you cum hard , it's like being hungry and eating a big meal and being satiated. You are done and don't want anymore . So after we fucked and i came , the hot dirty talk was over . Until the next round .
So she kept that secret for maybe 10 years . But i was still turned on by the thought of little ms innocent being pounded at work
so we had bought a strap on , and one day she bent me over and went to shove it in . She was like ;take it bitch ! that's what you do to me, doggie ! And she went at it . But damn , it actually felt like getting it from horse . I started riding it , which made her laugh , and she slapped my ass and in her language called me a faggot " bayut"
It was then ,i think she decided, ill fuck anyone I want . And later would call me at work . Telling me . "Fuck, I'm so horny . I'm out in the shipping container ,and i need to fuck one of these guys .
Which gave me an instant boner . And told her to do it. .
She replied , no, they are too ugly . [black dudes, i assume , not her type , ] i replied . don't look at their face . Close your eyes and enjoy getting fucked . She said no, i can't and hung up .
if she did fuck one of them ,she will take that to the grave .
Meanwhile ,i retired to her country , the Philippines. she came along reluctantly at first ,but has left 3 times , from 3 months up to a year . In which time , i have boned 7 or 8 different pinay .
she is very unhappy about that .
I told her , you're pissed because in usa , you had guys hitting on you , slapping your ass . trying to bone you and now , here, that's over . The guys here go for the young pinay .
There she was the exotic-wanted prize . Not here .she is surrounded by hot young sexy beauties .
Her reply was ; you're damn right ! At work ,one guy slapped my ass and said, " when am i going to get this pussy!"
These are things wives do not normally admit to . But is the rule rather than the exception .
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This is my dream—a fantasy I’ve polished to perfection in my mind, night after night, until it feels like the only truth that matters. It never happened, of course. But in my head, it’s real, and I’m the one telling it.
My wife steps out one afternoon, alone, and settles into a corner table at our favorite café. Sunlight spills through the window, catching the gold in her hair. At the next table sits a boy—twenty-two, maybe twenty-three—lean and confident, with a smile that could unravel any woman. Their eyes lock. He doesn’t look away. Neither does she. When he finally leans over, voice low and teasing, she should shut him down. She always does. But this time, her fingers brush her phone, and she slides her Instagram handle across the table like a secret.
The messages start innocently enough. Just friends, she types, firm, almost convincing. But the spark is there, flickering under every word. She tells herself it’s nothing. She comes home to me, laughs at my jokes, curls into my arms at night. Yet every ping from her phone sends a jolt through her she can’t name. She stares at his photos—shirtless at the gym, smirking in a mirror—and feels her pulse between her thighs. Why does this feel so good? she wonders, biting her lip. I’m happy. I love my husband. But the thought of him—young, hungry, hers—makes her wet in ways I never have.
One night, I glimpse a notification. A heart emoji from a name I don’t know. Curiosity turns to obsession. I wait until she’s asleep, then unlock her phone with the code I memorized months ago. The chat unfurls like a fever dream. Flirty banter. Late-night confessions. A one-time photo she sent—gone now, but his reply burns into me: “Fuck, your legs in that skirt… I’d ...... to wrap them around me. And those tits—God, I’m hard just looking.” My cock throbs as I read, shame and lust twisting into something unholy. I lock myself in the bathroom, stroke myself raw to the ghost of her betrayal, coming harder than I have in years.
But words aren’t enough anymore. I need more.
A work trip looms—three days in another city. I mention it casually over breakfast. That night, I’m sleepless, rereading their chat, cock leaking as I imagine what’s next. She’s told him I’ll be gone. His reply: “Three nights. You, me, your bed.” Hers: “Yes. All three.” My heart hammers. I should be furious. Instead, I’m rigging the house with hidden cameras—bedroom, living room, every corner—before I leave. I have to see.
The first day, I watch from my hotel, phone propped against the desk. She spends an hour in front of the mirror—tight dress, red lipstick, heels that make her legs endless. She leaves at dusk. Returns after midnight, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, a secret smile I’ve never seen.
Day two: bolder. A skirt so short it barely covers her ass. She texts him from our couch, legs crossed, fingers trembling. I zoom in on her thighs, imagining his hands there. I’m supposed to be in meetings. Instead, I’m glued to the feed, cock straining against my slacks.
Day three: I’m due back tomorrow. She’s planned something. I know it. That black mini-dress—the one that hugs her tits and flares just enough to tease. The plunging blouse. The stilettos. She dolls up like she’s going to war. I watch, breathless, as the hours tick by. No one comes. I finish work early, shower, phone open on the sink. Then the door opens.
