Your wife's view was this today

He's got her white lace thong stretched between his thumbs, pulling it down just enough that her ass spills out around his grip. I'm on the phone in the other room when she stops answering. Now I get why. Her face is pressed to the sheets, mouth open like she's mid-sentence that never finished. Red hair all over the place. The bull's thighs are behind her, thick and dark, planted wide. He doesn't even look at the phone when it rings again. Just adjusts his hands on her hips, thumbs digging in. The garter straps are still clipped to her stockings but twisted from how hard he's holding her. Bed's white sheets are already wrinkled under her knees. She moans something that sounds like my name at first but turns into just noise. Her nails scratch at the mattress once, then go still. The phone keeps vibrating on the nightstand where she left it face-down. Screen lights up again. I see it from the hallway. He leans over her back, says something low I can't catch. She answers with her forehead pushed into the pillow. Her mouth stays open after. I watch his fingers hook deeper into the lace, stretching it until one side slips off her hip completely. The fabric hangs there useless. Her eyes flick toward the phone for half a second. Then away. "Leave it," he tells her.