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Taboo
2006-03-17



I thought I had a good life. A good family. A good job and wife. I thought I loved her, and the daughter we had when she conceived her a year after our wedding. I thought that, a guy like me, who isn’t particularly well built and, not exactly small but also not long in…size, per say, wouldn’t even had a chance of having a beautiful wife and kids in my adult years.
I was glad I was wrong about myself and my life…
 
But I never thought I would be wrong about my wife and family. Terribly wrong.
 
How long had she been cheating on me? Having an affair with my best friend, my colleague at work? How long did it take me to realize finally that my child wasn’t even blood related to me, and that my wife would rarely even let me touch her anymore these years…making excuses after excuses… which I merely nodded and gave her respect, but also…
…. .
How long did it take for me to realize what she had done to me, when I found out all of her secrets on that day, so many years ago…?
 
…. Where should I begin?

            I wasn’t a workaholic, or an alcoholic. My childhood was filled with my parents abusing each other when I was little, and each time, I can still remember faintly those shouts and cries which plagued my ears till I finished high school, and went to college. I learned much from my bitter family, and I had sworn deeply that I will not treat my wife and kids like that, if I ever have a family one day.
I didn’t. I stayed true when I married to my wife, Chelsea, and when we had a daughter, which I named Sarah. I stayed true even when me and my wife had some up and downs in our relationship, and still I remained loyal and affectionate toward her as best as I can.

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I loved them with all my heart and soul. That was how devoted I was to my family.
 
So why did I end up in such a miserable state later?
 
It was work, as usual, and I was late for an important meeting. I worked in the field of computer engineering, and was the head manager in research and development. My wife, Chelsea, a brunette with medium length hair and a firm, youthful body which was approaching almost 40, had been acting rather strange as of late, usually averting her gaze at times, or her sudden silence, along with a faint, odd smile which was clearly out of place. And at those times, I usually didn’t question her, waiting maybe, to let her tell me what she didn’t want to talk about. Maybe it was something about our daughter, who did something possibly to irk her again? Or they had a fight over some manner in which they didn’t want to include me into, like, girl stuff that guys would never know in detail?

"Sarah? Did something happen between you two?" I queried with an exaggerated hint of suspicion that day, turning my head to look at my 15 year old daughter. She was blossoming into a beautiful child with long pale brown hair, tied up like a ponytail behind her head, and deep, brown eyes. Her body was also developing, especially her round, firm breasts and her slim figure due to her constant swim lessons. At times, it was hard to bear the sight of her beautiful body, but I have always viewed her as a daughter, nothing else.

. . . . .

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  . Well. . . sometimes. But always as a daughter when I'm near her. As best as I can. . . .

"No, dad. Of course not! Mom's just. . . out there, I guess.

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   What do I know about her?" She responded with a pout and smirk, busily eating her bacon and cheese.

Now her mother responded with a stern look. "No I am not, young girl! Now you behave and eat your breakfast! You're going to be late to school again if you don't hurry!"

Of course, I never did add that Sarah had more than enough time to go to school. . . considering it's only 7 in the morning. . .

"Like father, like daughter. . . " Sarah murmured underneath her breath, casting me a wink in which I returned.

"Well, at least we're related in habit, ne?" I responded heartily, popping some bread into my mouth to eat during my drive to work.

Only me and Sarah laughed, while Chelsea's mother fumed as if it wasn't funny. I had always been fond with my daughter, and she at times relied more on me than her mother, in which, for some odd reason, I have no idea why.

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   But she was my flesh and blood, and I loved her as much as I loved my wife. Many times I was the one who was there when she wanted someone to talk to in private, and most of the time I was the only one who gave her the comfort and protection she needed when she was young, and our bond of trust and affection had grown firmer with each passing year, each passing day. . . .
I was the only one, actually, who wasn't the type that gets angry at all, but rather the one who is more protective for Sarah.
After all, I had vowed in my life to not treat my family like my own parents had done when I was little. . . .
 
I must've been daydreaming, cause the next thing I knew, Chelsea was gathering up the dishes to wash, and Sarah ran up close and gave me a kiss on the cheeks, also with a hug before she ran off to school with her buoyant bounce and springs.
 
