What's Left Unsaid - Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story contains cheating, cuckolding, infidelity, erectile disfunction, and spinal injury (off screen).

Chapter 1

I was in my home office when Daisy got home near 1 AM. She didnā€™t see me. The lights were off, and I was sitting in the dark, a glass of Scotch in hand that I hadn't touched since Iā€™d poured it an hour before. I was sitting on the small couch tucked into the corner of the office, deep in the shadows away from the bay window and the soft glow of my computer screen.

She didnā€™t see me. But I saw her.

Her hair was a matted mess, which she was trying to tame as she slipped through the front door. I watched her from behind the French doors that separated the office from the living room. The front door just beyond. She quietly closed the door, clearly trying not to make any noise. Slipping off her heels, a pair of black stilettos, she held them and began to quietly tip toe towards the bedroom. Her dress was a simple black number, the neckline modest but only long enough to reach her mid-thigh.

I watched as she passed by the office, looking tired. Her face flushed. She was beautiful. Dark, straight brunette hair shining in the dim light of the moon coming through the windows. Short, but slim and fit from her long hours working at the Gray Cliffs Rock Gym. Her hips swayed gently as she moved and vanished from view.

My chest ached. Sheā€™d been coming home late a handful of times over the past month. And I knew why. It was never even a question. I wanted to be mad. Butā€¦ I couldnā€™t be. Considering the place we had found ourselves over the last yearā€¦ I donā€™t know that anyone could blame Daisy for what she was doing. Least of all me.

As quietly as I could, I got up from the couch, put the glass of Scotch on my desk and left the office, quietly following my wifeā€™s path. My bare feet softly skidded along the carpet. Iā€™d gotten ready for bed around nine, pajama pants and a t-shirt, but hadnā€™t gotten any sleep. Never even tried to lay in bed. With Daisy being out again, it was impossible for me to just lay down and forget. To ignore.

The sound of the shower caught my attention as I entered our bedroom. A sliver of light showed through the crack in the open door leading to the master bathroom. Daisy hadnā€™t closed it all the way. Did she think I was asleep?

I glanced at the bed. It was made. No possible way to think that I was bundled up under the blankets. Either she hadnā€™t looked at the bedā€¦ or maybe she just didnā€™t care. That thought made my chest twist again.

Carefully, I peeked in through the crack, eyes landing on the mirror that was reflecting my wife as she slipped her dress off. Even after ten years of marriage, she was still stunning to me. Slim and trim. A soft V along her thighs and waist. Strong flat stomach. As she stepped out of her dress where it pooled on the floor, she began to unhook her bra. A lace, black, half-cup that almost let her nipples peek out along the intricate trim. She let the bra fall to the floor and put her hands along her breasts, as if massaging them from being cooped up for so long. Her sigh was weary, tired. Her little pink nipples looked puffy.

She turned from the mirror towards the steaming shower and slipped off her black lace thong, bending just enough that I had a clear view of the small thigh gap and her slightly red ass cheeks. Her pussy was smooth and puffy. Strings of something sticky and glistening in the vanity lights were attached to her panties as she pulled them down and kicked them to the side.

I stared at the mess between her thighs. Daisyā€™s hand went to her vagina, hidden from my view. She sighed, as if massaging herself. Not in a sexual sort of way, more like youā€™d massage or rub a sore muscle. ā€œHe always goes so hard.ā€ She grumbled and then stepped into the shower, sliding the door closed. Now she was just an obscured shadow, steam and frosted glass keeping her defined figure obscured. 

My gaze went to the panties sheā€™d cast aside. There was a clear stain along the gusset, thick and white. Gooey.

A soft sound of humming mixed with the splashing water. For a while, I simply watched. Eyeing the hazy figure of my wife. Washing away God knew what from her body. Letting any evidence of her transgressions circle and vanish down the drain.

Eventually, it became too much. I left the bedroom, letting the soft sounds of my wife and the shower fade behind me as I returned to my office. I curled up on the couch and shut my eyes. The idea of sleep was hardly appealing. But I had work tomorrow. Or rather today. And I couldnā€™t let what was happening ruin everything. I wanted to keep as much of my life together as possible.

