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Inferidelity Ch. 01

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A couple fetishizes a husband's "inferior" pervert co-worker.

“Patel?” my wife said, astonished.

It started at the sex therapist.  Just before Christmas.

Our sex life was fine, but not perfect.  Two years after our first kid, we wanted to have a second, just in time for my wife’s thirtieth.  However, we both admitted that we could barely conjure up the passion to make love once a week, much less multiple time during her ovulation period.  

It wasn’t because her body had changed.  In fact, all my favorite features about my beautiful wife had barely changed after childbirth.  She always had these “slut tits” that I loved.  I only called them that in my head, because they reminded me of the type of tits that most men imagined on their penultimate stripper or fantasy hooker.  Her little belly was still cute, her eyes were still big and blue, and her ass hadn’t changed.  We just...lost the passion.

We had everything in life: great jobs, a beautiful five-year old daughter, our dream home, and a pretty damn good marriage.  Everything was going according to the plan.  Rather than wait until things degraded into a dead bedroom, which many of our other married friends endured, we went to a therapist.  We thought the best defense would be a good offense..

I nodded in response to her inquisitive look.

“So this therapist handed you an index card,” she continued, a little louder than normal, “...and you wrote on it that the sexual fantasy you turn to when you have to be aroused, before making love to me, is of me have sex with fucking disgusting, lizard-faced Patel at one of the Brighton’s pool parties?  This cannot be real.”

“Now Nicole,” the therapist said, “we promised we wouldn’t judge.  This is an open forum.  John, can you explain what excites you about that situation?”

I sighed, “Patel is a pretty unsavory guy, he-”

Nicole interrupted, “Uhm, he’s like five foot five, balding, kind of fat, has weird Indian-guy hair, is addicted to strippers, let me repeat that, is openly addicted to strippers and talks constantly about them like they’re his friggin girlfriends…I mean, your co-workers are techy guys, I get that, and some of them are crazy anti-social, but this guy is just outright repulsive.  On, like, a base level.  That’s why this is so….well….”

The therapist laughed a bit in order to add levity to the situation.  My wife failed to mention that Patel was a multi-millionaire thanks to his dealings in the tech startup scene.  She failed to mention that his stripper ramblings were tongue-in-cheek party talk that came from a man with few social graces and deep, deep personal insecurities.  Or, that when we attended one of these pool parties, he stared at her wet bikini-clad breasts like a suckling child every second he could.

“Right,” I said, “That’s the thing.  You talk all the time about how much he disgusts you, and he’s unbelievably pathetic.  Everybody knows that.  Hell, even Patel knows he’s pathetic.  So….I’s two things.  First, if you did make love to him, it would be because I told you to.  Any other guy in this world, you might be attracted to, it would make me jealous and feeling betrayed.  But my fantasy, you’re with him because I told you to be, and that gets me off, really hard.  I think it’s a power thing.”

“Good, good,” the therapist said, “That’s the root of it...go on...”

“And the other thing,” I said, continuing, “So here you are, this genetically gifted person, with so much going for you, and this...I won’t be insulting but...Patel’s genetic….whatever….his scent, his bonding hormones, his cum….you’re risking so much just letting him inside you, and it makes no sense, on like this really animal level, and-”

“It makes no sense, at all,” my wife said, eliciting more polite giggles from the therapist.

“I know! OK? I know it doesn’t.  There was one pool party where your top was above the waterline and Patel was just flat out staring at you.  I mean this guy was borderline ready to jump your bones five feet away from me.  He was in love with watching the water evaporate off your tits.  And...I don’t know.  It really lit me up.  It’s the last time I can remember feeling something deep, sexually.  Something that pierced the veil.”

The therapist started to go off on a diatribe about openness.  She advised us to not actually act-out these fantasies, but instead to dabble in them in harmless ways.  The rest of the session didn’t reach that level of emotionality.  I was left wondering if I deeply disturbed my wife.

This exchange happened after Nicole admitted her deepest fantasy:  having me watch her have sex with another man.  She was quick to assure me it didn’t have to do with my sexual performance, but it was just a naughty idea that popped into her head.  

