Chapter 1 — My Wife's Lover

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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My head throbbed and my body shivered—there was no mistaking it, I had a fever.

I left work early and headed home. Barely managing to drive, I arrived at the apartment complex and stumbled through the front door the moment I got inside.

That was when I heard it.

Strange sounds coming from the bedroom.

For a split second, I thought a burglar had broken in. I froze, breath caught in my throat, every nerve on edge.

Slowly, I crept forward and peered through the slightly ajar door.

Oh my god...!!!

An appalling scene unfolded before my eyes.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

On the bed, a man was violently thrusting into a woman.

“Uhhhhh...”

Her body writhed, legs flailing in the air as she cried out, while the visibly muscular man’s buttocks pounded rhythmically above her.

His massive cock slid in and out of her sex, fully exposed to my gaze.

I could see the milky-white slick of her arousal dripping from her pussy, running down her perineum, soaking the sheets beneath her.

For a moment, I wondered if I had entered the wrong apartment.

But I clearly remembered punching in the code myself—this was my home.

Then I thought: maybe a robber had broken in and was raping my wife.

But that idea collapsed in less than a second.

“Ah... harder, harder! Michael, Michael! Ahhhhh...”

The voice crying out—it was unmistakably my wife Sarah.

“Uhhhhh... Michael, I'm dying... ahhhh...”

Her fevered moans mingled with the creaking of the bed frame and the man’s rough movements.

My face burned and my body turned to stone.

Then I remembered—this morning, she had told me she was going to her high school reunion and would be late. She told me to eat out and come home later.

At the time, I’d taken it as a simple instruction: Have dinner outside and come back late.

Who was I to question my wife?

She was a woman everyone acknowledged as domineering, and I—wasn’t I the universally recognized henpecked husband?

Defying her words? That was tantamount to suicide.

Now I finally grasped the hidden meaning behind her casual remark that morning, and rage surged through me—along with utter disbelief.

Her instruction to eat dinner outside meant, quite simply: Don’t come home before evening.

Because she was planning to bring a lover into our house.

The scene before me proved it beyond doubt.

I wanted to storm in and strangle that bastard on the spot.

But I decided to watch a little longer—watch exactly what my wife was doing.

After all, I had caught them red-handed. She had no excuse.

I wanted to see with my own eyes just how depraved and hypocritical she truly was—before I grabbed her by the hair and made her face me.