Wife comes home from a party without panties,
and husband realizes she's getting sex on the side!

My wife, Irene, works for a clothing wholesaler. Every month her company puts on a party for vendors and customers. Both the clothing and the company are conservative, so the parties get to be a real bore. My wife is required to attend the things, but I stopped going after a year of real snoozers. Until one night when my wife came home without her panties.

It was after midnight when Irene finally returned home from the party. I had already gone to bed, and the light on her side was dimmed way down. She apologized for being late, and told me the party was especially rotten this time. "I don't know why they insist on having these," she said.

I mumbled something in my half sleep, then rolled over to face away from her. As she started to get herself undressed I opened one eye and could see her tall and slender figure in the mirror on the closet doors. She looked back, and she must have thought I couldn't see her. Irene slipped off her skirt, and I saw she had nothing on underneath! I know she left the house with panties, because I saw her getting dressed.

Though the light from her lamp beside the bed was dim, I could see her public hair was matted down. She keeps it trimmed around the bikini line, but it's not all chopped off, like the way girls wear it these days. She looked over my way one more time to be sure I wasn't watching, then squatted down slightly, cupping her hands between her legs. At first I thought she was removing a tampon, but I remembered she couldn't be on her period, as it ended the week before. She squatted for about 15 seconds, catching something in her hand, which she brought up to her nose to smell. After that she went into the bathroom, closed the door, and finished getting ready for bed.

I lay there trying to come up with reasons about why my wife of seven years came home from a party without panties. The obvious leapt to mind, but Irene never seemed the type to stray. Though she's quite attractive, at 35 she seemed happy with out sex life, seldom even looking at other men. For as long as I've known her she has preferred her sex "straight up," as she puts it. Maybe she just peed herself at the party, and had to remove her panties. Something perfectly innocent.

A few minutes later Irene came out of the bathroom and got into bed. As I often do, I rolled over and gave her a goodnight kiss. As I did, my hand moved across her body, and rested on her hip. When I tried to tuck my fingers under the elastic of her pajamas, she quickly reached down and pulled it away, saying she was tired and wanted to go to bed.


Needless to say I didn't get much sleep that night. All the next day I tried to bring up the subject of the party and what happened, but she kept saying it was nothing special. She'd then find an excuse to change the subject. After a while she got irritated with me for asking so many questions, so I decided to let it drop.

When I came home that evening I snuck into the bedroom to dig the skirt she was wearing the night before out of the clothes hamper. Damn! She had already thrown it into the washer. I was sure that if she was cheating on me I'd find some incriminating evidence on the skirt. I whacked myself on the side of the head for not checking it the night before, when she was asleep.

For weeks after, I regularly thought about my wife's strange nocturnal behavior the night of the party. Had Irene been with someone else? Was that why her panties were missing? Did her lover keep her panties as a souvenir? And what was it that she pushed out of her vagina in the dimness of the bed stand lamp?


A month passed, and my wife's company was throwing another get-together. As usual the party would be at the boss's house, which was a huge 6,500 square foot monstrosity off a nearby lake. Irene assumed I wouldn't be going, so she said she made plans to stay over at a girlfriend's house, rather than drive all the way back that evening. I realized this might just be a ploy to spend the night with a lover ... if she indeed had one. I told her that I wanted to come to the party this time, as I had nothing else better to do. She complained that the party would be a real drag, and after a few minutes we got into an argument over it. But I kept insisting, so she had to relent. I guess I was spoiling whatever plans she had, and she resented that.

The two of us hardly spoke I drove to the party, which was about an hour away from where we lived. I didn't like the sour mood she was getting herself in, so I lit a joint. She reluctantly took it, but after tge first drag her mood improved. She smoked most of the weed by the time we got to the party, and that put her in much better spirits.

For the first 45 minutes of the party I stayed around my wife, saying hello to her associates. For each guy I shook hands with I tried to picture him with Irene, what it might be like with the two of them in bed together. A couple of them were quite good-looking, trim with good all-around tans (I've become a bit white-skinned and flabby in my older age, sorry to admit). Once or twice I thought I could detect a slight glimmer in the men's eyes as they talked to Irene.