“At its base, I think it would get me off that you showed that much self control.  That you could be a Gary Cooper strong silent type, even in that situation.  That’s what I love about you the most, when you’re just….so, so strong.”

I didn’t probe into her reasoning the same way she interrogated me.  I just accepted her, like I always did.


This was in the car on the way home from the therapist.

She brought up the Patel thing, but she was more accepting this time.

“So...let’s say, guys like Patel….one of these lizard men in their mid 40s with no wife or children...what would you even do if I flirted with them?”

I felt the anxiety from the fantasy bubble up in mind, “That wouldn’t shake me.  But you could fool around.  You could even go further with my permission.  That would get me going.  Afterwards, I don’t think I’d care what you did.  You’d get a pass.”

I couldn’t believe I had said what I said.

“You soooo would care!  You would be mad at me forever.” she retorted, smiling.

“Yes, I suppose I would be.  Sorry.”

She laughed.  But after years of marriage, she knew I was being truly honest with my first response.  We just couldn’t say those types of things out loud or dwell on them.  If we did, things would fall apart.


This was midway through the Brighton’s first pool party of the summer.

It was six months after the sex therapist session.  I had completely forgotten about the Patel fantasy.  Our sex life was red-hot for a few weeks after we saw the therapist, but had settled back into mediocrity.  And...she still wasn’t pregnant.

The Brightons house was huge.  They had something like eight bedrooms, a dedicated gym, and a billiards room with arcade games.  The IT industry was a place to meet people with extreme wealth, and Patel was nearly in the Brighton’s range of excess.  I saw him briefly and said hello.  He was ranting about his new bright purple sports car, how he spent twenty thousand dollars at a strip club last week, how he took a hooker as his “date” to a resort in Mexico.  All of this would be confounding if it wasn’t coming from a meek, tiny man with thinning hair and a beer gut.  Through his broken English, pretty much everything Patel said was almost adorable, even if it involved stripper orgies and the impulsive spending of an isolated, lonely man.

I was getting a beer from their outdoor kitchen when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, my wife talking to someone.  Her tits were hanging nicely in her bikini that night and her ass looked to be on point.  We briefly made eye contact, and she gave me an intense look that I didn’t normally see from her.  I glanced away and when I turned back, she was gone.

Twenty minutes later, I went inside to use the restroom.  When I exited, I realized I hadn’t seen Nicole for some time.  The look she gave me earlier seemed to say that I needed to find her.  I walked through the house quietly.  In the dark, I could see two figures shifting in the moonlight. 

I saw the outline of their bodies as they laid on the end of a bed, heads facing the doorway.  Patel was on top of my wife, kissing her quietly but with intimacy.  The side of her bikini top was shifted and one of her breasts was visible.  Patel was massaging her inverted nipples as they explored each other’s bodies.

I felt the blood surge from my legs straight into my skull.  The initial defensive reaction subsided almost too quickly as I noticed an outright intoxicating level of arousal overtake me, with a deep mix of fear.  It was like smelling gasoline at a fill station: it felt really good, but my mind was telling me to stop enjoying the sensation before I hurt myself.

Patel pulled away, “Do you like me?” he whispered to her meekly.  

She gave him a cadillac smile.  “I like you.  I like your strong hands.”

“This is bad, your husband will hurt us.”

She rubbed his head, “We’re just fooling around.  We only had two good kisses.  My other boob isn’t out.  It’s just a little fun.”

For the next ten minutes, my wife led him on with those little phrases, assuring him.  After slow goading and casual giggling, she had her top off, and his fingers disappeared beneath her bottoms.

“Our suits are on,” she said, as Patel fumbled around with my wife’s vagina, “It’s not cheating.”

There was something so erotic about her gentle words guiding him down the slippery slope.  She was giving him every excuse to continue, like she was leading on a hesitant child.  

I walked into the room.  Patel looked startled, his big doe-like innocent eyes loomed large.  My wife grabbed his head and turned him back towards her, giving him soft, meaningful kisses.  She knew I would come and find her eventually.  She didn’t even turn to look at me.  

