Always Ready 2

By Likegoodwinecopyrighted November 2012

Here's another short story for you. Enjoy! This story is a parody of many cheating wives stories of revenge posted on this site (including some of mine). This story caters to the 'Burn the bitch' fans. Beware!

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

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Sometimes, just when you think you are ready to face anything that life can throw at you, life throws it. Then and there you realize that you really can't even catch a simple curved ball thrown your way. This is what happened to me. This is my story.

My name is Bob Parker. I am 35-years old and married for the last ten years to my beautiful wife, Mandy, who is 33-years old. We are just your normal everyday American couple, minus the 1.8 kids. That's the .8 that scares the shit out of me.

It was a nice Wednesday afternoon and I decided to come home early. Not only had a work meeting been cancelled at the last minute, I wasn't feeling well. I had also forgotten some paperwork at home. If I went home, it would leave me a few hours by myself. But I know now this is the day the shit hit the fan.

When I was about to pull in the driveway, I noticed that my wife's car was already in the garage. What? She was supposed to be at work. There was also an unknown van parked in the driveway. Darn! There goes my nice little afternoon by myself. Right away a plan came to me.

I pumped my brakes repeatedly until my car stopped. It's a vintage 1980 Pinto GT, yellow with a black strip on the side. I was in front of the neighbor's house.

Instead of going into the house by the front door, I decided to sneak my way around the house and go in by the backdoor even if my wife doesn't like it when I try to get in by the backdoor. It wasn't locked. I got in the house and headed downstairs right away. I got in the laundry room, which is just underneath one of our two guest bedrooms. I looked around but there was no dirty laundry from my sister-in-law, Laurie. She has been living with us for the last six months, since her husband kicked her out of their apartment for no good reason. The only dirty laundry was from our hamper. I dug inside and soon found a pair of Mandy's panties.

Don't think that I am a weirdo or a pervert. It's only that my wife hasn't allowed me to have sex with her for the last four months, since her sister and her started to go out by themselves. When they are not out drinking and dancing till the wee hours of the night, they are both home, resting, and Mandy, my wife, didn't want to have her sister hearing us having sex. Mandy is the silent type during sex, but I am known to do a little puffing and wheezing at the peak of my excitement. What do you want? I am a beast! Guilty as charged!

Well, now you understand that as a man, I needed some relief. I finally found a pair of red thong panties, one that I had never seen before. I put them back in the hamper. They were way too small to hold my penis and also had some whitish crusty stuff stuck on the crotch. I soon found a nice utilitarian white pair of panties. Darn, that one too was filled with the same crusty stuff. It took me five other pairs before I found one not too dirty. I think it was the pair she wore last Sunday.

I started to rub myself with the panties and was getting really into it. I feared that I might make too much noise but fortunately my wife seemed to be moving the furniture around in the guest bedroom and was making a ruckus. As my own release was approaching, she started to hammer on something at the same rhythm as I was stroking myself. How lucky can a guy get?

I was thinking about that cute actress that plays a cop in the new TV series: Law and Hors d'Oeuvre California. Californian state troopers chase French criminals and liver paté smugglers all over the State. They are known as the Arnold Schwarzenegger hit squad and are quite successful despite the many wild goose chases they faced. [Readers, google "ban liver pate" to read the complete story behind the joke]

Stroking oneself is not as good as sex with a woman so I always last longer when I masturbate. So after two long minutes, I finally filled the panties with my sperm. I cleaned myself thoroughly and put the panties back in the hamper.

Silently, I went back upstairs. I tripped on the last step but fortunately Ravel's Bolero was playing in the living room and covered my light yelp. Without anyone the wiser, I was out of the house.

I went back to my car. I was still curious about the vehicle in my driveway, a white Chevy van. Who could it be? Was it a colleague of Mandy that came to visit for a while? A friend?

And then it hit me. Is it possible that Mandy was having an affair? I didn't see any sign of one but she might just be an accomplish liar. My blood was boiling, raising the whole temperature of my body. The anger that came over me was overwhelming. There was one thing I was sure of: nobody fucks with Bob!

They knew very little about my past and my training. Sure my unit was dismantled many years ago and we were scattered all over the country, but I still had the skills that our gruesome training left us. It left me more than that badge I was carrying with me in my wallet. The training was so ingrained in each of us that we never had to think; we just reacted on pure instinct. Even by myself, they would have more than they bargained for. You don't fuck with a lethal weapon like me. You don't fuck with... a former boy scout.

I got out of my car and went to write down the license plate number. It could help me find out who owned the van. As I was coming near it, I saw a familiar silhouette further down the block, at the stop sign. Darn! Old Miss White was out for her afternoon walk. I know that she can't see very clearly anymore and always hesitate a long time before crossing the street. I looked at the unknown van then looked at Miss White. Darn! I rushed to help Miss White to cross the street.

"Here, let me help you Miss White," I said. I think I startled her as she recoiled when she heard my voice.

"No I..." started to say Miss White.

"I insist Miss White," I said while pushing her gently toward the other side of the street. "It is safer if somebody helps you."

"But I..."

"It's alright Miss White, I'm always ready to help," I told her, cutting short her thanks.

She was soon on the other sidewalk.

"There you go Miss White," I said. "Have a nice day now!"

"Moron! I just wanted to visit my next door neighbor," said Miss White. Poor Miss White, she is so confused.

