I couldn’t believe I had to do it. Spying on my wife. Never had it even occurred to me that she would be capable of cheating on me. Seven years we had been together, married for the last three, and in that time she had never even looked at another man, or so I thought. I couldn’t get my head around it. Well, there was the time at the Christmas party, but she was so wracked with guilt she told me the following morning. She was depressed and upset as she told me how she had kissed the bloke from accounts whilst drunk! No, I knew my wife, and she was not capable of cheating on me. Dave’s wife must have got it wrong. But that is why I was there, crouched down in my own back garden in the freezing cold like some cheep peeping Tom. According to Dave, his wife had popped around on Monday evening, knowing I would be at Squash, to invite my Julie to a make-up party or something. But when she got to the door she could hear all sorts of strange noises coming from in the house. Evidently, curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked in the letter box, and got an eyeful of my wife being shagged over the kitchen table! Dave and I were old friends, so he insisted that I needed to be told, despite his wife’s protests. So there I was. Cold and confused. Dressed in my gym kit, squash racket in hand, peering in the front room windows, through the small gap I had carefully left between the curtains. It was fifteen minutes after I had left that he came round. I couldn’t see him properly as he was trapped in the hall by my wife, but I knew he was there. I heard muffled noises, talking, laughing, then the unmistakable sound of lust. It was so frustrating, all happening just out of sight, with tantalising glimpses of the fun being had in the form of discarded clothes falling to the floor in the front room doorway. I resisted the urge to sneak round the front and peer into the letterbox, and my patience was rewarded a few minutes latter when my wife and her lover fumbled into the front room, both almost naked. She was still wearing her shoes, a tartly high heeled strappy pair she must have put on as soon as I had left the house, and her black lacy knickers. He was down to his boxer shorts and socks, but with my wife’s hand eagerly inside those shorts, obviously groping his cock, I had no doubt they wouldn’t be on for long. She was in control, pushing him backwards as the walked, hungry mouths locked onto each other, her free hand clamped onto his neck holding him close, not that he looked like he wanted to get away. He was roughly mauling her breasts with one hand, and squeezing her arse with the other. I had never seen her like this, well not for a long time. She was always so passive when it came to our love making. They fell onto the sofa. She was tugging at his shorts, quickly dragging them off. I couldn’t see what she had released from where I was, as she was in the way, but it was obviously enough to make her wet, because her head dropped down to his crutch and her right hand slid inside her knickers and cupped her pussy. As her head began to bob up and down, her lover closed his eyes and a look of contentment clearly spread across his face. She sucked his cock and played with her pussy for about another minute before her impatience got the better of her. She stood up, and her sodden knickers slid to the floor at her feet. As she moved to the end of the sofa, and bent over the arm, I got my first clear view of lover boy’s cock. It wasn’t huge like I was expecting, probably about the same size as mine, but it was quite fat, and lover boy was clean shaven! As he stood up to make his way behind my wife, he quickly hooked of his socks. A little consideration doesn’t go amiss I supposed. The sofa was at and odd angle to my view point, so I couldn’t see my wife’s pussy as he filled it, but I could see her face, and her every expression told me what was going on. I saw her eyes widen as he plunged his fat cock into her tight pussy, I watched her eyes close and her tongue massage her top lip as she adjusted to his girth, and the pleasure build up began. I saw the sweat build up on her brow, and her face flush as he relentlessly pounded her soaking flesh. I watched as her head jerked backwards as he occasionally slammed into her extra hard whilst simultaneously spanking her arse with his hand. I watched as she bit her bottom lip, eyes screwed shut whilst she tugged on her own nipples, momentarily stopping her swollen breasts from swinging beneath her. I watched on transfixed as she threw her head back, mouth open, face contorted with the beautiful agony she wore like a mask as her orgasm built to a crescendo, before her body went limp beneath her lover. As her muscles relaxed, she dropped over the sofa, her head buried in the cushion, whilst her lover went taught, and stabbed his cock deep into my wife, obviously filling her with his come. For the next minute no one moved. I thought they would be able to hear me now they had stopped fucking, so loud and fast was my heart beating. Soon loverboy had withdrawn his cock from my wife. This prompted her to get up, and cupping her pussy with one hand, presumably to stop any embarrassing evidence dripping onto the sofa or carpet, she made her way out of the front room. I guess I expected loverboy to dress, but instead he followed her out, and within 30 seconds the bedroom light came on. I gave it another 5 minutes but neither of them returned to the front room, so I assumed my wife was getting another pounding. Numbed I considered my options. I could go in there now, and catch them at it, but what would that achieve. Strange ideas popped in and out of my head as I tried to work out how this could have happened. Was it because I was always too tired to have sex on a Monday night when I got home? I remembered saying no a few times when I first started playing. I could achieve nothing more in the garden, and still in a state of shock I headed off. I had been there almost an hour. I still had two hours to kill in order to keep up the illusion that this was a normal Monday night with me playing squash. On my way I replayed the event in my head, trying to make sense of it all. I wasn’t sure how I felt, aroused defiantly, but it was coloured with so many other emotions. I finally got to my destination, ready for my Monday night workout, even if it would have to be for an hour less tonight. I knocked on the door, and waited. When it opened, Chloe stood there, bathrobe on, but not done up. Her firm breasts holding the material of the robe away from her slender front. Her neatly trimmed pubes, inviting and slightly glistening in the porch light. “You’re late” she chided playfully, “problems at home?” I stepped inside and kissed her hard, my arousal and confused emotional state engulfing us both. “She doesn’t suspect does she?” Chloe asked when I let her come up for breath. “No, no she doesn’t. Well I don’t think she does. I think she has something else to think about on Monday nights rather than worry about where I am.”