I stood at the side of the bed.  The musty smell of chlorinated water mixing with the down comforter and my wife’s juices was stimulating me in ways I couldn’t understand.  After she broke their final kiss, she pushed down his swim trunks. Patel’s brown, freckled cock sprang free, and I have to say it wasn’t as diminished as the rest of the man.  Even in the moonlight, I could tell he was unbelievably hard.  It was the first time in my life I had seen a man’s penis in any erotic situation, and yet I had no true reaction to it.  In my detached fever, it was the instrument that could further the taboo that had soaked my mind in euphoria. 

“Ooohh, bad, bad...we should stop..” she cooed.  Patel took his cock in hand and began to rub it into her bottom.  He rubbed hard enough to shift the cloth of the bikini.  He was deliberate, probing, but respecting her rules.

“I feel heat,” Patel muttered sheepishly, “I can feel the heat.”

Her camel toe appeared and I could see the outline of her pussy shift as he shoved into her.  He kept probing into her and she was moaning softly, leading him on.  Her nipples were now erect, and her mouth was agape from her deep breathing.

I felt like I was walking in a dream when I reached forward and untied the string of her bikini.

Even in her altered state, she was horrified.  She finally looked at me.  I stared back defiantly.  If she could do all this heavy petting without informing me, I had a “gimme” in the bank.  It was my turn to dictate the course of things.  

Patel was shoving his cock against her loosening bottom in an animalistic state.  He was too timid to rip into her, so he kept playing the game.  Slowly but surely he was using his cock to push her bottom to one side.  The thin layer of material was covering less and less of her crotch.

“So bad…” she muttered, keeping up her reluctance.  I didn’t know if she was serious or if she just enjoyed building tension.  The bottom was pushed to one side, and I think Patel may have edged the head of his cock inside her slightly.  He withdrew timidly and she put her hand in front of her opening.  Of her short list of lifelong lovers, Patel had made the cut.  That much, at least, was irreversible.

“Do you do this with the other girls?” she said, breathlessly, ”At the club?”

She kissed him with a peck to distract him, “Yes yes,” he said.  She sort of motioned to get space between the two of them and smiled, hoping to buy time.

“Do they get tests?  Do they-” he pushed the tip into her and she moved her hand to try and cover where he probed, “Tests?  Clean?  Are they cl-”

Somehow he found a way to push past her hand and he was entering her.  Her eyebrows furrowed and she clenched her teeth.  The blood in my head felt like it rushed through the floor.

“Heeeey,” she said, placing her hands on his chest in a sign of affectionate resistance, “Come on, lll--” she lost her thoughts and her eyes widened as he pumped.  Her body was relenting. “Let’s talk….bout this….wait a sss--” she groaned, “sec…”

He began rocking his hips.  I sat there, my own cock erect, dying inside as I watched another man see my wife’s breasts jostle in circles as he plowed into her.  That sight had driven me to hundreds of orgasms and now, for the first time, another man was stealing that same, deeply personal joy.  Nicole’s head tilted and her eyes closed.  She was getting deeper into it.  I knew how sweet her breath smelt at moments like this.  Her respectful, level-headed self was withering.

“Ok you….had a few pumps….lez talk….let me….uhhohh no.  Gotta...pull out…”

A man she truly loathed was probing into her depths, spreading microscopic cells inside her that were no less dangerous than bullets in a game of Russian roulette.  If Patel was a little rough in the booth at the club the night before, he could be pumping a disease into the mother of my children, one that could haunt her for the rest of her life.  And yet here I was, watching as she shuddered each time he threw his body weight into her.  I didn’t lift a finger to stop him.

Globs of the genetic material coating the end of his cock rubbed deep into her womb.  This was the worst risk of all.  Even if we escaped unscathed, and erased the “mistake” at a local pharmacy, we would have to remember another man as a potential father of her children.  

Every thrust into her was like the empty click of a gun, click, click.

My most looming, darkest fear: what if she...cared about him.  The man inside her was far wealthier than me and malleable.  She could upgrade her life, and find a new man servant...what if this was pandora’s box?  How many beautiful woman hung off the arm of men far uglier and older than him in the name of the almighty dollar?  Could we ever be the moral judge of his stripper addiction if we allowed her, my precious wife, to be debased beneath him like a low-class call girl?

