Stendhal Syndrome

With my eyes still closed, I stretched my hand to my right, looking for my wife's hair on the pillow.
The sunlight came in though the open shutters.
She'd already gotten up; I opened my eyes and from the next room I heard the light creaking of a bed and stuffy moans.
I got up and went to the door.
I looked into the room beyond.
My wife was laying on the bed, naked; the other woman, with her red hair cascading in a thousand curls, was rubbing, contracting and relaxing her buttocks, I could glimpse her pussy. She was wearing a black polka dot swimsuit that, in motion, disappeared between her buttocks and then reappeared.
The woman's movement was frenzied.
I approached and turned around.
My wife, lying under her, had released the other woman's breasts from her swimsuit and was pinching her nipples; I could see her cum shining on her breasts and stomach.
She moaned deeply at first and then screamed uncontrollably.
My heart raced in my chest.
Stendhal syndrome took hold of me.