Cheating on a Cheating Wife by RetroFan

The clothes she was hanging out at the moment were her school blouses, tee-shirts, jeans and the like, but things got more interesting when Montana reached into the basket and pulled out some of her bras, hanging out the white, pink, light blue, lemon, pale green, lilac and apricot brassieres on the line. My erection grew as I looked at Montana’s bras and thought about the fine teenage boobs they encased every day.

Then out of the basket came Montana’s panties. Like Libby, Montana seemed to be a fan of cotton bikini briefs, which I thought hotter than thongs or sexy lingerie. Montana’s knickers like her bras were simple in color — white, pink, light blue, lemon, pale green, lilac and apricot — although some of her white panties had flowers on them and another pair were seascape panties with shells, starfish, seahorses.

Seeing Montana’s teen panties hanging on the line was a huge turn-on as always, my erection proved this, but I would have loved to get into Montana’s clothes hamper to look at and sniff her underwear before she did her laundry. In my imagination, I often fantasized about going into the house next door and taking Montana’s unwashed knickers out of her laundry basket, looking at and admiring her cunt stains on the double cotton of her panty saddle, and sniffing the young girl’s musty feminine fragrances from between her legs into my nose.

Back in the 1990s it might have been possible to turn this fantasy into reality, but the 1990s were long over and nowadays people often had security systems with surveillance cameras, so the probability of me being caught as a panty-sniffing pervert would be higher. So I would often get Libby’s knickers out of the clothes hamper and sniff them while jerking off, pretending they were Montana’s knickers instead. Although other times I would sniff and masturbate over Libby’s knickers simply because I liked smelling my own wife’s cunt on her panties.

Montana finished hanging out her clothes on the line then went back inside, and I lingered behind the blinds perving into the garden at the wonderful sight of a line of a pretty teenage girl’s panties. I thought about Montana’s BFF Bailey, and wished I could see the pretty red haired teenager’s panties on the line at her house.

Of course I didn’t know the address where Bailey and her family lived, and even if I did I might get arrested by the police if I snuck into their back garden to look at their teenage daughter’s knickers on the line on washing day. If I was arrested for perving on a teenage girl’s panties, would Libby pay the money to bail me out? Knowing my wife, I think Libby would simply hang up the phone.

My erection went down as I went downstairs to the laundry, but I was still so distracted by Montana’s knickers that I didn’t see where I was going, and tripped over Libby’s clothes hamper that was next to the washing machine.

Crash! I went sprawling, and the laundry basket tumbled over, Libby’s dirty knickers and her bras going flying over the floor, me landing on top of them. There was another loud crash as I took out the ironing board as it tumbled over too, and a bottle of fabric softener also hit the floor, the plastic splitting and the blue liquid going everywhere.

I had assumed Libby was still in the kitchen, and had no idea she was on the toilet behind the closed and locked door of the laundry lavatory. However, as everything went crashing, I was alerted to my wife’s presence when she yelled out ‘Fuck!’ and let out an enormous fart, the sound from Libby’s anus turning into a squelching noise followed by what sounded like an avalanche of shit going everywhere in the toilet.

Libby flung the toilet door open, and I felt like a fool as I lay sprawling on the laundry floor on top of my wife’s underwear. I looked nervously at Libby as she glared at me with her cold blue eyes, leaning forward on the toilet, the high pony-tail in which she wore her long blonde hair making her look even stricter. On her top half she wore a fitness top showing too much of her cleavage, and on her bottom half Libby’s lycra leggings and her white panties were down around her ankles, white running shoes on her feet.

“Jeff, what the fuck is going on out there?” Libby snapped. “What are you doing on the floor, and what are my knickers doing on the floor?”

“Sorry Libby, I um tripped over your clothes hamper and fell over,” I said, blushing as I got to my feet. “Did I scare you?”

“Of course you scared me Jeff, you fucking retard!” Libby spat. “You scared the shit out of me, literally! I nearly leaped off the toilet and I lost control of my bowels. Now there’s shit everywhere thanks to you!”

Hearing Libby ‘sharting’ on the toilet when I tripped over and with the smell of her girl poo now filling the laundry it was clear my angry wife was not exaggerating, and I cowered in the face of her fury. “Is there anything I can do to help you, honey?”

Libby pointed at the toilet roll, which was running a bit low on paper. “I’m in an absolute mess, and because of you I now don’t have enough toilet paper. Seriously Jeff, do you dream up new ways at night to piss me off? You get me new roll of toilet paper, and then you get upstairs, wet down one of my washcloths and bring it back to me.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“I need to use it to wash my bottom, what else do you think I’m going to use it for?” Libby glared at me. “No amount of toilet tissue is going to get me clean after you scared me like that.”

“Sorry Libby, I’ll get you some more paper and a cloth,” I said.

I opened the laundry cupboard and retrieved two rolls of toilet tissue, which I handed to Libby and which my wife snatched from my hands. Running upstairs, I grabbed one of Libby’s washcloths which was pink with purple flowers and wet it down, running back downstairs to give it to Libby.

Libby again snatched it from my hand without any thanks. “Now get my panties and my bras off the fucking floor and get the rest of that mess cleaned up before I finish on the toilet!”

The still furious Libby slammed the toilet door shut, farting hard on the loo as she did so. I collected Libby’s knickers and bras and put them back in her clothes hamper, put the ironing board back in its place and got a mop to clean up the fabric softener.

The whole time I could hear Libby’s private toilet noises from her bottom, and my bad-tempered wife frequently unwinding toilet paper from the roll. I heard her changing the toilet tissue at one stage when she used the last of the paper from the existing roll.

Libby flushed the toilet as I got the last of the fabric softener cleaned up, and I heard her put down the toilet lid and spraying toilet freshener liberally around the small room. ‘Good call, Libby’ I thought to myself as the door opened and Libby strode out, carrying an empty cardboard toilet roll tube in one hand, and the cloth in the other.

My wife put the cardboard tube in the recycling bin, then thrust the damp pink washcloth at me. “You disinfect and wash it when you do the laundry,” she commanded me.