My mind envisioned clumps of his precum, sticking to her walls.  She looked lesser to me now, like a stupid, wayward bitch.  Less than human.

I was so horny.  I was feverishly, devotedly horny.  Ten years of total sexual monotony was scorched along with our fidelity, and I was either going to watch my fantasy unfold or get divorced trying.  I noticed a digital clock that Patel could easily see.  

“If you last until 10:30, you can cum inside.”

Patel didn’t acknowledge me, but slowed his strokes.  Nicole’s face contorted and she struggled to convey her disagreement through the waves of taboo pleasure jolting through her.  Strategizing, she started mulling him on...and probably praying that Patel’s obedient nature and extreme arousal would spare her from taking his cum.

“Cum in me,” she said with despondent, begging eyes, “Make your cum in me, make a baby,  Do it.  I’m so hot, I need you….”

She started panting.  Sweat was pouring off her forehead.  Stroke after stroke was pounding into her as the clock ticked away.  In a move that was more to toy with me than it was to goad Patel, she pressed her knees into his sides, trapping him inside her.  This was the first point where I felt the need to physically stop the proceedings.  It was the first time I felt deep, bellowing jealousy.  She was a whore on her back in a cave, waiting.  If I ripped him off her, I might save the cultured, intelligent woman I loved.  Or at least, my idea of her.

The seduction became too much for her overwhelmed new lover.  Much to my relief, he pushed past her gripping knees and barely escaped her slick vagina.  A thick, audible jet of cum sprayed hard against her shaved pussy lips.  It was so intense I could have sworn some of it pushed them apart and slithered its way inside.

“Oh wow,” she said in between pants, “Look at all that baby spray...”

As the last of his cum escaped him, her hand wrapped around his cock and milked it, spreading the last drops onto her pussy lips as she squeezed them from him.  She smiled and laughed as she took both his cheeks in her hands and looked him in the eye.

“Baby spray!” she said again, laughing. 

The clock switched to 10:30.  He was so close, yet so far away.  I was too flustered from the intensity of the moment and left the room.  I sat in the hall, my head in my hands, trying to collect my thoughts.  I peered around the corner and saw them in an embrace, her nose nuzzling his as they smiled and exchanged sweet little nothings.  They faced each other, side by side.

“You love me?” she asked him.  I could see him palming one of he breasts.

“Yes yes.  You love me?”

She nervously giggled, “You’re special to me.  You’re in my heart now.”

They kissed.  And this wasn’t a peck, or even passion.  This was meaningful, deliberate.

“This is good love,” Patal uttered.

She beamed at him, “This is good.  You’re making me feel so special.”

I saw him sort of rock his body into her.  I couldn’t tell if he was adjusting position or probing her with another erection.  They were whispering.

My wife’s eyes grew again.

“No….this is so dangerous....”

He pumped into her five or six times with his cum covered cock.  Somehow she summoned the presence of mind and pushed away from him.  His half erect cock slurped out of her.  He shoved it back in and she cooed.  I had to walk away.  This was her choice now, and I had to save myself from any further agony.


This was in the car, after my wife opened the door.

She was still wearing her bikini.  I was furiously masturbating, being careful that no one else leaving the party could see me.  I had left her in his arms, defenseless, so I could masturbate, alone, in the dark.

As soon as she was inside, I jammed my fingers into her bottoms and collected two fingers worth of the ice-cold sperm still matted on her vagina.  I didn’t know if this was fresh, or left over from the session I had witnessed.  I shoved his cum deep into her cunt.  Her eyes glazed over and she nearly came in an instant.

We made furious love, in the parking lot, not caring if anyone could see us.


This was in the living room, the next day, after we fed our kid.

While she prepared breakfast, I ran to the pharmacy.  She was sitting in a chair in a red silk bathrobe.  The top of the robe was split open and a faint hint of cleavage was saying hello.  I placed a morning-after pill next to her on the end table.

