My Perfect Wife

I always thought I had the perfect life. My name is Jake Harrington, forty-eight years old, six-foot-two, one hundred ninety pounds of lean muscle from five days a week in the gym and weekend runs. I run a successful software consulting firm out of Atlanta. My wife Lisa is forty-six, five-foot-seven, one hundred fifteen pounds of toned runner’s body that still turns heads. We have two adult kids—Megan, twenty-three, teaching elementary school down in Savannah, and Tyler, twenty-one, finishing up at Georgia Tech. I brew beer in the garage. Lisa drinks wine and claims the smell of hops makes her gag. For twenty-four years I believed every smile, every “I love you,” every tired homecoming after her corporate training trips.

I was a fool.

It started the night I picked up my buddy Chris from the airport. Three of Lisa’s coworkers from the training division walked out of baggage claim laughing, rolling their suitcases. Lisa was supposed to be in Dallas teaching through Friday. Her office voicemail said she was out until Wednesday and then on vacation. I called her cell. She answered with that soft, slightly breathless voice she uses when she’s “exhausted from class.”

“Just wanted to hear you, baby. Can’t wait to hold you Friday night.”

She laughed. “These trips wipe me out, Jake. Earliest flight Friday. I’ll be ready for that welcome-home fuck once I sleep.”

I hung up and felt the first cold trickle of suspicion. Chris suggested I talk to Detective Ray from our beer club. Ray listened, then put me in touch with a private investigator named Victor Hale. Victor asked the hard questions the next morning.

“How far back do you want to dig? How much pain can you swallow?”

“Everything,” I said. “Every trip, every lie, every cock she’s taken.”

Victor’s team moved fast. They confirmed the Dallas class had ended Wednesday. The other instructors flew home that night. Lisa stayed. Hotel cameras showed her and five others—three men, two women—eating dinner together, then riding the elevator to the seventh floor. Connecting rooms. 707 and 709.

The pictures from Friday morning were clear enough. Two women leaving 707 at 10:15. Two men leaving 709 nine minutes later. They looked relaxed. Satisfied. The kind of loose-limbed walk people have after a long night of hard fucking.

Victor’s Dallas contact went deeper. Cleaning crews. Sheets. Panties left in the laundry bag. DNA. Hair samples matched against the brush I gave him from Lisa’s side of the sink. The lab results came back while I was still pretending everything was fine, still bottling a batch of English brown ale and telling myself maybe it was just a long lunch, just friendship.

It wasn’t.

Victor sat across from me in my living room, face grim. “Your wife participated in multi-partner sex over multiple nights. All six of them. Same bed at times. The women took every man. The men took every woman. Unprotected. Repeatedly.”

I stared at the photos. Lisa on her back, legs spread wide, a thick cock buried in her shaved cunt while another stretched her mouth. Lisa on all fours taking it from behind while one of the women licked her clit. Lisa’s face glazed with cum, tongue out, laughing as another load hit her tits.

The investigator kept talking. “We’ve traced the group back twenty-four years. They met in new-hire training. Same company. Same travel circuit. Connecting rooms whenever the schedule allowed. They call themselves the Travel Team when they’re alone.”

I asked the question that already felt like a knife in the gut. “The kids?”

Victor slid two more lab reports across the table. “Megan’s biological father is George Langley from Richmond. Tyler’s is Charles Nixon from Columbia. You’re not the father of either child.”

The room tilted. Twenty-three years of coaching soccer, teaching Megan to ride a bike, helping Tyler with calculus, every birthday, every Christmas morning—none of it biological. Lisa had been fucking these men long enough to get pregnant twice and pass the children off as mine.

I wanted to put my fist through the wall. Instead I hired the best divorce attorney in the state, told Victor to keep the cameras rolling, and started planning the end of her secret life.

Lisa came home that Friday night the way she always did—tired smile, long bubble bath, laundry the next morning. I fucked her Saturday night the way I always had, slow and deep, kissing her neck while she moaned my name. Inside I was counting every lie. Every time she claimed she was too sore or too tired after a trip, it was because three other cocks had already stretched her cunt and asshole raw.

