Neglected

I texted my wife to let her know I was on the way home. I did not get a response to my text; I didn’t expect one. My coming home late had become habitual and it made me particularly neglectful during the past few days and weeks. Something had to change, I knew. And things would change once my work project was over. Of course, I said that every time a work project wore me thin, wore us thin. And eventually, the project came to an end only for another to start right up in its place.

I pulled into the driveway to my home 20 minutes later. Only a soft light coming from the bedroom flickered as I scanned the windows for any sign of life. Candles? Candles were good. Candles typically meant that she was “in the mood.” I felt my cock stir. How long had it been? A week? No. Longer. It had been weeks and, therefore, likely into a month at least since my wife and I had been intimate in any way. I got home late, ate too little, and fell asleep early, which happened every single night. The candles reminded me of my needs. Of her needs. Of our needs.

I walked through the door between the garage and the house. I spun my keys on my finger. Though the lights in the house were mostly off, the light above the stove and in the hallway gave me the ability to see some. I looked around but nothing was out of place. I shook my head realizing that it was not something visual, but something in the air. Something aromatic. I was smelling something. Candle? No! Too strong. I walked through the kitchen attempting to identify the smell. Perfume? Yes, sort of. It was a fragrance but not my wife’s perfume. I walked towards the hallway and smelled the air. Cologne! Yes! Cologne! I smelled an unfamiliar deep, heavy cologne. Why would she be wearing cologne?! It was just…odd.

Like a dog, I tracked the scent down the hallway, through the living room, then up the stairs. Light danced in the opening of my bedroom door. It was undeniably candlelight. But I could not reconcile the sweet candle scents my wife favored with the heavy cologne in the air. I put my jacket on the banister and walked toward the bedroom. Despite some of my confusion of aromas in the air, I was looking forward to finding my wife in the bathtub. She would have it full of bubbles. The candles would be lit at each corner and on the countertop. I would lean in and kiss her. I would unbutton my shirt sleeve, roll it up, and sink my hand into the water. I would rub her pussy until she came. She would climb out of the tub and dry her body while I took my clothes off. She would suck my cock before dragging me to the bed where we would fall into each other’s arms and we would moan. That’s when I realized my fantasy and the real world had converged. The moment I imagined my wife moaning in my dream, I heard her do so in real time from the bedroom.

I walked into the bedroom and found my wife propped up by her elbows with her back on the bed. Her feet were planted in the bed. Her thighs were spread apart, and her face was turned directly at me as I entered the doorway. She wore thigh-high stockings and a bra, blue with lace. Her panties were across the room next to the bathroom door. Our eyes met and my voice failed me. No words came out as I tried to speak. She smiled and raised her eyebrows with a what are you going to do about it look. There was, of course, nothing I could do. I had neglected her, and she does not do well with neglect. I deserved this. As the adage goes, I had made this bed and now I had to lay in it. My chest was heavy, and I felt how scorned puppies look, dejected and sad. My wife tossed her head in the direction of the chair at the side of the bed, directing me to sit there. I accepted my punishment with a lump in my throat. I sulked to the chair, loosened my tie, and fell into the chair facing my wife. She just stared at me, ridicule in her eyes. She closed them again and moaned when I heard her skin being released from a deep suck from the man’s lips. I looked down at the naked man lying between my wife’s thighs. I could not see his face, but his head was shaved bald, and his skin was dark. I guessed that he was around the age of my wife and me, though maybe a little older. I could not tell for sure with his face buried in my wife’s pussy. He appeared to be in respectable shape, no flabbier than anyone else our age. He laid on his stomach with his head between her legs. He was quite a bit taller than me and the entire bottom half of his body dangled off the end of the bed. I’m not sure what specifically attracted her to him, but it didn’t matter. The attraction was not the point. Attention was the point. Rather the lack of attention was the point. She needed attention I had failed to give her for too long. Now, my wife demanded my attention in another way and she certainly had it.

“How was your day dear?” she said short of breath. Her eyes were closed, and her head hung back towards the bed. She moaned again. I heard the man sucking on my wife’s wet, needy pussy. She moaned louder in response. This time she lifted her hips and brought her head forward, chin touching chest. Her mouth opened wide and her eyebrow furrowed. Whatever he was doing, it was working for her. This odd thrill went through me when she moaned this time. I struggled to identify the emotion. Jealousy? Maybe. But jealousy seemed too strong, too negative for what I was feeling at that moment. It was not anger or a sense of rejection either. Envy? Yes. Envy. I envied the man between her thighs. I envied how he made my wife feel. I envied how he had earned the right to give her the attention she deserved, needed. The thrill was knowing how she tasted and how excited it made when I use to do that for her.

“This is Kellen,” my wife said when her panting subsided enough for her to speak. “Kellen fixed the door to the garage for me today….

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