Watching the Wife Cheat: 5 First Time Cuckold Stories (Cheating wives and their voyeur husbands who can't, or won't, stop them . . . .) by JL Sanders

Author:JL Sanders [Sanders, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PMI
Published: 2021-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

The View From My Dark Office Loft

Denise and I lived in a narrow 4-story red-brick townhouse in the heart of the funky side of town. A wrought-iron fire-escape slithered up the back of the house to a tiny porch enclosed under the roof. Inside was my loft office, and through its cut-away floor, I had a broad view of the living room below.

With the lights off at night -- I checked with my camera -- one could lay on their stomach and peer through the oak stanchions of the railing to see the entire L-shaped sectional sofa below, and yet scarcely be seen above.

There came just a night when I climbed silently up the fire escape, laid flat across my office floor, and listened through the stanchions. I could hear my wife guffawing loudly with Sherman, teasing him and pushing him playfully, and talking in sexually risqué ways with him. At first, I was amazed more than alarmed at the unusual sounds below.

Denise was typically a straight-laced, careful and guarded talker, being an elementary school secretary. She was flirting, and while that was exactly what I wanted when I made up a reason to leave her unexpectedly home alone with my old college buddy, it didn’t stop at simple flirting. I felt like I had opened a long-sealed bottle recklessly, curious to see what was inside. Now it felt like I was never going to get the lid on again.

I carefully crawled on my elbows and toes like a Marine in training and pressed the top of my head painfully hard into the stanchions. I gripped the hard oak dowels like a condemned prisoner and flared my eyes staring down disbelievingly. I hoped for a little harmless entertainment, a little titillation watching her flirt not at a party with people around, but at home, with apparently no one watching. I never imagined my wife would ever actually do anything once alone at home with a guy like Sherman. That’s what I went into the evening thinking. I came out the other side of that night like I had stepped through a portal into an alternate universe.

Denise was dressed in shadow-blue draw-string gym shorts and a loose white long-sleeve crop top with thumbholes. She rocked the fit and athletic look — and that night, she was particularly stunning with the contrast between her clothes and her mahogany-red painted toenails and fingernails, and her pouty matte coral painted lips. With her loosely-tied wavy sunshine-blonde hair and silver-loop earrings, she gave the look of someone both hanging out at home and yet interrupted half-way through getting ready for a night out at the clubs. Seeing her on the couch not the way I normally see her, but through the eyes of another man, like through Sherman’s eyes instead, I was struck by just how incredibly hot she was.

She knew Sherman only enough to not like him much. “He’s crass and he’s conceited,” she said about him. She’d complain that he was loud and rough, “uncultured,” she called him.

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