Remained a whore

I married Tanyusha three years ago. I knew she was easy, that she'd had quite a few partners before me, but love is blind, and who among us is without sin? But the sex with her... I've never had a better girl. Blowjobs, anal, and vanilla—all top-notch, and what's most important to me is that she absolutely loves it herself. God didn't skimp on her beauty—a sweet, slender, petite blonde with big green eyes, a neat little nose, and full, slutty lips. I'm 35 now, she's 27, but our sex life is regular and quite varied.

but there were never any hints that she had someone else. But all this continued until recently. One summer Saturday evening, my beloved, along with her work girlfriends, went to celebrate a birthday at a small restaurant. I drove them there myself, then, having agreed they'd get home by taxi, I grabbed some beer and went home to watch my favorite soccer. The restaurant was open until 2 a.m., and Tatyana promised to be home by then. Around 11 p.m., I called Tanya and from our conversation understood she was quite drunk and suggested she come home immediately. Tanya giggled in response and handed the phone to the birthday girl, who assured me everything would be fine.

I calmed down and after the call, I started hitting the beer just as hard. Two hours passed, then another half hour, and I called my wife. Damn—the phone is off, where is my beloved? I immediately remembered my wife's stories about her life before our marriage, when she couldn't exactly count how many men she'd had—was it 43, or 44, maybe even more. The thought that my beloved might be fooling around with someone right at that moment really turned me on. Even before this, her stories about past escapades had always excited me incredibly. The clock showed 3, then 4 a.m., and finally I heard uncertain footsteps on the landing and unsuccessful attempts to get the key in the lock. I open the door and freeze on the spot—my sweet girl, drunk out of her mind, hair disheveled, makeup smeared, a completely blank stare.

 — Where have you been? I ask her, but she doesn't answer, doesn't even take off her shoes, runs to the bathroom and starts puking. Okay, fine, I went to our only room, straightened the bed, and waited for Tanya. I hear the water turn on, seems she's not puking anymore, then silence. I go into the bathroom, she's lying there, trying to get up but can't. I lift Tanya up, she reeks of tobacco and alcohol, her head and clothes are wet from the water. I carry her to the room and throw her, fully clothed, onto the bed, and she instantly falls asleep. She's lying hugging a pillow, with her legs spread wide, shoes still on. I look, and under her slightly hitched-up skirt is my wife's bare ass; I carefully lift it higher—definitely no panties, her shaved pussy lips are swollen, treacherously red, and even glistening with moisture.

I ran my finger between them and slid it into her vagina, from which a little stream of white cum immediately flowed. Oh fuck, you slut, I couldn't help but say. Okay, I think, she won't get pregnant, she has an IUD, but what if she caught some nasty disease. The thought that someone had just fucked my little wife made my dick hard as a rock. From my secret stash, I took out the stuff I keep for encounters with unfamiliar girls and generously smeared it on Tanyusha's pussy lips, pouring almost half the bottle into her pretty wrecked vagina. Then I treated myself and immediately rammed it into my wife's hole. Yeah... you could immediately tell she'd been worked over pretty well, but I didn't give a damn that I was poking into this big, loose hole. The thought that someone had just fucked her quickly brought me to orgasm. After cumming inside my wife, who showed no signs of life, I decided to search her purse for evidence.

With that thought and my dick hard again, I return to Tanyusha and start fucking her. Since her vagina is too wrecked, I switch to my wife's asshole, where I successfully cum a short while later. Lying next to her, I realize that even more than just knowing about my wife's infidelities, I'd like to see it or even participate—like me, plus another guy or two. In light of this, I decide—in the morning, not a word to her about knowing everything. I'll say I got drunk myself and don't remember what happened very well. With that thought, I try to doze off, but thoughts about how to carry out my plans keep me from falling asleep peacefully for a long time.