After a few minutes of trying to sleep, I heard the door to my office creak open gently. My eye cracked open just enough to see Daisy, a soft blue fuzzy robe tied around her. Her hair was still slightly damp, and the moonlight that hit her face made her look as if she were a sort of living statue, carved from marble and flawless.

ā€œHey.ā€ She whispered, coming close and sitting herself on the edge of the couch. I felt the press of her hip against me. ā€œHoney. Hey. You should come to bed.ā€ Her voice was soft. Warm. She put her hand on my arm, squeezing. ā€œYouā€™re gonna ruin your back if you sleep on this ratty couch.ā€

ā€œItā€™s comfy.ā€ I muttered, trying to keep all my roiling emotions in check.

Daisy chuckled. ā€œSure. But the bedā€™s a lot more comfy. And bonus, you can cuddle with your wife. Come on.ā€ She stood up and bent forward to try helping me up. I glimpsed inside her robe, breasts bare and gently swaying. She was naked. Beautiful.

I reluctantly got up and found myself settling into a warm hug. She was only an inch or so shorter than me, her head nestling in the crook of my neck and a soft kiss touching my throat. ā€œCome on, sleepyhead. Letā€™s get you to bed.ā€

We left the office and quietly made our way to the bedroom. I wanted to ask her where sheā€™d been. Sheā€™d texted to say sheā€™d be late coming home again. A common occurrence now every few days over the last month. When Iā€™d first asked, sheā€™d always say it was work related. But what could she possibly need to stay late for at a rock climbing gym? Did she know how flimsy that excuse was? Did she care?

I knew Daisy didnā€™t think I was naĆÆve or stupid. Surely she knew that Iā€™d start to question things. Maybe she didnā€™t think Iā€™d suspect anything, at least not so quickly. But I had my suspicions from the very first time she texted sheā€™d be late. Iā€™d seen the signs leading up to it. Itā€™d been inevitable.

Crawling into bed together, Daisy keeping her robe on tight, we snuggled down under the covers, arms wrapped around each other. Her head lay on my chest, damp hair soft and smelling of lavender and peach. I kissed the top of her head and she gave a soft little sigh of contentment. She squeezed me tight and within minutes was asleep.

I remained awake. Wondering. Imagining. I felt foolish. Weak. Angry. I knew what was happening, but I couldnā€™t bring myself to stop it. It felt unfair. Unfair to deprive my wife of something she needed and that I couldnā€™t provide. Not because I was somehow lackingā€¦ but because I was no longer capable. Literally. I had my nearly naked wife pressed against me. My blood was hot. But downstairs, nothing stirred. Hadnā€™t stirred in nearly a year. Not since my injury.

The lingering feeling along my spine, the memory of the impact. The pain. The sudden lack of it. Slipping in and out of consciousness as I saw the roof of an ambulance. Then an operating room with its bright lights. Ending in a small sterile hospital room. Then came therapy. Recovery. And the realisation that though I was fine in almost every other way, there was one way that Iā€™d been irrevocably changed.

Reaching under the covers, sliding my hand into my pajama pants. I felt my penis. Limp. I tried, not for the first time and probably not the last, to stroke it. Wiggle it. Anything that might stimulate it. To get it hard. Even semi-hard would be enough.

But nothing happened.

Nothing.

Daisy snuggled closer. Her cheek rubbing against my shirt, leg slipping over mine. The feeling of her pussy pressing against my leg was torture. My heart was pumping. My penis should have been reacting. Everything in me said it should be raging hard. Andā€¦

Nothing.

I squeezed my eyes tight. Fury was bubbling inside me. Rage for what was happening, how I was being treated by someone who professed to love me. And yetā€¦ a nagging, treacherous part of me whispered. You deserve this. Itā€™s your fault. What would you expect her to do? Itā€™s been a year. People have needs. And if you canā€™t meet them, why wouldnā€™t she go to someone that can?

I knew those whispers were bullshit. After all the therapy Iā€™d been through after my accident. I knew that this was the depression talking. Like a little demon on my shoulder whispering all the evil nonsense that would drive me crazy. But it was hard not to listen to it. Because my wife deserved to be fulfilled.

How could I blame her? She needed something, and I couldnā€™t give it.

I had nothing. She deserved something.