They stumble in, lips locked, hands frantic. He kicks the door shut; she’s already clawing at his shirt. They collapse onto our bed—my bed—tearing at clothes. Her dress rides up, exposing lace panties soaked through. He groans, burying his face between her thighs, licking her like he’s starving. She arches, moans his name—not mine—fingers tangled in his hair. I watch, frozen, cock pulsing in my fist but unable to move. He flips her over, spreads her wide, sinks into her with one brutal thrust. The camera catches everything: her tits bouncing, his ass flexing, the wet slap of skin on skin. She comes first, screaming, then begs for more. He flips her again, pins her wrists, fucks her until she’s sobbing with pleasure. I don’t touch myself. I just watch, heart shattered and reborn in the same breath.
I come home the next day. She greets me with a kiss, oblivious. I hold her tight, inhale her perfume, and taste him on her skin. I should end it. Instead, I enable it. Every chance I get, I leave her alone—late nights at the office, weekend errands. I check the cameras when they meet at our place. Sometimes I catch them: her on her knees, swallowing him whole; him bending her over the kitchen counter, spanking her ass red. Other times, I miss it, but I see the aftermath—her glowing, sated, mine in a way she’ll never be again.
She’s happy. He’s happy. I’m happy in the dark, stroking myself to the ruins of my marriage. And that’s enough.
My wife steps out one afternoon, alone, and settles into a corner table at our favorite café. Sunlight spills through the window, catching the gold in her hair. At the next table sits a boy—twenty-two, maybe twenty-three—lean and confident, with a smile that could unravel any woman. Their eyes lock. He doesn’t look away. Neither does she. When he finally leans over, voice low and teasing, she should shut him down. She always does. But this time, her fingers brush her phone, and she slides her Instagram handle across the table like a secret.
The messages start innocently enough. Just friends, she types, firm, almost convincing. But the spark is there, flickering under every word. She tells herself it’s nothing. She comes home to me, laughs at my jokes, curls into my arms at night. Yet every ping from her phone sends a jolt through her she can’t name. She stares at his photos—shirtless at the gym, smirking in a mirror—and feels her pulse between her thighs. Why does this feel so good? she wonders, biting her lip. I’m happy. I love my husband. But the thought of him—young, hungry, hers—makes her wet in ways I never have.
One night, I glimpse a notification. A heart emoji from a name I don’t know. Curiosity turns to obsession. I wait until she’s asleep, then unlock her phone with the code I memorized months ago. The chat unfurls like a fever dream. Flirty banter. Late-night confessions. A one-time photo she sent—gone now, but his reply burns into me: “Fuck, your legs in that skirt… I’d ...... to wrap them around me. And those tits—God, I’m hard just looking.” My cock throbs as I read, shame and lust twisting into something unholy. I lock myself in the bathroom, stroke myself raw to the ghost of her betrayal, coming harder than I have in years.
But words aren’t enough anymore. I need more.
A work trip looms—three days in another city. I mention it casually over breakfast. That night, I’m sleepless, rereading their chat, cock leaking as I imagine what’s next. She’s told him I’ll be gone. His reply: “Three nights. You, me, your bed.” Hers: “Yes. All three.” My heart hammers. I should be furious. Instead, I’m rigging the house with hidden cameras—bedroom, living room, every corner—before I leave. I have to see.
The first day, I watch from my hotel, phone propped against the desk. She spends an hour in front of the mirror—tight dress, red lipstick, heels that make her legs endless. She leaves at dusk. Returns after midnight, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, a secret smile I’ve never seen.
Day two: bolder. A skirt so short it barely covers her ass. She texts him from our couch, legs crossed, fingers trembling. I zoom in on her thighs, imagining his hands there. I’m supposed to be in meetings. Instead, I’m glued to the feed, cock straining against my slacks.
Day three: I’m due back tomorrow. She’s planned something. I know it. That black mini-dress—the one that hugs her tits and flares just enough to tease. The plunging blouse. The stilettos. She dolls up like she’s going to war. I watch, breathless, as the hours tick by. No one comes. I finish work early, shower, phone open on the sink. Then the door opens.