But in any case, giving a brief kiss to my wife's cheek, and a warm nibble next to her neck playfully, I waved goodbye before I departed to work in a hurry, in a rather good mood today.
 
…. It wasn’t until I returned early back from the meeting that I found out….

 
The CEO was sick that day, and had cancelled the meeting to another time.

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   I would’ve stayed in the company to continue my job, but thinking how my wife might feel, I decided to give her a surprise when I returned early back home, asking for others to take over my position for just today.
 
I bought flowers to surprise her as I got back home.
I didn’t notice the rumpled clothes which were littered all over the ground, and the faint squeaking of bed upstairs in the master bedroom.
I didn’t notice the slight moans and groans coming from that place, the flower bundle rustling loud enough in my handgrip that canceled out the sounds.
I didn’t know what to behold, as I opened the door to the master bedroom upstairs just a bit to surprise her, and felt my blood turn cold.

My wife.
Chelsea, kneeling on the floor, with her blouse open and with her apple-sized breasts pushing against her bra, as she was sucking a man off, a man which I clearly know.

Roy.
Roy, my old friend and colleage from college and at work. Roy, who I invited to my wedding with Chelsea.
Roy, who I thought was my best friend. . . my only friend during college, one who I can rely and trust. .

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  .
Roy, who I didn't see in the meeting, for he had left a message saying that he had important matters to attend to today.
Roy, who is having my wife suck on him while he. . .
He. . . . !!

I heard my wife-- no, Chelsea -- moan and gurgle as she slurped up and down his cock, bobbing on the head and taking small licks and nips at the sensitive spot, looking up with devilish glee at Roy, who was smiling down at her, urging her on with "Yeah, like that. . . suck my cock, slut. . .

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  make it all wet and nice for you to fuck on. . . ".

That bitch. . .

I can only stare through the small opening with hatred when I heard her comply nastily, watching her deepthroat and lubricate the cock (which was clearly bigger than mine, and I felt my own member shrink slightly in humiliation) with her saliva before she rubbed on her ballsacks and gave attention to them as well. She climbed onto the bed afterwards, in a doggy style format. She was facing away from the door, and I saw how her panties were wet and dripping with need as Roy then blocked my view, no doubt making her beg and plea for that cock of his.

"Please! Ram it in! Make me cum like the slut I am! I-I want it! I need it. . . ! Oohh. .

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  . " She moaned and begged like the whore she was, and I just couldn't believe what I had just heard.
She never used those words when we had sex. . .
She never even gave me a blowjob, preferring to take it all in a--

My train of thoughts was interrupted at hearing her squeal in delight, then the rocking motions of the bed again. I saw Roy pistoning in and out of her snatch, watching how Chelsea mewled and thrashed like a kitten on the bed as he plowed her in and out, hearing the undenying squelch of her juice each time he rammed it into her, then out. . . .

In and out, in and out. . . . hearing the crescendo rise, the dirty words filling this air, in this house, at my own bed.

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  .
    . . .

    I'm not the sort of guy who likes to watch their wife being fucked. No. Inwardly, I questioned myself as I watch how she loved every second of it, every single piece of meat which is scraping at her clit and filling her up to the brink. . . .

    I questioned myself;

    Why am I standing here?
    What am I doing here? I've been faithful and loved her for all I was worth. . . .
    And now she does this, to me? For how long?

    Rage settled in, and before I knew what I was doing, I was barging in and dropped the flowers onto the ground, grabbing the bastard by the throat just as he came into my wife's snatch, hearing her yell the cursed phrase "I'm cummmminngg!!!" in a delerious scream of pleasure.

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       Suddenly pulling him backwards now, I dealt a sudden elbow strike right at his face.

    Chelsea shrieked in surprise, no doubt, and I punched Roy right in the throat to stop him from retaliating or fight back. Not hard enough to maim or kill, but just enough to make him gag for air.
    And sure to my word, he slumped towards the ground with a bloody nose, and gasping heavily for air through the injury I gave him.