My anger simmered. I let it fizzle out, at least for the moment. Right now Daisy was here with me. Sheā€™d come home. For now, Iā€™d do my best to be happy with that.

ā€¦

The nightmare was always the same. My husbandā€™s eyes. Staring. Seeing me.

I woke up to an empty bed, and for a brief moment I wanted to cry. My dream had become reality. Conner was gone. But then the smell of coffee drifted from down the hall. The sound of something sizzling. Little clinks and clanks of pans and dishes.

My heart was still pounding from that little scare. For that one millionth of a second, my world came crashing down. All becauseā€¦ because I just couldnā€™t stop myself. I thought I could. Iā€™d tried. Butā€¦ I felt so empty. It wasnā€™t Connerā€™s fault. Iā€™d never ever blame him for his lack of attention in the bedroom. There was no way for me to know what he was going through. Even when we talked about it. With doctors. With therapists. It was always just a shadow of what was really going on in his head. And it broke my heart.

Laying back in bed, I let my hand drift between my legs for a moment. My labia was still puffy. Sore. A soft, distant throbbing echoed inside me, like I could still feel the rhythmic, pounding thrusts. I groaned and pulled my robe tight around me. It was so good. But every timeā€¦ afterā€¦ when I got home and had to sneak in. Hiding. In my own home! From my own husband!

I felt filthy.

But just like Conner had a condition that he couldnā€™t control, I too had something that was hard to keep in check. It wasnā€™t fair to compare his issue with my psychosomatic issues. Hypersexuality was not the same as ED, especially ED from the result of a spinal injury.

Fucking drunk driver. Damned stupid idiot nearly killed my husband. And what did he get off with? A suspension of his license. Fired from his job. Probation.

And what was Conner left with? Lingering back pain. A strange numbnessin his limbs. And the inability to get an erection.

And thenā€¦ that left me. A wife who loved her husband. Supported him. Was doing everything I could for him. Butā€¦ was lacking intimacy. Not that Conner wasnā€™t sweet and giving. He was practically a perfect husband. But now, our bedroom was dead. Like it had died in that wreck.

At first he tried to satisfy me. His mouth was amazing. Fingers dexterous and nimble, knowing all the right spots. But no matter how hard he tried and how well he made me cum, it just wasnā€™t enough. Iā€™d always been needy when it came to sex. Easily able to go multiple times a day. My doctor said I had hypersexuality. Some had it worse than others. It was much like an addiction. If not handled carefully, it would consume a person's life. Their job would suffer. Their home life. Health. Everything.

My case was more mild, but still sex was on my mind more often than not, and though Iā€™d learned some level of self-control, it had become increasingly difficult to keep things in check once our bedroom died. Before, Conner was able to keep up well enough. I could attack him at least twice a day, and heā€™d be more than willing and able. But now Conner was like a desert, and I was dying of thirst.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself out of bed. It was eight o'clock. Conner would need to leave for the office in a little while. How long had he been up?

Had he been up late waiting for me?

A shiver went through me at the thought of him seeing me stumble in at one in the morningā€¦ disheveled. Doing what was clearly a walk of shame.

Oh shit! My panties!

I got up quickly and went to the bathroom. Please, please, please donā€™t let Conner have seenā€¦

My soiled panties were right where Iā€™d left them on the bathroom floor. The stains were still there but were mostly dried. Less obvious. I grabbed them along with my dress and bra and buried them in the clothes hamper. Breathing heavily like Iā€™d just run a marathon.

Had he seen them when he got up? Had he used the bathroom yet? My chest was clenching as I left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Conner was there, dressed in nice dark jeans, a casual blue button-up and sneakers. His office was fairly casual unless there was a presentation or meeting that he needed to attend. His short brown hair was sticking up in a bedhead mess and he was humming to himself as he flipped the bacon in the skillet he was cooking on the stove.

I watched him. Adorable. Sweet. A good man. A man who deserved so much better than what I was doing. I pulled my robe tighter, crossing my arms under my breasts, and took a calming breath. ā€œMorning, honey.ā€ My voice was chipper, bright. Hopefully, it didnā€™t sound strained, like the way my heart felt.