“How are you feeling?”  I asked her.

She sighed deeply.  The sun was bouncing off her big, saucer-sized blue eyes.  I couldn’t believe how innocent she looked.  I was deeply in love with her.

“In my mind?  I….can’t believe what we did.  I have this deep, deep, sort of...loathing, thinking about touching him, saying those things to him.  I can’t believe his naked body was...anywhere near me.”

I was surprised at her negative reaction, “Well then you’re one hell of an actress.”

She looked me in the eye and shook her head, “I said that was what was in my mind.  That loathing and that disgust is still... energy.  Still the first time I felt alive in a long time.  My heart was bursting out of my chest because it felt so good to explore another man, and to have him make me….feel.  Even if it was a slog and a challenge, and a little disgusting...I still felt.  It’s been so long since I felt anything that immense.”

I nodded, “We took a lot of risks.”  I made sure to group us together to avoid shaming her.

She agreed with her eyes.  “So, so unsafe...what if there’s a baby…”

We let the big, big elephant in the room sit in silence.  I remembered how it felt shoving his cum into her.  What if she was unscathed until then?  What if my horn-ball, delusional action was the deciding moment when nihilism bore fruit?

“There’s the mind, the heart, and the soul.  We haven’t talked about the soul.”

I paused.  She looked white as a ghost.  “What do you mean?” I asked.

She licked her lips, “I considered him.  I think, if we want to come clean, we have to talk about that.  Not just the gaudy porn stuff.  You need to know that I considered him.”

I was in disbelief, “What…?”

Her shoulders shrugged, “Maybe after the third or fourth long, drawn out kiss, I asked myself if I liked the way it felt to look in his eyes.  He was touching me in ways you never have, what can I say?  Novelty is exciting.  We shared humor.  He told me he loved me.  Look…”

She reached for and then shoved her phone in my face.  It was filled top to bottom with flat-out worshipful text messages from Patel, showering compliments on her.

“I ask myself: could I find a way to love him back?  For a better life?  Could he better support our daughter?  You’re the one who let other people into our marriage.  Is it a marriage?”

I was agasp, “I….”

“I wish he was here now.”

That statement just left me floored.  She could see it.

“Right, so you thought because I disliked him, you had nothing to worry about.  No jealousy, just the erotica, just the fucking.  Well, here we are.  I haven’t stopped thinking about him, or how he smelled, or how his hair felt in between my fingers, or what it was like to have him inside me.  I haven’t stopped thinking about him.  I feel bad because I judged him before.  He’s a good man.  I just know it.”

She looked me in the eye.  The woman loved to provoke me.  I couldn’t tell if this was part of the game, or part of reality.

The taboo of it all was getting to me.  To say I was aroused would be an understatement.  We had made love five times the previous night, barely sleeping, and I was ready for another round.

“I’m fucking addicted to this,” I said.  She just returned my stare.

“You might as well quit trying to break me,” I said sternly, continuing.  “There’s no way you can escalate this any further.”

She looked at the package.  With a nudge, it fell to the floor.  The message was clear.

She had just turned a few nights of hot, passionate, carnal sex into a full month of primal caveman reclamation..  And she fucking knew it.

I held frame.  She opened her robe, and her taut little belly sprung forth, just below her those delicious dump-truck breasts.  With a quick flick of her fingers, she sent a text message and then placed the unlocked phone, just above her pussy.  In the unlikely, but very possible, event that Patel had placed his child inside her, it was growing at a geometric rate just beneath that phone.  It sat there as she closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.

After a long hesitation, I finally took the bait.  I got down on my knees and leaned in to read the phone.  I could smell her pussy, and I yearned to lick it from top to bottom like it was our honeymoon.  I recalled his “baby spray” audibly bouncing off of her vagina just hours before.  I read the text message.

“I love you.  So, so much.”

I looked to her tummy as it softly waved up and down as she breathed.  I’ve never wanted to fuck another human being more in my life.  I looked to her face.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a gravelly voice.  She kept rubbing her temples with her eyes closed.

“I’ve got options.”

My cock was concrete.  I thought I was going to pass out.



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