Cheating husband – spying neighbor leads to lustful revenge

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“That fucking bastard!” I screamed at my computer as the Find My iPhone app confirmed my darkest suspicions. “That lying sonofabitch!”

“I’ll be working all night on that merger project and just be able to catch a couple of hours sleep at the office before my 9 a.m. meeting,” my husband had said so convincingly a few minutes ago. He didn’t know I had activated the GPS tracker on his iPhone. This was the third time this month he’d pulled this shit, but this time I had the new Find My iPhone app to see where he really was. How stupid did he think I was?

The real question was what was I going to do about it? It’s one thing to know your husband is a cheating, lying bastard, it’s another thing to do something about it. My anger quickly gave way to defeatism. What does she have that I don’t have?

I stood up and looked at myself in the full-length mirror covering our closet door. Turning left and right as I slowly shed my clothes, I tried to be objective about my 34 year-old body. My breasts still looked good, pretty pert with no sag. My stomach was toned; I worked out at least four days a week and swam regularly. I ran my hands down my flat stomach and along my smooth hips.

Adjusting the closet door so the mirror faced the floor to ceiling window that covered most of one wall of our bedroom, I checked out my backside. With the drapes opened, the window glass reflected almost like another mirror. Nice firm ass, no sign of sag there either. I slapped my bare ass cheek for emphasis. So what the fuck was it?

My husband’s co-worker was very pretty and she was ten years younger than I am but I always thought I had kept him satisfied. I gave him regular blowjobs and I was pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Up until recently, our sex had always been adventurous, almost aerobic. So why was he fucking that slut?

I let out a long sigh. This was getting me nowhere. Maybe a swim would clear my brain. I slipped on my lavender, silk robe and walked downstairs. Exiting through the sliding glass door off the family room, I was surprised by how hard the door slammed behind me. Maybe I was tenser than I thought.

Standing next to the pool in the cool night air, I dropped my robe and looked around. Our neighbor’s house wasn’t far away but I thought it unlikely he would be looking out at this time of night. I dove in, letting the water rush around me and caress my bare skin. I tried to forget about what my husband and his young slut were doing as I swam a few fast laps. When I felt the tension starting to leave my shoulders, I flipped onto my back and floated leisurely around letting my body completely relax. Fuck him!

Swimming usually helped but I couldn’t quite get the image of those two cheaters out of my mind or the helplessness I felt trying to determine what to do about it. If I confronted him was I willing to throw away twelve years of marriage? If I didn’t confront him was I willing to live with myself as the pathetic little wife who just accepted her husband’s infidelity? I finally gave up and climbed out of the pool. Grabbing my robe I tried to push the door open but it wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck!” I cried, pulling on the handle. Shit. It must have locked when I slammed it shut. I almost laughed at the absurdity of standing naked in my back yard while my husband was across town fucking his whore. “Here I am world,” I wanted to shout. “Fuck me over some more”.

Now what? I knew the rest of the doors were locked. We had talked about a keyless entry for our garage but had never gotten around to it. There was a light on next door but I was naked as a jaybird. Well, almost. I slipped the silk robe on, pulling it tightly around me. It didn’t have a tie so I held it closed as I traversed the short sidewalk that connected our side yards. Feeling totally foolish and embarrassed, I shivered as I rang Ron’s back doorbell.

We don’t know our neighbor very well except to say hello on the driveway now and then. If it was a shock for him to find a wet, half naked woman on his doorstep, he didn’t show it.

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