Conner turned. For a second, the look on his faceā€¦ It made me pause. It was hard to describe. There was this spectrum of emotion all over. Resignation? Anger? Depression?

Heā€™d been battling depression since the accident. Another contributor to his inability to perform. Iā€™d seen plenty of moments where heā€™d been deep in a dark place. Upset that he couldnā€™t have sex with me. What little he had been able to do just wasnā€™t enough. Iā€™d never say that to him of courseā€¦ but Conner could pick up on it. I saw it. That he knew his mouth and fingers just werenā€™t hitting the right spot. It was probably why heā€™d stopped trying. 

It burned. Stung. I wanted him. So badly. But heā€™d retreated. A turtle hiding in its shell. And I just couldnā€™t find the heart to really be angry about it.

The look passed and he was smiling. ā€œHey. Sorry. Wasnā€™t trying to wake you. What time did you get in last night?ā€

I hesitated. Iā€™d brought him to bed at nearly 2 AM. Heā€™d fallen asleep in his office, something that had been happening more and more over the last couple weeks. Was that a coincidence? A little spike of fear ripped through me. Did he suspect?

ā€œUmā€¦ I think around midnight? Not sure.ā€ I answered. I hoped it didnā€™t sound as false to him as it did to me. Staying late at the gym had been working well enough as a cover, but that would only last so long. Conner hadnā€™t asked for details. Why I was staying late. Heā€™d just accepted my excuse. A husband who trusted his wife.

I didnā€™t deserve it.

ā€œPretty late. Everything go okay at the gym?ā€ He took the bacon from the pan, placing the pieces on a towel to soak up the grease.

ā€œUm. Yeah. We are doing some re-organizing, inventory, stuff like that. Changing up some paths along the walls. They are thinking about adding a whole new wall.ā€ I came forward and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his back as he was finishing up scooping the eggs onto two plates and then separating the bacon. ā€œIā€™m sorry I woke you up. I just didnā€™t want you to stress your back sleeping on that tiny couch.ā€

Conner chuckled softly and turned, putting his arms around me and giving my forehead a kiss. ā€œI appreciate it. I really should stop falling asleep in there. Just got a lot going on at work so Iā€™ve been trying to get ahead on some of our projects.ā€

I nodded, pressing my lips to her cheek. ā€œWell. Try not to make a habit out of it. I prefer you in bed with me.ā€ I gave him a wink. Before the accident, I would have accompanied that wink with a little grab to his growing bulgeā€¦ but Iā€™d learned quickly to stop that. Cupping his crotch when nothing was happeningā€¦ it was almost humiliating to him, and after the first time heā€™d spiraled into a depressive funk, Iā€™d cried for nearly two days straight. I didnā€™t want my husband feeling inadequate. It wasnā€™t his fault.

His hand cupped my chin, eyes holding mine for a second. Searching. Sometimes I wish I could read his mind. More often than not, Conner had a perfect poker face. It only faltered on rare occasions. And right now all I could see was ā€Œdesperate love and probing wonder as he looked at me. His thumb moved slowly over my cheek, and his smile was small. ā€œGood to know.ā€ He muttered and then kissed me lightly on the lips.

Did I brush my teeth ā€Œlast night? Oh, fuck, please donā€™t taste it on me. Please. Fuck, Iā€™m horrible.

Our lips parted, and we separated. ā€œHere. Have some breakfast.ā€ He handed me a plate and then turned me around and gave my bottom a soft, playful swat. I giggled and went to the table, settling down and accepting the cup of coffee he handed me. Two sugars and a ton of cream, just like I love.

We sat together quietly for a few minutes. Eating. Stealing glances at each other and little smiles. As if we were teenagers with a crush. Even nowā€¦ I was still so in love. Conner was so wonderful. I didnā€™t deserve such a good man.

Which is why it hurt all the more when I told him Iā€™d probably be home late again on Friday.

He just nodded. Jaw tensing for just a second as he took a bite of bacon and then grinned. ā€œDonā€™t wear yourself out at work. They donā€™t pay you enough for all the overtime.ā€

ā€¦

I sat at my computer late Friday morning, sequestered in my corner office, lights turned low and the computer screen glowing and reflecting off my glasses. My fingers drummed along my keyboard softly, just tapping the keys but not typing. Starting. Staring at the cloud drive my wife and Iā€™s phones were synced to.

