SERIALIZED EROTICA / VOYEURISM / HOTWIFE
A Wife For Watching [#35]
Kevan spies on his wife, a whole new kind of voyeuristic experience — only to uncover something very interesting
So now I was spying on my wife.
I had hidden cameras stashed all over the place. Not just in the apartment — in our home, our cars, in Catherine’s purse or briefcase. I could track her anywhere. I could tell what she was doing at almost any moment.
So, of course, she didn’t do anything at all. At least nothing in the field of marital infidelity.
Suddenly, she went back to being the standard workaholic she had been for most of our relationship. She worked late at the office increasingly frequently — and she was working, it wasn’t merely an excuse.
When I got home to an empty house, I flipped through the video footage I had of her, hoping desperately that one of my myriad surveillance cameras had caught her doing something even vaguely sexy.
In a weird way, I enjoyed the hunt. I would work myself up searching for signs that she was even flirting with other guys. It was a massive turn-on seeing how she was with people at her company these days — she was an office flirt now, and guys really responded to her.
My obsession with her was at peak levels. When she got home late from work, particularly if she’d been flirting with someone at the office, I would be all over her.
She seemed to enjoy my attention. She knew why I was dragging her into the bedroom to strip off her clothes, to make love to her before she could even have a bite to eat. I was checking for signs that she’d pulled a colleague into the restroom at work for a quickie outside the range of my spyware.
There were definitely gaps in my surveillance web. Times when she went somewhere, and the reception wasn’t good enough for my equipment to report her whereabouts. And when she was meeting clients, I had to respect her client-counsel confidentiality, so I couldn’t listen in.
When I talked to Rob about it, he’d taunt me about those blind spots, about how Catherine knew I was spying on her, she knew when she could do something naughty. That she was always one step ahead of me.
But I’d get her home, I’d check her out; there didn’t seem to be evidence that she’d been with anyone.
She was getting enough sex at home to keep her busy, I guess. It turned her on to have a suspicious husband for some reason. She’d let me peel off her clothes at the end of a long day. She would stand there as I examined her, amused at how on edge I was.
She would be wet by the time I slipped down her panties and buried my face between her thighs.
She would tease me a little, commenting on how much I wished she’d spent the afternoon on her knees trying to persuade her boss to give her a raise. She would tell me about some of the guys she liked, some of the men who might tempt her into an affair.
She loved how thirsty it all made me. Acting like the interrogation victim as I fucked her with my eager tongue. How hard I was when I pushed her onto the bed and lay over her, sliding inside her while she insisted she’d been a good girl.
‘Why don’t you just let me watch you fuck someone?’ I’d ask her sometimes when the frustration got to me.
She’d smile and work her hips a little more while she rode my cock, ‘Because I like it when you’re like this,’ she’d say. ‘You’re so sexy when you’re on edge, my darling…’
Rob was sure she was playing mind games with me. Maybe she was seeing someone at a hotel on her lunch break or something.
Sometimes, we spent our own lunch breaks staking out the front of Catherine’s building. Sometimes, she’d make an appearance, and we’d follow her while she went for a walk, while she visited a nearby deli for a sandwich. She might have company, she might be alone. She wasn’t going to a hotel or a motel or somebody else’s apartment for hijinks.
‘Client meetings,’ Rob said. ‘That has to be when it happens. She knows you’re definitely not listening in then.’
‘They’re all legit meetings as far as I’ve seen,’ I insisted. ‘She doesn’t go to any of them on her own. She wouldn’t take a colleague to a meeting and then slip out to fuck her client.’
‘Maybe they go for a threesome,’ Rob laughed.
‘When I see her after a meeting, she doesn’t look like she’s been fucked,’ I said. ‘I can tell.’
‘I don’t know — some of your cameras aren’t exactly high-res.’
Catherine had to go down to Baltimore to meet a client, and I was paranoid that my tech would fail and I’d miss something significant. I was completely on edge, ready to jump down there to Maryland at a moment’s notice. Rob teased me. What the hell would I do if I got there? What would I tell her? That I missed her?
I tracked her. I was pretty sure nothing happened — but I was hoping it would.
I was able to watch her in her hotel via cameras in her purse, her toiletries bag. She was innocent, though I still enjoyed the chase. The stalk. The voyeurism.
We had a nice Zoom call together that night. She teased me about seeing some nice Baltimore men she liked the look of, that maybe on future business trips, she’d feel a little more adventurous. She gave me a sultry striptease show and had me tend to my hard-on while I watched her.
Still, I was frustrated because she wasn’t cheating.
Rob said maybe she’d even made up all that stuff about meeting a client during her lunch hours all those months I wasn’t getting any action.
‘She was just testing you,’ he said, and I had no evidence to the contrary.
Had my wife turned monogamous?