Victor’s team hit the next training session hard. San Diego. Connecting rooms again. Hidden cameras in the vents and behind the television. Audio bugs. I watched every minute of the footage over the following weeks, sitting alone in the dark with a bottle of bourbon, cock hard and aching while my wife turned into the dirtiest slut I had ever seen.

The first night the six of them gathered in the suite after the class dinner. Lisa wore a short black dress with no bra and a thong that disappeared between her ass cheeks. George, broad-shouldered and silver-haired, pulled her against him the second the door locked. His mouth covered hers. His hand shoved under the dress and cupped her bare cunt.

“Missed this wet little hole,” he growled.

Lisa moaned into his mouth. “Been thinking about your cock all week. Fuck me hard tonight.”

Charles and Henry already had Joyce and Katherine naked on the king bed. Joyce was on her back, legs spread, while Katherine sat on her face and ground her shaved pussy against Joyce’s tongue. Henry knelt between Joyce’s thighs and shoved his thick cock into her cunt in one smooth thrust. The wet sound of it filled the room.

Lisa dropped to her knees in front of George. She freed his cock—thick, veined, already leaking—and took him straight to the back of her throat. No hesitation. No gag. She worked him with the practiced ease of a woman who had been sucking the same cocks for two decades. Spit ran down her chin. Her eyes watered. She looked up at him like he was the only man in the world.

Charles pulled out of Joyce long enough to walk over, grab Lisa by the hair, and feed her his cock next. She switched without missing a beat, sucking one, then the other, then both together, her tongue sliding between the two heads while the men stroked themselves into her mouth.

Henry pulled Katherine off Joyce’s face and bent her over the edge of the bed. He slammed into her from behind, balls slapping against her clit. Joyce crawled over and started licking Katherine’s asshole while Henry fucked her. The filthy sounds—wet flesh, moans, the occasional slap of a hand on an ass—filled the suite.

Lisa stood, stripped the dress off, and climbed onto the bed on all fours. George moved behind her, rubbed the head of his cock up and down her dripping slit, then shoved in balls-deep. Lisa cried out, pushing back to take every inch. Charles knelt in front of her and fed his cock into her open mouth. She took both of them like she was born for it—ass up, mouth open, body rocking between the two men.

Henry finished in Katherine with a groan and pulled out, his cock shiny with her juices. He walked over, tapped Lisa on the cheek with it, and said, “Open up, slut. Clean me.”

Lisa pulled off Charles long enough to suck Henry clean, tasting Katherine’s cunt on him. Then she went back to sucking Charles while George pounded her from behind. The bed shook. Lisa’s tits swung. Her moans turned into muffled gurgles every time Charles pushed deeper into her throat.

They switched without talking. Years of practice. Lisa ended up on her back, legs pushed up to her chest. George fucked her cunt while Charles pushed into her asshole at the same time. Double penetration. Lisa’s eyes rolled back. She screamed around the cock Henry shoved into her mouth. Joyce and Katherine took turns licking her stretched holes, their tongues sliding around the cocks splitting her open.

I watched my wife take three cocks at once for the better part of an hour. Cum filled her cunt and leaked out around George’s shaft. Charles pulled out of her ass and painted her face. Henry came down her throat. Lisa swallowed, then opened her mouth to show them the load before swallowing the rest. The women leaned in and licked the cum off her cheeks and tits. Lisa kissed them both, sharing the taste.

They rested only long enough to drink water and swallow Viagra. Then it started again. Lisa rode Charles reverse cowgirl while George fucked her ass and Henry stood at the edge of the bed so she could suck him. Joyce sat on Lisa’s face and ground down until Lisa’s tongue was buried in her cunt. Katherine straddled Charles’s face and got her pussy eaten while she watched Lisa get used.

The night went on until almost four in the morning. Lisa came so many times her legs shook. She begged for more. She called them daddy, called herself their whore, told them how much better their cocks felt than her husband’s. Every word cut me open and made my own cock throb harder.