Where her text messages were synced. And with the proper login, viewable.

I didnā€™t want to snoop. I didnā€™t want to be that sort of husband. The one that invaded his wifeā€™s privacy. Butā€¦ there was no question in my mind what was going on. Iā€™d seen the evidence laying on the bathroom floor just a few days ago. It didnā€™t take a detective to notice the stain in her panties. To know what it was. Iā€™d nearly vomited. Not because what I was seeing was gross or detestable. But becauseā€¦ because I was right. I was right, and it made my blood burn. Whether it was arousal, anger, despair, I couldnā€™t tell. Maybe it was all three. Or maybe emotions I just didnā€™t have a name for. Since the accident, everything was all screwed up. It seemed along with my spine, my emotions had been fractured as well.

There was no denying where my wife was the other night. Or where sheā€™d been all the nights before. The question was ā€¦ what exactly was going on? Obviously something illicit. But how deep did it go? Was it as bad as I thought? As my nightmares made me think? Or maybeā€¦ maybe I was wrong. I wanted to be wrong.

I kept staring at the folder that held my wifeā€™s texts. All her text strings, organized nice and neat. All it would take was a couple clicks and I could find outā€¦ something. More than I knew now at least.

But did I want to take that leap? To cross that line?

Lines had already been crossed. Was it so bad for me to step over the now blurred boundaries, if only to actually see how badly things had been broken?

I clicked.

A list of text strings appeared. Most I knew. Texts between family. Her mother. Me. Daisyā€™s sister Rose. A few other friends, mostly women. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing was glaring and screaming at me that it was wrong. So I just started to go through the ones I was least familiar with. First were the texts between friends, the ones from college she still chatted with and a few from a smattering of other places. There was nothing incriminating. Just the typical back and forth.

Then I came to a text string with one of Daisyā€™s coworkers, Ash. Iā€™d met him a few times and he was nice enough, but he had that sort of dude-bro attitude. An arrogant streak. Cocky. Full of himself. He wasnā€™t outright rude, but he came close enough, but never crossed the line. At least not in public. Daisy had mentioned a few times he was a notorious flirt. Always coming on to the other employees and climbers. He was fairly shameless.

Sheā€™d always talked about him flippantly. With a bit of an upturned sneer. Exasperated having to even mention him.

It made sense that they would probably have to communicate since they worked together. So I expected some short back and forth texts. Probably a little pleasant chattingā€¦

What I foundā€¦

April 12 - 5 PM

Ash: Still think the pink oneā€™s look better on you

Daisy: Please tell me youā€™re not talking about the one you oh so delicately informed me were see through.

Ash: Of course. Why wouldnā€™t I wanna see what underwear youā€™re wearing šŸ˜‚

Daisy: Fuck off.

Ash: Iā€™d rather fuck you.

Daisy: Youā€™re an ass

Ash: And your ass looks good in those pink spandex. Wear them tomorrow. I wanna see if Iā€™m right about your underwear choice.

Daisy: Are you betting on it or something?

Ash: Me and Bert have a pool going.

Daisy: Care to let me in on the odds? Maybe Iā€™ll tip them in your favor.

Ash: Are you telling me youā€™re a cheater?

Daisy: Maybe I just want in on the cash.

Ash: Who says its cash?

Daisy: Because youā€™re the kind of dick that would bet big bills on a girl's panty choice.

Ash: Iā€™m a dick. But Iā€™ve got a dick too.

Daisy: Yeah. We all know considering how tight your pants always are.

Ash: [The attached picture was from a downward angle, most of Ashā€™s chest clearly defined in a tight shirt and a large bulge in his dark black spandex.]

Daisy: Dick

Ash: Yeah, thatā€™s whatā€™s hiding under those pants.

Daisy: Well keep it there.

Ash: Wear the pink. I win the bet Iā€™ll take you to dinner.

Daisy: Iā€™m married.

Ash: Wasnā€™t proposing. Just gonna take you to dinner to say thanks for letting me win the pool.

Daisy: Fine. You win and Iā€™ll let you take me. I choose the place. Knowing you, itā€™d be some lame ass bar.

Ash: Deal!

