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When a Wife Wanders, Has Sex With Other Men

That look she gave me, subtle it was, but I recognised it and I knew, precisely, in fact, what it meant and I’d noticed the subtle looks he’d been giving her, and my heart sank, knowing tonight, it wouldn’t be me with her, inside her.

But I tried to stop her, I really tried but I so wished I hadn’t. She wanted him, and no matter what I did or said she was going to have him. Whoever he was. The lucky guy.

She’d only just met him, some smart ass jerk who’d been playing blackjack. At least I’d thought him a smart assed jerk. She obviously didn’t and although sleeping with him was what she wanted, I knew sleeping would be the last thing they’d be doing.

And me, later, having downed more than my fair share of Jack Daniels whilst I’d be attempting to sleep unsoundly in my suite up on the top floor, a suite which I’d paid more for than some people earn in a year to stay in for the night, his balls would be slapping into her ass while they fucked each others brains out, after she’d asked him of course and he’d agree – he’d be nuts not to agree, with her, my wife, my highly sexed beautiful attractive young wife with such hot looks, and a body to die for and die for her I definitely would.

I raised my objection. The tiny flicker at the corner of her mouth should have made me shut up immediately, but stupidly I didn’t.

“I’m not wasting my time going over all this again.” She scolded me quietly, but firmly in a quiet corner of the casino out of earshot of others. Her determination was too strong, far too strong, nothing could stop her. “I’m going to do it and that’s it. I told you the last time. If you don’t like it, fucking divorce me.”

And that was it, I hadn’t really agreed, but I’d had to, just as I had done a few weeks earlier and a few weeks before that and a few weeks before that, the first time, when she and I had had our first discussion, if you can call it that, about me allowing her to wander, take liberties, with other men, ‘Only now and again.’ she’d added, as if that would make it any better.

I didn’t go to my suite. I sat at the bar with my friend, Jack, instead.

There was a woman, I couldn’t miss her, a sexy woman, attractive, such breasts,  in a long red clingy red dress. She was sat at far end of the bar, and she was on her own.

If she was a hooker, Jack and I didn’t care.

I bought her a drink.

We talked.

She laughed.

She opened her handbag, looked at her phone and tutted and mumbled something about that asshole husband of hers.

She looked at me with such sultry eyes and kissed me, her soft pink lips brushing mine.

“You want to?” She asked. I nodded. She smiled, snapped her handbag shut, stood up, straightened out her dress, that cleavage, disturbing. “Come on then.” She said and took my hand. “Let’s do it.” She kissed me again, with more heet, more passion, more determination this time. “Let’s fuck.”

My suite wasn’t quite as empty as I’d expected that night.

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