When you have insomnia, you might find ways to manage it for a while, but it’ll be there waiting for you when you’re ready for a reunion. When life gets overly stressful, and you’ve got too much on your mind, it will rear its ugly head some more.
And so, I might have been in good standing with Catherine again. Still, there I was, waking up at 2 in the morning, my body feeling like it was already dawn, with no intention of going back to sleep.
There was too much on my mind. Too many thoughts about what my wife was up to, whether I’d missed anything that might reveal an affair, whether there was something I needed to do to make sure I found out about anything she did do behind my back.
Once again, my best bet for calming my whirling thoughts and getting my stupid body to feel something resembling drowsiness again was to quietly head downstairs and make myself come.
I flicked through some of the choice video clips I’d kept from my various surveillance efforts — clips showing Catherine undressing or showering, or anything else vaguely revealing among the countless hours of nothing very much.
I found footage from the evening when I was having drinks after work with Rob and a few other people, and Catherine was actually home before me for once. With all the time I had failing to sleep at night, I’d edited together material from various cameras dotted around our Connecticut home to give a kind of cinematic experience of my sweet wife arriving home while I was still away in the city.
Catherine had come home forgetting that I was having drinks after work, and it was amusing and also heart-warming to see her emerge through our front door looking cheerful and distinctly horny, no doubt expecting me to be there to inspect her for signs of an office affair, before quickly dragging her away for some erotic exploration.
But I wasn’t there that early in the evening, so she had to deal with her horny urges herself.
What followed was a fun sequence in which Catherine walked through the house stripping off her work clothes, pouring herself a glass of white wine as she progressed through the kitchen, before heading up to the bedroom to slowly remove her underwear for the benefit of her missing husband.
She knew I had spy cameras all over the place, of course. If she ever brought a lover back to our house in Fairfield County, I would be able to see what they got up to.
So, on this night in question, she knew I would be watching and gave me something truly delicious to watch.
It helped the insomnia, at least. Jacking off while watching her get naked, lie on the bed, and retrieve a small bullet vibrator from her bedside table.
I loved watching her touch herself. She was so beautiful, so graceful, so irresistibly sexy. The way her body moved when she swept her hands all over her shapely form, when she traced circles around her sex. When she directed that little electric buzzing torpedo against her clit — it was just sensational.
Watching her lie on her back, her thighs parted, everything visible. Or on all fours, presenting her delectable rear. Watching how spectacularly wet she got as she slipped that thing inside her pink folds.
And sure, she knew I was probably getting to watch, but there was still something intensely sexy about spying on her like this. Playing the secret agent. The voyeuristic stakeout.
I watched that sequence three times before I finally came myself.
When I reached forward to close the video so I could clean up and head back to bed, the image on my screen froze during the moment when Catherine entered the bedroom, with the scene provided by a camera I’d hidden in our smoke detector.
That particular camera provided a very high-resolution image. It was directed so that as well as offering a fantastic broad view of the bedroom as a whole, it also looked out toward the front windows.
And as my eyes perused that frozen image, in which Catherine was standing there motionless in a pair of tiny black panties and nothing else, my heart seemed to stop for a few moments.
I could see well — since Catherine had not bothered to close the blinds while she undertook her little personal strip show — that I was not the only one watching her that night.
Through the windows, I could see across to the next house, where somebody was watching Catherine using a pair of high-powered binoculars.
Jeez.
There was no doubt. Our neighbor had also been spying on my wife.
We’d never had a problem with our neighbors spying on us before.
The fact was that only one house was really close enough to look through our windows — and that house belonged to Bob and Barbara, a lovely retired couple who seemed about as likely to become voyeurs as the three blind mice.
But now, as I examined the video footage like the Blade Runner seeking clues to a rogue replicant, I could see that someone was in Bob and Barbara’s house that clearly wasn’t Bob or Barbara.
This was a guy who appeared to be in his early thirties. And he wasn’t simply a bird watcher who had been unwittingly caught on camera while checking out cardinals and woodpeckers in the backyard. He was pretty obviously training those binoculars on our window, and on Catherine as she got naked.
Did Bob and Barbara have a son we hadn’t heard much about?
I wasn’t getting sleepy now.
But now I was looking for other video clips I’d caught — particularly from this camera — that might show how frequently our new spy next door had been watching our house. There was plenty of evidence. He’d been surveilling our bedroom for about two weeks.
Oh, and in the footage I’d caught on the most recent weekend, another interesting factoid emerged: Catherine had noticed him watching her. Not only that: Catherine had noticed him watching her and was now actively trying to give him special little glimpses of herself stripping off, too.
I swear: here she was, making sure the blinds were open when she changed out of her nightwear on Saturday morning before hopping into the shower.
My wicked wife was courting attention from the hunk next door.
‘A Wife For Watching’ continues:
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