April 13 - 8:00 AM

Daisy: [The attached picture was a selfie, held high up. Daisy glaring at the camera. A pink camo spandex top and pink spandex leggings.]

Ash: Gonna cheat and let me know what panties youā€™re wearing?

Daisy: Maybe Iā€™m not wearing any. No winners.

Ash: Iā€ll be a winner if Iā€™m climbing up behind you on the wall today.

Daisy: Pervert.

Ash: Who wouldnā€™t wanna get a good look at that ass and maybe a flash of your bush.

Daisy: Who says I have a bush?

Ash: You just seem the type.

Daisy: Thereā€™s a type for women with bush?

Ash: Yeah. You.

Daisy: Youā€™ll never know.

Ash: Wanna bet?

9:35 AM

Ash: Choose where you wanna go to dinner. Bring something nice to change into for Friday.

Daisy: You won?

Ash: Told you I would ;)

Daisy: Oh please. How could you even know? Do you have a camera in the girls locker room?

Ash: Leslie told us.

Daisy: Bitch. What did she say?

Ash: Pink cheekies.

Daisy: ā€¦

Ash: Wanna prove me wrong? Or right? Or are you gonna chicken out on our deal?

Ash: Show me Iā€™m wrong.

Daisy: [The attached picture showed Daisy pulling down her tights exposing a pair of cheeky pink panties riding up between firm cheeks]

Ash: Knew youā€™d try to cheat the bet. Wearing the same color. Devious Daisy.

Daisy: Fuck off.

Ash: Where am I taking you?

Daisy: Dorians

Ash: High roller huh? Deal. Wear something sexy.

Daisy: Dick

I leaned back in my chair, face in my hands, rubbing at my eyes as I felt a headache coming on. The level of flirting wasā€¦ intense. On the one hand I could maybe shrug it off. Ash was a dick. A flirt. Daisy may have sent a couple of photos. But they werenā€™t all that scandalous. Flashing her panties was a bit extreme but I could forgive that.

But I remember that Friday. The first Friday she stayed out late. She told me she was going out with some friends for drinks after work.

Friends.

Plural.

But instead sheā€™d gone out with only one friend. Ash.

What happened? Did I dare continue reading the texts? What would happen ifā€¦ if they gotā€¦ worseā€¦

Who was I kidding? I knew they would get worse. The question was, did I want to see how far and how deep and how dirty the rabbit hole was.

I thought back to that night. She didnā€™t get home untilā€¦ whenā€¦ midnight? Where was I? Sitting in the living room, a late night cup of coffee and reading. She came in wearing a slinky blue dress, ruffled around the hips and neckline. It showed just a little bit of cleavage. Black stockings. Blue heels. Her hair was a mess of tangles. Just like last night when she came home. One of the tell tale signs.

Something in me knew. Just knew. Even as she smiled wide wide and sweet and came over, leaning over the back of the couch to give me a kiss ā€œHey honey. Sorry I was out so late.ā€

ā€œHave fun with your friends?ā€ She smelledā€¦ god she smelled like stale sweat, wine, and something else. Something primal.

She hesitated. Cheeks red. ā€œUm. Yeah. It was fun. Drank a little too much I think.ā€ Her giggle was a bit crazed.

ā€œYou look really nice. Was it a fancy bar?ā€

Daisy was already wandering away towards our bedroom. ā€œHmm?ā€ She glanced back, a bit of a far away look on her face. ā€œOhā€¦ yeah it was kind of aā€¦ poshy place. Couldnā€™t just go in my gym stuff.ā€ Her grin was cute, slightly droopy. ā€œIā€™ve gotta pee. And Iā€™m sleepy. Coming to bed soon?ā€

I just watched her for a moment, turning away and slowly meandering down the hall, a hand pulling at the back of her dressā€¦ her pantiesā€¦ like she was picking out a wedgie. It was almost funny. Exceptā€¦

Did I really want to know? For sure? Could I handle the truth?

Or should I just leave things as they were? Unsaid. 

ā€¦

I hung up my gear, dusting off my hands on my pants. Everything ached and it felt good. Climbing always helped relieve my stress. Clear my mind. It was cleansing for me. Though it didnā€™t wash away the stain I felt.