    Now with him out of the way, I turned about to face my wife. The wife I loved. Once.
    She was there, grabbing the sheets on the bed and pulling it over her exposed, half naked body. She was terrified, looking at me with her deep brown eyes, dripping with -- again, no doubt -- semen from Roy's cum.
    She looked at me as if I was a stranger. And am I? Am I the one to blame, when I saw her being fucked from behind by my best friend?
    Am I the one who should hit her with rage, while the fact was undeniable?

    ". . . . .

     

      "

    I was silent. The room was silent, other than Roy, still gasping for air and damn well knowing not to fight me. My recent actions had proved enough to his plan for retaliation.

    For a while, no one spoke.
    Finally, Chelsea started, "Honey, I--"
    "You what?" I said in a low tone. I was never the type to be angry. . . but she has provoked me beyond measurement.

    "Honey, I can explain--"

    "Explain what? How I shouldn't have come to see you like this, willingly giving yourself to my own best friend and colleage? How I shouldn't have come to see you enjoying all this while you cuckold behind my back?" I was outraged. How dare she say she can explain this, when the fact was so obvious?

    "Honey, please--" Her voice was desperate, as if trying to find a way out of her dilemma.

    "SHUT IT! JUST. . . .

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      . "
    I controlled myself, lowering my voice down.
    "Just. . . . . . shut it. "

    By then Roy had managed to prop himself up against the nearby wall, and whirling about, I faced him with a quiet tone. It was sick, watching his flaccid cock hang limply from his pants. It was sick, having to see that he had done this behind my back, when I had trusted him for all these years. . .

    I know him no more.

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    "Get out. Now. Or else it wouldn't just be me who will be dealing with you. . . . " I threatened, walking up to him in a foreboding manner.
    He understood my look, and if he was planning anything to reason with me, he was dead wrong. Quickly he staggered off in a hurry, and I turned about to face my wife again. By then, she was crying, and trying her best to once more gain my trust.

    Sad to say, I have no more trust to give to her. My whole marriage had just come apart, and if she had a reason behind this, then it better be good. I'm not a blind person against reason. . .

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      but I sure as hell am devastated by her actions.

    Slumping down onto the cold ground, I asked what I really feared, after her sobbing had dulled to long?"

    ". . . . . . B-Before we wed. . . . Kevin, I--"

    "Before we wed. . . ? You've been sleeping with my best friend for 15 years, and I never even knew it.

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      . . "

    "Kevin, I have something else to say. . . . "

    ". . . . Sarah. . . . How can you face your daughter like this? Huh? How can you do this to me?"

    "Kevin.

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      . . . Sarah isn't. . . your child. I was already. . . pregnant, when we were married. . . "

    Time flew. I never talked to Chelsea anymore, cause I can't bear seeing her and remembering how she betrayed me.

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       I can't bear to see my child, because she wasn't my flesh, and she wasn't even mine to begin with.
    The father was Roy. He had had sex with Chelsea before I married her, and she had his child after a few weeks. No wonder I felt a little odd about it. . . but.
    His child. Not mine.
    Chelsea never told her, and I didn't want to break Sarah's heart. I tried to act natural, I tried to act normal whenever Sarah was around, but. . .
    Whenever Sarah slept, I would merely stand outside, regardless of the weather, and let my tears fall. I was loyal to my wife.

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       I was faithful, rejecting any possible intimacy with other woman when I could have had the chance in my job. I loved her.
    And she sleeps with my best friend for so many years behind my back.
    If she said she'll be good from now on, only the idiots would believe her. I know that she will meet him again, and then they'll be more careful from now on. . .
    She knows that I won't divorce her, for the sake of Sarah.
    Sarah. She's an innocent from this ordeal. Though it may be true that I am not her father, still. . . she does not deserve to be mistreated. That's why I had.

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      . . merely placed a mask over my face, to hide the pain whenever I see her with her mother.
    So how did Sarah find out later, when I was sitting in the drivers seat in my car, months later and didn't come into the house? Chelsea still looked at me in guilt whenever I come home, and I just. . . didn't have anymore feelings left for her. Chelsea couldn't have possibly told Sarah about what had happened. . . .
    So how did Sarah find out what her mother did, when she confronted me suddenly in the morning of December, ergo, the beginning of Winter Break at her school?
    To be continued. . . .

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    Comments, anyone? Part 2 will follow up soon!



     

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