They stumble in, lips locked, hands frantic. He kicks the door shut; she’s already clawing at his shirt. They collapse onto our bed—my bed—tearing at clothes. Her dress rides up, exposing lace panties soaked through. He groans, burying his face between her thighs, licking her like he’s starving. She arches, moans his name—not mine—fingers tangled in his hair. I watch, frozen, cock pulsing in my fist but unable to move. He flips her over, spreads her wide, sinks into her with one brutal thrust. The camera catches everything: her tits bouncing, his ass flexing, the wet slap of skin on skin. She comes first, screaming, then begs for more. He flips her again, pins her wrists, fucks her until she’s sobbing with pleasure. I don’t touch myself. I just watch, heart shattered and reborn in the same breath.
I come home the next day. She greets me with a kiss, oblivious. I hold her tight, inhale her perfume, and taste him on her skin. I should end it. Instead, I enable it. Every chance I get, I leave her alone—late nights at the office, weekend errands. I check the cameras when they meet at our place. Sometimes I catch them: her on her knees, swallowing him whole; him bending her over the kitchen counter, spanking her ass red. Other times, I miss it, but I see the aftermath—her glowing, sated, mine in a way she’ll never be again.
She’s happy. He’s happy. I’m happy in the dark, stroking myself to the ruins of my marriage. And that’s enough.
I've been suspecting for some time that my Asian wife was fucking other men after we got married. She knew I wanted her to be a hotwife but refused to openly play with other men, partly due to her traditional Asian upbringing. She was cool with role-playing being fucked by other men though and I grudgingly accepted that compromise.
Her career had soared after she worked for a MNC where the management are mostly white men. Each company she joined thereafter had a similar profile: white male boss, frequent overseas travel, and servicing clients/vendors in male-dominated industries.
Of course, I noticed that she had been buying more sexy clothes/lingerie, always being on (and guarded about) her phone, and taking frequent short trips, often with little notice.
I recently discovered that some of the messages that her male work associates have been sending her went beyond flirting to outright sexting and sending of sexy photos. And also that she had been taking vacations overseas with some of them, under the purported guise of being on business travel.
I have yet to confront her as I'm not sure if a divorce is what I really want. Partly also because being adulterous has no bearing on the divorce based on the laws here. For now, I will see what else turns up and try to find out who she is fucking.
At least now I know that the signs that she's cheating are not a figment of my imagination.
Her career had soared after she worked for a MNC where the management are mostly white men. Each company she joined thereafter had a similar profile: white male boss, frequent overseas travel, and servicing clients/vendors in male-dominated industries.
Of course, I noticed that she had been buying more sexy clothes/lingerie, always being on (and guarded about) her phone, and taking frequent short trips, often with little notice.
I recently discovered that some of the messages that her male work associates have been sending her went beyond flirting to outright sexting and sending of sexy photos. And also that she had been taking vacations overseas with some of them, under the purported guise of being on business travel.
I have yet to confront her as I'm not sure if a divorce is what I really want. Partly also because being adulterous has no bearing on the divorce based on the laws here. For now, I will see what else turns up and try to find out who she is fucking.
At least now I know that the signs that she's cheating are not a figment of my imagination.
Lots of research is needed on your part. Check panties, if at all possible get access to her email and chat history.
If she were open about her experiences would that make you excited?
I would love to have a partner like that.
My wife fucked about before we got married, she knew I forgave her the first time that I would probably always forgive. I caught her once at a house party but she denied it for years, then she seen it turned me on and became far more blatant about it. I married a slut I knew from my first date she was a slut but I kept going out with her.
Most of my girlfriends cheated on me if I am honest and I guess I had a type and they knew I could be cheated on
Most of my girlfriends cheated on me if I am honest and I guess I had a type and they knew I could be cheated on
Yes, it would. But I know she'd never admit to fucking other men unless presented with the evidence. And doing so will only end up in a divorce.
So you'll rather have a cheating hotwife than a faithful spouse, even if she doesn't admit it?
I was jealous, shocked and hurt, but also turned on wanted to reclaim her. When she was messing about in front of friends it was humiliating and exciting.
If it makes you feel any better, at least you know you married a slut.
I thought mine is the traditional faithful Asian wife but it turns out she's a slut too.
Was embarrassed when she got a friend of my dads to finger her while dancing at a house party and the guy lifted back of her skirt and showed my dad
Mine came home at 5.30am insisting she'd been at a club that i knew closed at 2.30am. She lied for four months before finally admitting it. After she admitted it i started posting her on two well know swinger sites, I also started bringing friends home. Now shes had lots of cock and became a regular little sexy cum bucket.
Yes I would.
Especially if I was able to find evidence of her infidelities
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