Cynthia's Business Trips Ch. 02

[This is a continuation of a story by Just Plain Bob. As always, I am deeply grateful for JPB for allowing me to write follow-ups to some of his stories. If you hate it, please blame me and not JPB.]

*

I had left the pictures in an envelope on our bed, so that when Cynthia came home from her trip there was no way she could miss them. I suspected she might call me at work, or even come storming into my office to confront me; but I wasn't sure. There was a chance she wouldn't do anything, or that she'd wait until I got home, or even that she'd just leave me.

When I walked in the house was quiet, no signs of dinner being prepared, no lights on downstairs. I climbed up to the bedroom and found her there. She was lying fully clothed on the bed, asleep. Her eye makeup had smeared down both her cheeks, so I could tell she'd been crying. The envelope and the pictures were scattered all around the room, some of them ripped into pieces.

So there wasn't much doubt about how she felt about them. They were pictures of me fucking Susanne Jenkins, the sister of a guy I worked with. And Cynthia didn't seem to be too happy about it.

***************

I hadn't originally planned to take pictures. In fact, I hadn't originally planned to fuck Susanne—or anyone but Cynthia. For nearly a year after finding out about Cynthia's "business trips", which were really excuses to have gangbangs with black men, I did my best to live with it.

Cynthia was right about some of what she had said to me. She was always the most loving, affectionate, and sexually exciting wife a man could ask for. Both in bed and out, she went out of her way to please me. We had a terrific time together, both as lovers and friends; and when I looked at the marriages of some of my acquaintances and co-workers, there wasn't a single one I was tempted to change places with.

So I guess you could say that it really was just my ego that was hurt. However, never underestimate how important a man's ego is to him. Cynthia's gangbangs meant, at least to me, that I wasn't enough for her—that all my loving, affection, and sexual attentions weren't enough to satisfy her. Once every few weeks she had to have a big dose of black dicks to keep her happy.

And it ate at me. While she kept on being a loving wife at home, she also kept to her regular traveling (and gangbanging) schedule. And with each passing month, the sense of humiliation I felt about what she was doing grew worse and worse. With each trip, it got harder and harder just to jump happily in bed with her on her return; to fuck that beautiful pussy and not think about what she'd been doing with it for the previous few nights; to kiss her mouth and not imagine how many dicks she'd been sucking off.

I met Susanne at a company picnic when her brother Artie roped me into being her partner in some stupid three-legged race. She was about 30, recently divorced, and extremely attractive. We finished fourth in the race, and we might have won if we hadn't started to stumble near the end. We were laughing so hard we barely made it to the finish line.

Cynthia was away on another trip that weekend, and so when Artie and his wife invited me to join Susanne and them for dinner, I was happy to go along. At the end of the evening I volunteered to drive Susanne home. She asked me to come in for coffee, and we sat and talked. I heard about her divorce, and to my surprise I was incredibly tempted to tell her all about Cynthia and me.

I resisted the temptation, though—I just couldn't handle the humiliation I would feel if the guys I worked with ever learned the truth about my marriage. So I just told Susanne that Cynthia and I had some problems, and to my surprise Susanne's eyes lit up.

I was thinking it was time to head for home, when she surprised me again by sliding over on the couch and putting her arms around me.

"I'm a pretty direct girl, Rob, so I hope you'll forgive me. You're a nice, funny, attractive man, and the fact is that it's been months since I got laid and I'm horny as hell. I'm not a homewrecker, though, and I would never come on to you if you hadn't made it clear that things weren't so great at home.

"The last thing I'm looking for is a serious relationship—it'll be a while before I'm ready for that. But if you're interested, I'd like to take you into the bedroom and ball your eyes out. If not, no hard feelings, and I hope I haven't offended you."

She took my surprised silence for a refusal, and after a few moments got up and said, "sorry, Rob. I can tell you're not so crazy about the idea."

"Wait a minute! You caught me by surprise, is all. I haven't been with another woman since I started dating Cynthia, and it never occurred to me that I might get the chance tonight.

"I'd love to go to bed with you, Susanne. But are you sure that a one-night fling with a married man, even an unhappy married man, is what you want?"

She smiled and said, "if all goes well, maybe it won't just be a one-night fling."