ā€œNight Daisy!ā€ Leslie walked passed behind me, already heading towards the door.

ā€œNight, Lez.ā€ I waved, giving her a brief smile and headed in the opposite direction to the ladies locker room.

Quickly changing out of my climbing spandex, not bothering to swap out underwear, and pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my backpack and headed out. There were still a couple hours till closing, but my shift was over. I rearranged my schedule recentlyā€¦ though I hadnā€™t let Conner know. Another stain on my soul.

Outside the sun was starting to set. I weaved my way through cars towards the back of the lot. This portion of the parking lot was more isolated, not as easily viewed from the front of the gym and overshadowed by a line of trees that separated the gym lot from the shopping center next to it. Another car was parked next to mine, a little red sports car. It was sleek and cool. Well maintained in that cliche sort of way men have of babying their cars. Waxing and washing it constantly so there wasnā€™t a speck of dirt.

Part of me wished I could be as spotless as that cherry red paint job.

I tossed my bag in the backseat of my car, quickly locking it and then went around to the passenger side door of the sports car. Opening the door and slipping in. The windows were tinted, but I knew Ash was waiting.

ā€œThereā€™s my Devious Daisy.ā€ His grin was self assured and relaxed.

ā€œThatā€™s such a stupid name.ā€ I muttered as I buckled in.

ā€œWhich one? Devious? Or Daisy?ā€

I flipped him off as he turned the ignition and the car rumbled to life.

ā€œHey now, save that for the bedroom, my little flower.ā€ He said, chuckling as he pulled out of the lot and started down the road.

ā€œDo you ever shut up?ā€ I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms and looking out the window as the shops passed us by.

ā€œOnly when Iā€™m eating your pussy or your ass.ā€ His grin was devious, his gray eyes sharp as they glanced my way and looked me up and down.

ā€œFucking ass.ā€ I muttered and pulled out my phone, tapping over to my text chain with Conner.

Daisy: Iā€™ll try not to be out too late tonight. Maybe I can swing by Genoā€™s Pizza? We can watch a late night movie?

I bit my lip. Waiting for my husband to respond. Usually he was quick, his phone always close at hand, even when he was working on some cyber security stuff. I never really could understand what he did. But he was good at it, but he never zoned out like some people did when it came to coding.

A minute passed. Ash turned on some rock station, nodding his head to the beat and keeping his sly grin plastered on his handsome face. The man knew he had a gift for roping in women. And he reveled in it. He had absolutely no shame. Which worked well enough for me. I didnā€™t need roses and hushed whispers from him. I doubt he was even capable of such things.

My phone buzzed.

Conner: Iā€™d love that. Donā€™t work too hard. Iā€™ll be up when you get home.

I sighed. Texting him a kiss emoji and then slipping my phone back into my pocket. It was almost seven. It was realistic to think that I could get home by maybe ten. That should be good. And then I could cuddle with the man I loved, eat greasy pizza, and watch some random movie we chose on whatever streaming service we clicked on first. The idea filled me with peace even as Ash pulled into the parking lot of the Prescott Suites Inn.

ā€¦

The house was quiet. It was almost eleven. From what Daisy had texted, it seemed like she was going to be getting home earlier. But I suppose it wasnā€™t surprising considering what Iā€™d found in her texts.

I still hadnā€™t gone through them all. Hell, Iā€™d barely gotten through a tenth of the messages that were contained on the cloud. What I had seen thoughā€¦ that was enough. Enough to know where my wife was at this very moment. I didnā€™t even need to track her phone to know she wasnā€™t at work. Though, I did track her phone and saw she had been at the Prescott Suites Inn for nearly five hours.

Five hours.

My brain just couldnā€™t fathom that. Was sheā€¦ were theyā€¦ for five hours? Fuck was that really even possible? Or was this worse than I thought. Maybe this time was spent cuddling. Was sheā€¦ was there intimacy going on?

I pulled open the text string again, back to where Iā€™d left off at the officeā€¦

April 14 - 9:00 AM

Ash: You walking funny this morning šŸ˜

Daisy: Youā€™re an ass

Ash: And your ass tasted fantastic

Daisy: Gross. I canā€™t believe you did that.

