Suspicious Mind

It was a Thursday night when I first suspected. Liz had been out late with a couple of her friends from the college she and I both worked at, Alexis and Devon, while I stayed at home working on the still-incomplete novel I had begun at the university, the year I met Liz, in fact. She was a freshman in highschool then, the daughter of my professor and mentor, Randolph Parker, and though some nine years separated us, I knew she was for me the moment I saw her. We courted discreetly, but as it turns out, there was no need. Professor Parker trusted me implicitly with his girl, and when we announced our engagement two years later, he was as delighted as we were, even if Liz's mother didn't approve of a 16 year old marrying. But despite her expectations, the marriage has lasted; thrived, in fact, over the last decade and a half. Our communication skills have brought us through some dark days, and we are partners in the truest sense of the word. If the sex hasn't been as mindblowing and animalistic as it is in certain adult materials, well... it was my experience that life was not like that. What we lacked in ferocity, as it were, we made up for in intimacy and true soul-to-soul communion. We made love rather than fucked, and to me, it was bliss. Liz remained nearly as youthful as the day we met... her pale skin remained taut even after she gave birth to our daughter Leigh a year after the marriage, and her small, athletic body remained a source of envy amongst my other married friends, whose wives had let themselves go, in varying degrees, since marriage. Her brown hair was always cropped short, framing her pixie-like face and big brown eyes, almost like a japanese cartoon in their size and emotional depth. She never dressed provocatively, nor particularly conservatively... tanktops and slacks, mostly, as the college (where she worked in admissions) had a relatively relaxed dresscode. Occasionally, as on that Thursday, she would wear a short skirt and stockings to be a little sexier, but I never had cause to doubt her. On the whole, life was good. Leigh, now fourteen herself, had just started highschool and was seemingly adapting well to the social scene therein. I had even seen her talking to a nice-looking young man, Paul, she said his name was, who had walked her home one day. In addition to working on my novel, I was running the college's literary journal along with Liz's father and teaching the odd English class here and there. I was only half a year away from forty, and I didn't dread a day of it.

Until that Thursday.

As I said, she had been out late; later than usual for a weeknight, but I wasn't overly concerned. I knew Alexis vaguely from a party at Liz's office, and while she was a little wild, I knew she wouldn't let Liz drive home if she was , or anything of the sort. As for Devon, he was newer to the office, so I hadn't yet met him, but he seemed a respectable sort... very clean cut and not at all the type to get in any major trouble. After making sure Leigh was safely in bed, I ended up crashing around 12:30 in the morning, a pillow in my arms instead of my wife. It seemed only a moment later she fell into bed beside me, but a quick glance at the clock showed that it was 3 AM.

"Good time, baby?" I mumbled.

"Shhh.... go to sleep," she responded, and though her back was to me, I could smell salt and liquor on her breath. I chuckled and pulled her into a close spoon, noticing, that while she had removed her shoes, she was still wearing the orange and red plaid skirt and white blouse she had left in. I ran my hand along the curve of her hip and ass to the warm bare flesh of her thigh. Ever so slowly, my fingers ran back up and in, rotating around the front of her thigh as I lifted, millimeter by millimeter, the hem of her skirt. Before I could reach the panties I expected, however, her hand stopped me. "Go to sleep, Mike. I'm tired."

Slightly hurt, but mostly too befuddled by sleep to question her, I rolled onto my back heavily and shut my eyes. Sleep came, but again it felt like a mere moment before I was awakened by her movements, though I did not, this time, dare check the clock for fear of disturbing her pleasure.

"Mmmmmm.......whoah....ohhh.....ohh......." Liz moaned beside me and I could see she was bucking her hips ever so slightly as her hand moved rapidly beneath the red flannel sheets her father had given us that Christmas. My eyes were adjusted to the dark, and as I was laying on my side facing her, I was able to look below the sheets into the writhing darkness. As her right middle finger flicked vigorously up and down on the hood of her clitoris, the longest two fingers of her left hand were buried deep inside her. The smallest of wet slurping noises came from her pussy as she fingerfucked herself, creating if not a symphony, surely a concerto of pleasure as her lovely moans accompanied the rhythm of her mastrubation. "Fuck.....mmm.... give it to me.... give me your cock.... uhhhh...." I was shocked and more than a little aroused... this was not language I had EVER heard Liz use before. Her bucking grew more intense as she drew towards climax.... "Ummmm.....ohhhh.... fuck..... uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uhhh!!! Ohhhh!!! God!!! Yes!!! Fuck me faster!!! Fuck.....fuck....fuck.... oh god...oh god.....ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohhhh....... GOD!!!! FUCK!!! UHHH!!!!" She came with an intensity I had never seen before, and considering she had rebuffed my own sexual advances earlier, it was particularly odd how hot she seemed to be. I started to reach out my hand to her to join in this moment of bliss, but before it even reached her, she seemed to have a second climax. "OHHHH!!!! FUCK!! I'm cumming, oh god, oh god..... I'm such a slut.... such a dirty cheating whore.... fuck me!!! FUCK! GOD!!!!! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I froze. And froze. And froze. My wife's fevered post-climax panting sounded in my ears, but I couldn't really hear it. Blood was rushing... everywhere, it seemed. My heart felt like it was going a million miles a minute, my head was throbbing, and my cock had extended it's full six inches and was painfully straining against my boxers. But I didn't shift... I didn't dare move. Was she... was my Lizzie fantasizing about someone else? Wait, I thought, that was common enough... I guess everyone did that... I certainly had thought about one or two of my students that way... even some of Liz's friends... but... my Lizzie? It was inconceivable that she could even think of... who? Who could it be? My mind began racing even faster... a slut, she called herself... a dirty, cheating whore... wait...wait... she couldn't have been thinking of something other than fantasy? Could she? Why would she rebuff my sexual advances if she wasn't being satisfied by someone else? Oh god, maybe that very night.... was my wife, my beautiful darling Liz a cheat?

She stood up suddenly and walked towards the bathroom, her legs shaking unsteadily beneath her. Before she reached the door she let her skirt drop to the ground and I saw, my heart seeming to implode, that she had no underwear on. She shut the bathroom door behind her and I allowed myself to breathe deeply for the first time in what now seemed like hours. No underwear meant.... wait, wait. Maybe, when she started masturbating... I searched under the sheets, then around the bed, for her panties.... nothing. Frantically, I looked around the entire room as best I could in the dim blue of the night.... there was nothing, besides her handbag, on the ground at all. What had happened to her underwear? I imagined some self-satisfied Lothario, greasy and smiling to his friends as her held her gingham undergarments up for all to admire... my stomach did a backflip. Wait... maybe she hadn't gone out with underwear at all... maybe it was nothing... it was just a fantasy... we could talk about our sex-life... maybe she just wanted some role-playing or something... I could do that.... I always wanted to do the whole French maid thing... maybe... but wait. Why would she go out without underwear? Liz always wore underwear. The only reason she wouldn't... the only reason I could think of was... was.... was... oh, god.

She flushed the toilet, came back to bed, and slept. If only I could have done the same. I laid there, all night.... thinking... thinking... thinking. What could I do? I could confront her, I suppose, but with what proof? Or I could wait for her to go out again, and follow...?

As the sun began to shine though the window, I knew my next course of action.