***************

Sex with Susanne was far too much fun for me to give it up after one night. She was enthusiastic, energetic, and very vocal. The first time we just jumped out of our clothes and went right to it.

"I'm too excited for foreplay, Rob, just put it in me." I did, and we pounded against each other while she moaned and cried out and urged me on. "Oh, oh, oh yeah, oh yes Rob, oh yes, oh baby, go baby..."

You get the idea. In no time she was coming hard beneath me, and I kept plunging into her until I filled her with a load of my cum.

After that we rested a little, and smiled at each other, and then played some more, taking our time. Her body was plumper and rounder than Cynthia's, and her breasts a little bigger and softer. I loved licking and sucking them, and Susanne actually came once just from my playing with them.

By the end of the night I learned that Susanne loved oral sex, and she liked to try different positions. The second time we did it reverse cowgirl, but with her leaning back against me and her legs stretched out next to mine. In this position I could keep one hand on a breast and the other stroking her clit, and she went crazy, humping against me and crying out as we both came furiously. Then we got a snack from the kitchen, she sucked me up again, and we were off and running.

When I left the next morning it was understood we'd be doing this again soon. I made clear that I had no intention of leaving Cynthia or doing anything to break up my marriage, and that was fine with Susanne.

"Like I said, baby, I'm not looking for anything serious. But last night was more fun than a barrel of monkeys, and I really hope we'll be doing it again soon."

For the next six months, Susanne and I got together almost every time Cynthia went out of town. Not surprisingly, I didn't feel the least bit guilty about it—why should I, when I knew that Cynthia was getting her fill of anywhere from six to twelve strange dicks? I tried to take her attitude: what I was doing wasn't taking anything away from our love and affection for one another.

I even made sure that my last fuck with Susanne was always a good 24 hours before Cynthia got back, so that my batteries would be recharged for the usual welcome-home romp with my wife. Cynthia must have done the same thing, because she never felt loose or fucked-out with me.

But while the sex was great, and I grew fond of Susanne, it never really filled the hole in my heart that Cynthia's out-of-town gangbangs had put there. I felt confident that I was a good lover, and Susanne's enthusiasm confirmed it—but I still wasn't enough for my wife. I knew it, and it hurt.

So when Susanne told me one day that she was dating someone special, and that it was time for her and me to see goodbye, I made a decision. I didn't want things to continue—I didn't want to find a new Susanne and just keep fucking around behind Cynthia's back while she fucked around behind mine. I needed a resolution to my unhappy situation.

So I asked Susanne to go to bed with me one more time, and I bought a camera with a timer and set it up on a tripod. I got some nice juicy shots of the two of us in various positions.

And then I made up some 8 x 10 prints and left them in an envelope on our bed for Cynthia to find when she came back from her current trip.

***************

I sat down gently next to the bed, shook Cynthia very gently and said, "Cyn, honey, I'm home."

She sat up and looked at me bleary-eyed for a second; then she cried, you BASTARD!" and hit me hard in the shoulder with her fist. I pulled her into my arms, and she sobbed against my chest for ten minutes or more, while I just held her and stroked her hair and murmured to her.

Finally she was calm, and she sat up and looked at me, her eyes full of sorrow.

"I can hardly say 'what the hell were you doing with that whore?', can I? Or 'how could you do this to me?'

"Jesus, Rob, I have no idea what to say to you. All this time I never once thought you would...fuck around on me. So I had no idea what it would feel like. And it feels terrible."

"I'm sorry, Cyn," I said. "Not for doing it, but I am sorry that it hurts you so much."

"Who is she? God, she's gorgeous—just look at those boobs. Is this your way of saying goodbye, honey? Are you in love with her? Or were you just trying to rub my nose in what I've been doing to you?"

I shook my head. "No to all three, Cyn. She was just a fuck-buddy, a divorced sister of Artie from work. And I wasn't trying to pay you back. She came on to me after the office picnic last summer, while you were away, and I couldn't think of a good reason to turn her down. We've been getting together since then during your business trips, but now she's met a nice guy she's dating and we've called it off."

"Then why the pictures? I never knew a thing about it—why make me so miserable now?" She started to cry again, softly.