Ash: You let me. Whatā€™s that say about you my Devious Daisy

Daisy: You surprised me. None of it should have happened.

Ash: I donā€™t know, you seemed to enjoy it

Ash: [The attached picture showed Daisy laying back on a hotel bed, legs opened wide and panties missing. Her dress was hiked up around her hips. It was clearly taken like a selfie, Ash holding the camera out to snap the photo as his face was between Daisyā€™s thighs, his tongue stuck out and running up over her smooth cunt. Daisyā€™s face was frozen in a moan, cheeks flushed, eyes closed and mouth open.]

Daisy: Fucking asshole! You took pictures!?

Ash: Oh come off it. You knew I did.

Ash: [The attached photo showed Daisy on her knees in the hotel room, the top of her dress pulled down along with her bra, exposing her perky tits. Pink nipples hard. Her eyes were closed as she was sliding a very thick, hard cock into her mouth. Lips dragging along the throbbing red shaft.]

Daisy: If you show anyone these photos Iā€™m gonna cut your balls off.

Ash: Hey now missy. Iā€™m not that kinda guy. These are just for me and you. Promise.

Ash: [The photo showed Daisyā€™s ass in frame. Cheeks spread, one of Ashā€™s hands holding them open so the view of his thick cock entering Daisyā€™s pussy was obscenely visible. Lips gripping tightly. The little bit of his shaft that was still exposed, glistening from juices sheā€™d already coated him with. There was no sign of a condom.]

Daisy: Iā€™m serious Ash! You canā€™t keep those. Delete them. If my husband finds outā€¦

Ash: Cross my heart and hope my dick falls off. No ones gonna see them but us. Trust me.

Daisy: Sure. Trust you. Like I trusted you were a gentleman. That it was just supposed to be dinner.

Ash: You could have said no. Iā€™m not one of those dudes that doesnā€™t respect a womanā€™s choice.

Daisy: Just fuck off Ash.

Ash: Iā€™d rather just fuck you again.

Daisy: Not gonna happen.

Ash: [A photo showed Ashā€™s large cock, already semi hard. His climbing pants pulled down to show his dick hanging out.] You really think you can resist this?

It was clear that Daisy couldnā€™t. I hadnā€™t moved past that last picture. The picture of another manā€™s penis that had clearly been inside my wife. Offering it to her again. Telling her that she couldnā€™t resist. Considering my wife was now at a hotel with someone, most likely Ash, he was right.

Images flashed in my mind. My wife, on her back, legs wide. A scene Iā€™d been graced with for ten years until my accident. The beautiful smooth creaminess of her toned thighs. The v-line of her muscles, leading down to the blooming center of her sexuality. Slightly puffy, pink, perfect. All of it, exposed to another man.

Inviting that manā€¦ or maybe menā€¦ was she having an affair with just Ash? I hadnā€™t seen any evidence to suggest it, but where there was smokeā€¦

She was inviting another man inside her. Bare. I knew she was on birth control. So the risk was minimal at best. But still. It felt like a complete betrayal.

I closed the app and pulled up Daisyā€™s number. Thumb hovering over the call button. Would she pick up if I called? Would she look at the screen, seeing it was me and just decline in disgust? Sheā€™d chosen to be there with him instead of coming home to me. The whole pizza and a movie was her idea. Why would she suggest it, only to leave me sitting, waiting? Was it a game? Torture? Torment? Iā€™d already been made a cuck by her affair. Was she diving deeper into that world and laughing behind my back while she indulged in depravity?

Maybe I was thinking too much. An affair didnā€™t always mean someone was unhappy or disgusted with their partner. There were layers. And in this caseā€¦ I could understand it. Maybe not fully condone it, but considering my lack of abilityā€¦ I just couldnā€™t come to be truly outraged. Daisy deserved pleasure. She deserved to be satisfied. And from the little Iā€™d seenā€¦ Ash was doing that.

Or at least Ash was doing well enough for Daisy to keep going back even though she didnā€™t like him all that much.

I tossed my phone onto the coffee table. The images were burning in my brain. Taunting me. There was more to go through. So much more. But I couldnā€™t make myself look. Not now. Getting up, I went to my office and poured myself a Scotch and swallowed it down fast. 

Then poured another.

And another.