Stretching sweetly in the cozy bed under a warm blanket, I silently watched my wife, Victoria, through half-closed eyes. As usual, she had risen at the crack of dawn.
In the dim light, dressed only in a light housecoat that did little to conceal her charms, she kept glancing back at me, clearly checking if I was still asleep, as she rummaged through the wardrobe selecting an outfit. My sleep has always been light, and after twenty years of marriage, Victoria ought to know that by now.
Still, we’ve lived a rather happy life together, raised our daughter, and let her spread her wings—she’s an independent girl, after all. My wife and I work at the same factory: she’s in human resources, while I’m a garbage truck driver. The job’s a bit dirty, sure, but it pays well, and let me tell you, you can find some valuable things in the trash sometimes. Plus, thanks to the factory, Victoria and I sorted out our personal lives.
My darling had been working in HR for a couple of years when a young, quite handsome guy decided to join the factory—yep, that was me. It would’ve been a sin to pass up such a golden opportunity, handed to me by fate itself, in the form of a dark-skinned beauty with a stunning figure and legs for days. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. While she filled out my paperwork, blushing and flustered by my compliments, I decided right then and there that she would be mine. Arthur never makes empty promises, and within a year, I led my sweetheart to the registry office, where I slipped a hefty gold ring onto her slender finger. Over the years we’ve spent together, I couldn’t stop marveling at how lucky I was with my wife. Finding a woman so easygoing in daily life yet wild as a panther in the bedroom—trust me, that’s rare. Though, before marriage, I had plenty of experience in that department.
Be that as it may, we’ve lived many happy years together, and now I’ve even got some gray hairs of wisdom sprouting on my head. In all that time, my dear never gave me reason to doubt her fidelity—until yesterday, that is. I’d taken a short leave from the factory to fix the leaky roof of our cozy little house, while Victoria had just returned from a trip to Miami with a friend and was finishing up her vacation days.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t go on the trip. Simple: for a true American man, there’s no greater pleasure than rocking in a boat with a fishing rod, admiring the sunrise and sunset. Throw in a cold beer and some snacks, and it’s pure bliss. All those overseas adventures can be left to those craving something else.
But when Victoria came back from the resort, she seemed different. Maybe it was the southern sun or the salty ocean water, but she became even more accommodating and attentive to her husband. Her eyes sparkled with a joy I couldn’t quite describe. Naturally, I was thrilled with this change and hoped it would never end. But yesterday morning, I sensed something was off when my wife slipped out of the house before dawn in a rather provocative outfit. She’s always been strict about her clothing choices, but this time she wore a flashy, short dress that revealed her toned thighs. I pretended to be fast asleep.
She returned an hour later, still glancing at me cautiously, quickly changed into her usual nightgown, and slipped back into bed.
All day, I debated confronting her about where she’d gone at such a romantic hour, but I decided to play detective and catch the cheater red-handed. It was clear—my darling was shamelessly betraying me!
So today, while I pretended to snore, my wife slipped on some bold stockings over her elegant legs, paired with a tight red skirt and a fancy white blouse. In that outfit, my sweet looked more like a sultry schoolteacher than a devoted wife. Casting one last cautious glance at me, Victoria quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Faster than lightning, I leapt out of bed, threw on some sweatpants and my favorite T-shirt with old American slogans, and bolted out of the house after her. In her high-heeled shoes, swaying her hips gracefully, she strutted down the moonlit street. Hiding behind bushes, I followed, already imagining how I’d confront her lover and give her a piece of my mind. Soon, Victoria turned off the road and headed into a small wooded area.
The winding path led to a tiny train station, but as far as I knew, no trains were scheduled at that hour. Where was my wife going?
I soon got my answer. Approaching the small waiting room, where only one window glowed, Victoria tapped lightly on it with her manicured nails. As I hid behind a massive oak tree, wide-eyed with shock, she slipped through the door, which slammed shut almost instantly. But as quick as the lovers were, I caught a glimpse of the man who opened the door—a burly, bearded guy in a blue uniform shirt. It was Mike, the station manager.
“That scoundrel! I even lent him my chainsaw yesterday to cut firewood. I ought to turn him into firewood myself!” I thought furiously, striding toward the building to confront the adulterers.
But when I reached the window, I froze at the sight before me. That brute was doing things with my wife that you wouldn’t see even in the most explicit adult film. And then something snapped in me. Instead of breaking the window and showing those scoundrels what’s what, I stood there, unable to look away. To my shame, I’ll admit, I enjoyed what I saw. Worse still, without fully understanding why, I pulled out my phone and started recording. The video turned out to be quite a production—fifty minutes long.
But as soon as my wife began to get dressed, I raced home faster than a bullet, not wanting to be caught.
Back at our little house with Victoria, I was about to jump back into bed, barely catching my breath from the run—though, truth be told, it wasn’t the running that had me panting. But then I noticed my wife’s phone on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a new message in her chat app.
“Probably her lover thanking her for the fun,” I thought, grabbing the phone.
But it wasn’t Mike. It was the friend she’d gone to Miami with. And that’s when, reading their conversation, I understood everything.
It turned out Victoria had long been craving more male attention. I’d done my best—most young guys couldn’t keep up with my stamina—but it wasn’t enough for her. Her fiery nature demanded more. For twenty years, she’d stayed faithful, never straying, but after hitting her fifties, she couldn’t hold back anymore. On her friend’s advice, she sought out a lover. Yet, in their chats, she praised me so much I nearly teared up.
Judge me if you want, call me weak, but I forgave Victoria on the spot.
Just then, the front door creaked. In a flash, I put the phone back and dove into bed. Moments later, my wife cautiously entered the room.
Peeking through barely open eyes, I saw her standing at the mirror, admiring her reflection. If only you could have seen the radiant, satisfied look in her eyes—she was glowing! Just hours ago, I wanted to tear her apart for her betrayal, but now I couldn’t even bring myself to admit I knew about her escapades.
As Victoria slipped into her nightgown, I mentally berated myself, demanding I kick this traitor out of the home I’d built with my own hands, shame her in front of the whole neighborhood, and file for divorce. But I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. Because, in that moment, I wanted Victoria more than ever. As soon as she slid into bed, I pretended to wake up and pounced on her like a wild, enraged tiger. She was stunned, probably too shocked to process what was happening, as I made her relive all the pleasure she’d just experienced with her lover.
To my surprise, she eagerly embraced the passion, rising to the occasion once again. Afterward, gently squeezing my big hand with her small one, she whispered with heartfelt gratitude:
— Arthur, you’re incredible! It’s never been like this before! You’re an absolute beast!
Smiling, I replied:
— From now on, it’ll always be like this. I had no idea what my wife was capable of!
Soon, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
That day marked the start of a new chapter for us. I kept the video as a cherished memento—it reminded me not only of my wife’s fire but of my own as well. Victoria’s secret rendezvous soon stopped; there was no need for them anymore.
Listen up, men! Pay extra attention to your wives—only then will they have energy just for us.
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