I took her hand and said, "because I didn't want to keep doing this. I didn't want to go out and find another good-time girl to screw, trying to make myself feel better about what you're doing when you're out of town.

"I tried to make myself believe that my nights with Susanne were making me okay with your...adventures. But it didn't work, Cyn.

"How about we go get something at the Diner, and then come back here and talk some more?"

She cleaned herself up and we went out to eat, but it was a quiet meal. Neither of us had much to offer in the way of small talk, knowing what was ahead. We skipped dessert in favor of cups of coffee back home at our kitchen table.

I didn't waste any time—after all, I'd been thinking about this for months.

"It seems to me we have three choices, Cyn—at least, there are only three that I'm prepared to consider.

"First, we could go on as before. You'd continue your 'activities', and I'd probably find someone else to have occasional nights with when you're away. That's not what I want, though. I think the sex you're having with other people, and the sex I was having with Susanne, are driving us apart. I don't feel very optimistic about our marriage if it goes on like that.

"Second, we could agree to be monogamous—like I thought we had agreed to be when we took our marriage vows, actually." I said this in a kind of hard voice, and Cynthia looked away.

"I would happily give up any other women for the rest of my life—but you'd have to give up what you've been doing, too.

"Or third, we can get a divorce. You'd be free to have all the fun you want, and you wouldn't even have to go out of town anymore, at least not to protect me or our marriage."

Cynthia looked at me bleakly for a long time. Then she said, "I don't want a divorce, baby. I've always meant what I said when I talked about how much I love you. If it means giving up...other men, then I'll just have to find a way to do it. It will be hard as hell after all these years..."

She looked up at me as she said that, with a pleading expression, but I said nothing. Finally she continued. "It will be hard as hell, but I'll do it."

I took her in my arms and said, "let's go to bed. We're both exhausted, and we can talk more about this in the morning."

***************

The next few days were strange. Cynthia was more loving—and less confident—than I'd ever seen her before. We made love all the time, but gently, without most of the usual hard pounding and fireworks. She was affectionate and eager to please; but she was also a little tentative, and I knew exactly why.

"Pretty hard just to be your old confident self in bed when you feel you're competing with someone, isn't it?" I thought that to myself, but never said it.

Gradually over the next couple of weeks, things returned to normal. The hard-charging, ambitious Cynthia started showing up more often, and our gentle love-making became more energetic and fiery again.

On the last night before her next trip we had another long talk about my three choices, and Cynthia confirmed that she was going with Door No. 2.

"Are you sure you can do it?" I asked her.

"If I know I have to, yes," she answered me. "Things are different now, Rob. Those pictures of you and Susanne made me feel for the first time what it felt like to be in the position I put you in for so long. I didn't like it—and I know you don't like it. So I'm just going to stop.

"And if that means I come home from my trips hornier than ever—well, you'll just have to take your vitamins!" She gave me a grin, and I grabbed her up in my arms and headed for the bedroom.

The happiest day of my life may have been five days later, when Cynthia returned from Dallas and Denver. We'd talked every night on the phone while she was away—unlike the old days, when I only had her cell phone number, now Cynthia left me her hotel phone number in each city.

The day she returned I rushed home a little early from the office, and she met me at the door in her bathrobe with a drink and a smile. "Come in, baby, I brought you a little gift from my trip."

She led me into the bedroom and sat me on the bed. Then she disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, returning in a short red nightie that highlighted her breasts and came down barely to her hips.

"Here's your gift, honey," she cooed, smiling at me and pointing to her carefully trimmed bush. "My little kitty—untouched by anyone but me since the last time you visited. She sure has missed you!"

Our lovemaking that night was better than anything I'd ever experienced. I had never felt closer to Cynthia, never felt luckier to have such an amazingly smart, gorgeous, sexy, and loving woman for my wife. Between the fucking, the cuddling and kissing, and her sucking me up for another go-round, we were at it most of the night.

And the next few months were gloriously happy. The new feeling of closeness made everything between us better—both when we were together and when Cyn was away on a trip.

Until—there just has to be an "until", doesn't there? Until a night when she was supposed to be staying in the Marriott in Kansas City but she didn't answer her phone. Not at 9, not at 10, not at 11. At 11:48 pm she called me, worried and out of breath.

