The single time I got really pissed, angry, was during a time KK was carrying on an affair with a guy name of Webb - cliche, our ......'s soccer coach. I'd gone out to our lake house to prepare it for a weekend event for my ...... and her friends. What I rolled up on upset me tremendously.
Granted, our lake house had always been a venue for illicit fucking, affairs, and carrying on. It was mostly a timing thing, because KK new about the event, prep, etc, and was supposed to be doing other things. Long story short, I caught her in the act with Webb, and four of his friends, getting her brains fucked out in the den. Anyone could've walked in/up on them, cavorting in a sweaty pile on the carpet.
I watched, stunned, frozen, until almost simultaneously I squirted cum, hands-free, and vomited from the bile and anger. After I collected myself, I snuck off, hiding, parked in a secluded area down the road, until I saw two cars, then KK's, leave.
On entry, they'd only marginally cleaned up. The den smelled like cum, pot smoke, sweat, KK's perfume, with a "hint of ass." There was 2/3 a load of soiled towels in the laundry room hamper, the byproduct of KK's little fuck-fest.
Although I was angry, overall, I did not directly confront KK on the matter. The whole of that experience, from seeing KK unceremoniously skewered on three cocks, both hands full of another pair, and the humiliation of having the clean up her mess was in combination with the timing too much. Instead of directly confronting her, I took little jabs, seeing if I could prod her into confessing. It did not work.