After a time, I wandered over to the bar to get a fresh drink when a man I never saw before entered the room. About 6 foot two, jet black hair, and an open shirt straight out of the movie Saturday Night Fever. At first I thought this guy is a real caricature, but then I noticed the look he and Irene gave each other. It wasn't a long look, but it was clear to me. This was The One.

His name was Everardo, and he was a vendor from Costa Rica. He flew to the US every month on business, and timed it to be in town during these parties. As I finished getting my drink I saw Irene move toward Everardo. She approached him and held out her hand, which he took and lightly kissed. This was one suave character! He reminded me of the actor Antonio Banderas, though not quite as handsome. Everardo was more rugged, a strange mix of battle scars from growing up in a poor neighborhood, and new money from his successful export business.

My wife noticed that I was looking at them. Ever the professional, she motioned for me to come over and meet her guest. Everardo and I chatted briefly, then he excused himself to greet the other guests. As he walked away I mentioned to Irene that Everardo seemed a nice sort. My wife laughed and said, "He imagines himself to be the ladies man. Does nothing for me." I thought either my wife was a very good liar, or I had everything wrong, and was just imagining things.


In the past these parties would blow down by about 10pm. But for whatever reason, this time the party got fairly intense, with lots of booze and people talking way too loud. I got to chatting with a Chinese couple that had just returned from their honeymoon when I realized Irene was no where to be found. And neither was Everardo.

I quickly excused myself and wandered through the house. They didn't seem to be inside, so I went outside to check -- maybe they were in our car! Nothing. After 10 minutes of searching I gave up and went back inside. Maybe they had left to get more drink for the party. Our car was still there, but perhaps they took Everardo's. I asked around if anyone knew Irene's whereabouts, but tried not to sound concerned. No one had a clue.

The wife's boss had made it clear that parts of his house were off-limits during these gatherings, so there were rooms that I had not checked the first time around. I was worried about breaking the rules and getting my wife into trouble, but after 20 minutes of looking, I was desperate. I needed to know for sure if she and Everardo were "busy" together. So I decided to play spy, and carefully snuck myself into the forbidden zone of the house.

The hall leading into the bedrooms was dark, so as not to invite intruders. That made it all the easier to sneak through the house. The floor was hardwood, so it was difficult not to make a sound when walking. I got almost all the way down the hall and noticed a bathroom off to the left. I quickly went inside, making it my temporary hiding place.

The bathroom was completely dark, not even a nightlight. It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust before I could make out the slightest detail. While my eyes got used to the darkness I thought I could hear a feint rhythmic sound, like the beat of music. But it wasn't the music playing at the party. It was something else, and the beat would sometimes slow down and speed up. Whatever it was, the sound was coming from the other side of the bathroom wall.

In the darkness I could make out that the bathroom had two doors: one to the hall, which I came through, and one to the room where the sounds were coming from. That door had a gap at the bottom, and a tiny bit of light was spilling through, illuminating the carpet in the bathroom. I got down on the ground and moved my head close to the gap. From that vantage point I could see the bottom of a bed, but could not make out the occupants on top. From the gap in the door I could make out the sound I heard was the thumping of an old bedpost, slowly moving back and forth as the people on the bed were having sex.

I decided to chance it. I got back to my feet, and slowly turned the door knob. I was afraid the latch would suddenly pop open, or the hinges of the door would creak. But neither happened. The latch silently obeyed, and I opened the door a crack, just enough to see into the bedroom beyond.

The foot of the bed faced directly toward the bathroom door. On the bed was a man and a woman, both completely nude. He was on top, screwing her missionary style. There was more than enough light in the bedroom to see between his legs, and the commingling of their genitals and he moved back and forth over her. The woman's slender legs were pitched into the air, pinned back by his muscular arms.

It took me all of a quarter-second to realize the man was Everardo, and the woman underneath him was my wife.

I stood there staring at the scene, at first not fully comprehending what I was seeing. Here was another man with his hard penis tucked deep into my wife's vagina. She must have been insanely aroused, as her pussy made loud squishy sounds as he fucked her. Everardo was slowly pistoning in and out of my beautiful wife as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. They kissed a long, passionate kiss.