"Sorry, baby, I'm so sorry I'm late. A sales meeting ran over, then the restaurant lost our reservation, then the customers wanted to sit and chat for hours—I just got away now. I saw your messages—I'm sorry if you were worried!"

I thought to myself, 'why didn't you just give me a call on your cell?' But I didn't say it. We had a nice, loving chat, I pretended to be reassured, and that was that.

But everything changed. All my worries came flooding back, and I wondered constantly if she was up to her old tricks again. When she came home two days later I watched her intently. She seemed like the same loving wife, but was she a little careful with me? Did I catch her gazing at me with concern, when she didn't think I was looking?

I didn't know whether I had turned into a paranoid maniac, or whether something really was going on. But I knew that I needed to know once and for all. If she'd gone back to cheating on me now, after our confrontation and all our long talks, all her promises....

When she left for Salt Lake City and Las Vegas three weeks later, I saw her off at the airport, then got on my own flight to Salt Lake an hour later. I knew Cynthia usually checked in, changed her clothes, and then headed off for her business meetings. So I took a cab to the Hilton, showed them my name and lots of identification, told them I was in town to surprise my wife on her birthday, and convinced the Assistant Manager to let me have a key to her room.

At 6:15 I was sitting in a corner of the lobby with a newspaper, baseball cap pulled down over my eyes, facing the elevators. Cyn walked in about 8 pm and headed straight upstairs. Thirty seconds later a nondescript, thickset man came over and sat down next to me.

"I picked her up at the airport, tailed her here, then to her meetings, then to dinner at the Salt Lake Grill. She was there with four men and one other woman, from about 6pm until 15 minutes ago. It all seemed on the up and up."

This was Ernie Solomon, a P.I. I'd hired the week before. He sat with me and we shared the newspaper for another couple of hours, watching the elevators.

There aren't too many black people in the Salt Lake City Hilton, but a little after 9pm three tall black men came in together and rode up to the fifth floor—the same floor as Cynthia's room. Twenty minutes later there were two more, also tall and good-looking. They also got off on the fifth floor.

I waited until about 9:55 pm, then I pulled out my cell phone. First I called home and checked the messages. Cynthia had called to say she was back in her hotel room and would be watching TV and turning in early—she'd talk to me in the morning.

Then I used the hotel's house phone to call her room, and listened carefully to anything I could hear in the background.

"Hi babe, it's me," I said. "Sorry I missed your call earlier, I stayed a little late at work. How are you?"

There was nothing but quiet behind her as she spoke. "I'm fine, sweetie—just tired. I miss you already."

"Anything on TV, or were you already asleep?"

"No, I'd just turned it off. In fact, Rob, if you don't mind too much, I'd like to turn in—would that be all right?"

I still hadn't heard anything suspicious, but Cynthia's voice seemed strained, like she was trying hard to control it.

"No, that's fine, baby. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Love you!"

"Love you too, honey. Good night!"

There was a bit of time before she got the phone back into its cradle. Just a split-second before the line disconnected, I heard it. The beginning of a groan from Cynthia—just the sound she made when I first slid my cock into her. And I heard a fragment of a word, maybe "Not" or "Now", in a man's voice.

Not much—but enough.

***************

We waited ten minutes, then took the elevator to the fifth floor. In the empty hallway I asked Ernie for his pistol and put it in my pocket.

"Wait for me in the lobby, OK? I'm only going to be a couple of minutes."

I quietly used the key to open the door to 519, and quietly closed it behind me. A short hallway led into the bedroom, where I could hear vigorous activity and the squeaking sounds of a bed in active use.

I cautiously poked my head into the room. Cynthia was lying on her side, and three of the black guys I'd seen earlier were making her airtight. The guy behind her had his cock in her ass, another one in front of her was all the way into her pussy, and over his shoulder the third guy was bent over the bed feeding his dick into her mouth. At the far wall the other two guys sat naked on the couch, their cocks drooping. I guess they'd already finished round one.

As I pulled out my cell phone to take some pictures, Cynthia saw me first. She stiffened and her eyes went wide, but she couldn't get the guy's cock out of her mouth fast enough to say anything before I started snapping photos. I took a fast six or eight before anyone could react to the flash.