A foreigner satisfies the cuck fantasies of a sleazy Colombo taxi driver. Hired for my military experience, I worked in Afghanistan on a variety of military contracts.
The money was good, and I was hooked on the thrill of being in the action. While the money was piling up in our bank accounts, the long separations caused problems in my marriage. I was around fifty-five at this time and my wife Maria around fifty-three. She was still looking good, a shorty at 5 feet one, cinnamon-brown skin, and with all her excess weight in her boobs and ass. I am a white-bread guy, six feet and in good shape from hanging around bases with Navy SEALs, Marines, and Army Special Forces, hitting the well-equipped gyms regularly.
I still had a good deal of my sandy brown and gray hair. Before the wars, my wife Maria had caught me cheating several times. Long story, not going to digress, but I had mistresses for years. While Maria could be a little harsh on me, the main reason for me cheating was my high sex drive and an amoral compulsion to fuck every woman I could.
After one particularly bad episode in which she found out and confronted the other woman, also a Latina, in person, we had a long period of silence and her being angry. I was chastened — thoroughly beat down by her anger and my shame. After a month, she began to soften towards me, but also did something new to me. She would tell me about guys who hit on her, almost daily.
At her work, at the mall, in the supermarket. One time, she told me about the time she was at a youth sports event organized by the city she worked for.