Throughout all this I realized my own cock had stiffened. Like granite. It was pressing against my pants and was starting to hurt. I was afraid of getting it out. My wife or her lover might hear my zipper going down, or my belt unbuckling. I reached down and tried to position my dick over to the side. There was no way I could just stand there, so I started stroking it. After about 15 seconds I felt an intense urgency, and to my surprise I suddenly spilled my cum into my pants. The cream was hot as it spread down my leg. During all this my eyes didn't leave the image of Everardo's penis stabbing into my wife's cunt. Her pussy lips barely fit around his hard pole, and at each thrust her cute little asshole pushed out from the internal pressure.

Though I had just shot my load, my cock stayed erect ... as erect as it was when I was a teenager. I just kept stroking when I heard another sound from within the room, of what sounded like a flint lighter being struck. I shifted my position and peered into a dark corner of the bedroom. There, sitting in a chair with his pants down around his ankles, was Irene's boss. He was a man in his late 60s, but clearly he was not in need of Viagra, at least not tonight. His penis was about the smallest I've ever seen, maybe three inches max. That's probably why he never stayed married to his wives. Irene's boss sat with his little dick in one hand, and a pipe in the other, watching my wife and her lover fuck each other while on his bed!

The sound of the lighter must have brought Everardo back into the present. He quickened his pace, and plowed even deeper into my wife's sweet and very wet hole. She moaned softly with pleasure, oblivious to anything but the feel of her lover against her bare skin. Her boss remained in the chair, pumping his dick up and down with his hand faster and faster. I instinctively quickened my own strokes, using the side of my thumb to rub my cock under already cum-soaked pants.

I could see Everardo's ball sack get tighter, and I knew he was getting close to popping his nut. Irene let out a yelp and curled her toes as she had a deep and satisfying orgasm. Everardo's made five grunts; with each grunt he pushed his cock hard against my wife's cervix. I had a powerful second cum, letting out more juice into my pants. I couldn't see clearly, but I'm sure Irene's boss came that instant, too, shooting his seed into the air as he watched my pretty wife get a long, deep fuck. Adding to the intensity of the moment was the musky odor of sweat, cum, and pussy juice. I'll never forget it.

For several seconds the only sound was the muted music from the party. My wife's legs lowered slowly to the bed, and Everardo laid still on top of her. I could hear Irene coo about something or other, and her boy toy slowly unmounted, settling in beside her. It was then I could see he had not worn a condom, and that quite a bit of liquid was already gurgling from her slit. His spunk had shot far into my wife's fertile tight pussy, and from the looks of it, there was plenty in there to come back out.

It was clear that a month before, the night when she thought I wasn't looking, the stuff she squeezed out of her cunt was the last remnant's of Everardo's cum. Maybe he's naturally a heavy cummer, or he saves it all up for this one night a month he fucks my wife. But for the next minute I swear I could see a pint of cum leak out of Irene's pussy, and glob onto the bed. The oozing was helped by her slowly masturbating herself to another orgasm, as her two men watched.

I knew I had to quickly leave before anyone got up to use the bathroom. As they talked their after-sex talk, I quietly relatched the door, and headed out the way I came. I couldn't see the front of my pants, but I knew I had a major wet spot there, but fortunately my woody was just then subsiding. I managed to slip out of the house without anyone seeing me (that I knew of!), and reached our car, where I found a pair of gym shorts in the trunk.

As I sat in the car, waiting for my sex-starved wife to clean herself and her soaking snatch, I replayed what I had seen in my mind over and over again. To be sure I was feeling jealousy. But to my surprise, instead of getting mad, my cock got hard again. The more I thought about my wife spreading her legs for another man, the more it turned me on. I stroked myself to yet another cum, though I had little left. A couple drop dribbled out the hole.

From there on out, I knew that every month, my wife would secretly and willingly meet her lover for a powerfuck, sucking his cock until he was hard, guiding his prick into her wet box, and letting him stroke his cock in and out until he cum inside her. Her boss would watch in the corner, beating off his mini-cock, and letting the cum out of it just as my Irene and her hung Latin reached their own climax. And if I could manage it, I'd be in that bathroom watching the lovers in action, rubbing my cock to a frenzy, and creaming in my pants.

Clips and images are illustrative only.

Watching Her Fuck