Victor’s team recorded three more trips the same way. Orlando. Chicago. Denver. Same pattern. Same connecting rooms. Same filthy group sex that lasted hours. Sometimes only four of them. Sometimes all six. Always unprotected. Always ending with Lisa’s cunt and ass leaking cum, her face and tits covered, her mouth used until her lipstick was gone and her voice was hoarse.

I collected over forty hours of video. I had stills printed. I had DNA reports. I had phone records showing the group texts they sent after every trip—pictures of their used holes, messages about how sore they were, jokes about how their spouses would never know.

Our twenty-fifth anniversary was coming up on a Sunday. Lisa’s last class before it was in Orlando, ending Friday. I made my plans.

I invited the five other spouses to a “surprise anniversary lunch” at a hotel near the training site. I told them it was a celebration of the long friendships their partners had formed through work. Megan and Tyler already knew everything. I had shown them selected clips and the DNA results two weeks earlier. Megan had cried, then gotten angry enough to break a glass. Tyler had gone quiet for a day, then told me he was with me no matter what.

Friday afternoon I walked into the classroom carrying twenty-five red roses. Lisa’s face lit up for half a second before she saw the rest of the group behind me—Megan, Tyler, the five spouses, Victor’s man with a camera, and my attorney with a stack of envelopes.

I smiled the same smile I used to give her across the dinner table. “Happy almost-anniversary, baby. I wanted your friends here for this.”

Lisa’s color drained. George, Charles, Henry, Joyce, and Katherine froze in their seats.

I introduced Megan to George first. “This is your biological father. The man who knocked up your mother while she was still telling me she was on the pill and faithful.”

George’s wife stood so fast her chair fell over. Charles’s wife started screaming the second I handed over the DNA report and the lawsuit for back child support. Katherine’s husband went white when he saw the video stills of his wife eating cum out of Lisa’s cunt.

I let the video play on the classroom projector. The lights stayed on. Everyone watched Lisa on her knees with three cocks in her face. Everyone watched her take it in both holes at once while the other women licked the stretch. Everyone heard her beg for more cum, heard her call them her real men, heard her laugh about how easy it was to keep her husband in the dark for twenty-four years.

The room erupted. Spouses shouting. The Travel Team trying to leave and being blocked by the camera and the attorney. Lisa sat in a chair sobbing, mascara running, dress still neat from the day’s teaching.

I walked over, dropped the divorce papers in her lap, and said the last words I would ever speak to her as her husband.

“Don’t come home. Don’t call. Don’t try to explain. You’ve been a cheating slut wife for longer than our marriage has existed. Now everyone knows. Enjoy the rest of your life, Lisa. You’ve earned every bit of it.”

I walked out with Megan on one side and Tyler on the other. Behind us the classroom was pure chaos—yelling, crying, the wet slap of a hand across a face.

That night in my hotel room I poured a glass of the strong bitter I had bottled the week before and watched the final compilation video one more time. Lisa on her back, legs locked around George’s waist while Charles fucked her mouth and Henry came across her tits. Lisa on all fours getting her ass reamed while Joyce sat on her face. Lisa’s eyes glassy with lust, mouth open, tongue out, completely lost in the pleasure of being used by the people she had chosen over her own family for two and a half decades.

My cock stayed hard the entire time. I stroked it slowly, thinking about every lie, every night she came home too sore to fuck me, every time she washed the sheets before I could notice the smell of other men. When I finally came it was with her name on my lips—not in love, not in longing, but in pure, vicious satisfaction.

The divorce went through clean. No-fault. Assets split. The Travel Team lost their jobs within a week once the morality clauses and the public scandal hit. Their spouses took them for everything. The kids they had fathered with each other’s wives became public knowledge. Megan and Tyler still call me Dad. They always will.

Five years later, I still brew beer on the weekends. I still work out. I still run the company. Sometimes late at night I put on one of the old videos, not because I miss her, but because watching that cheating slut wife get destroyed in every hole reminds me exactly how thoroughly I won.

Lisa is a broken woman now. Broke. Alone. Branded. Exactly what a twenty-four-year cheating slut wife deserves.

And I am free.