Just when I reached my car, a man in his mid-twenties came out of the house and jumped into the van. He took off down the street. I tried to start my car but almost nothing happened. I pumped the gas pedal a few times and turned the ignition again, crossing my fingers. It did start. I was glad that I didn't have to push the car to start it on compression.

I was about to race after the unknown car when I saw Miss White at the curb, getting ready to cross back the street. Darn! I pumped a few times on the brake pedal and stopped the car. I rushed and pushed her as quick as possible across the street. Old people can be erratic sometime with all those the old age problems. For no good reason, Miss White hit me hard in the face with her handbag. I don't know what she carries in there, but it really hurt.

When I ran back to my car, it puffed a bit then stalled. I tried as hard as I could to restart it but to no avail. It was flooded. Anyway, the unknown van was already out of sight. I was pushing my car back toward the house when I saw Mandy get in her car and take off the other way, toward her work I presumed.

I left the car at the curb because I would be unable to push my car up the slope of my driveway. I then went inside the house and went into our bedroom. The bed was in disarray. Darn it!

I fell on my knees at the door of my bedroom and started to cry. Why did she do that to me? I loved her so much. I trusted her with my life. I would have trusted her with my car if she had asked.

But self-pity isn't productive. What I wanted was revenge. I will make them pay for what they did to me. First, I had to make Mandy pay dearly for her betrayal. A plan formed in my head. Tomorrow I would act and strike hard. As for the guy, her lover, if I ever catch up with him, he would feel pain, a lot of pain.

But I had to bid my time, as I had to wait for tomorrow before I could act. I had to find something to do till very late and come back when Mandy would be in bed. I wrote down a note.

"Honey, I'v gone to the supermarket to sell popcorn. See you later tonight. Bob"

I didn't write that I love her and I didn't put Xs for kisses beside my name. I'm done with that stuff.

I spent four hours walking from one shopping mall to the other. In every public washroom I wrote: "For a good time with a cock sucking slut, call Mandy at 555-0123". Tomorrow I would also do all the washrooms at her work and the restaurants in the area.

I came back home totally bushed and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, I had a silent breakfast with Mandy and her sister. Mandy reminded me not to forget to do the bed like yesterday as I am always the last to get up and it is part of my share of the house chores. They finally left for work.

First thing I did was prepare a plate of Girl Scout cookies laced with laxative. I left it on the coffee table in the living room. Later, instead of going to work I stopped by the law office of a fellow den leader and asked him to prepare divorce papers. When I tried to explain my reasons for divorcing Mandy, he told me it didn't matter as we lived in a no fault state.

That afternoon I came back home at the same time as yesterday hoping to surprise them again. Nothing! It took me three days of quitting work early to finally see the van parked in my driveway. It was Friday. It was the day of reckoning. I parked in the street behind the van, blocking the way out.

Of course, I was ready. I took a rope from the car trunk and silently tied it up on the knob of the storm door at one end, and to a post on the railing of the front steps. They would be stuck inside, unable to get out of the house. My ultimate knowledge of knots made sure of it. I ran to the side of the house and grabbed a garbage bag. It contained birch barks, moss, kindling and dry branches. Everything you need to start a fire.

I gave up after 10 minutes trying to create enough friction with a branch to start the fire. Tradition be damned, I ran to the backyard, grabbed a jerry can of gasoline from the tool shed and spilled it all under the front of the van. I then went to my car, trying to avoid the gas that ran a bit toward the street, and pushed my lighter. Twenty seconds later, it popped out, ready to light whatever I wished. I ran back to the van and threw the lighter under it. The gasoline ignited with a whoosh, singeing lightly the hair on my right arm, my eyebrows, my eyelashes and part of my bangs. Nothing serious! But what a smell!

I went on the front step and knocked lightly on the bay window. I could see Mandy and the stranger standing in the living room. I waived at them and said: "Surprise! Come look honey, I wanted to demonstrate my burning anger."

Dumfounded, they both came to the window. It was priceless to see the face of the stranger when he saw his van burning. He ran toward the front door. He was in for a surprise. I was bracing myself for a real good laugh when he would pull on the door and it wouldn't open.

I heard barking and howling but didn't pay any attention to it. The stranger arrived at the storm door and pushed it open. Oops! Little planning mistake here. Anyway the damage was done. His van was engulfed in flame as well as my Pinto. Shit, my Pinto! The gasoline probably went down the driveway and pooled under my car. I rushed into the house, went in the kitchen and grabbed our fire extinguisher. I ran back outside.

Unfortunately, the rope still tied to the railing, stopped my movement, snared on of my feet. I lost my grip on the fire extinguisher and it kept moving of his own momentum and the stranger grabbed it in mid-air. As for myself, I landed face first on the cobblestones of our little sidewalk leading to the front door. In a matter of seconds, the stranger had stopped the fire under his van. As he turned toward my car, the gas tank exploded, engulfing the whole interior of the car and starting a fiery fire on my dry cedar edge.

I started crying at the lost of my dependable car. Out of nowhere a small puppy came and jumped at me, like if it was sensing my distress. I saw then the stranger open the back door of his van and extract a big dog cage. The howling and barking had stopped in the meantime. The stranger opened the cage and started to cry. I would learn later through my attorney that it was his prized breeding female golden retriever, a dog with a pedigree that goes all the way to the first settlers in America. A priceless dog! A burnt bitch!

Mandy and her sister didn't come back to the house that evening. Mandy said that she was too upset by my behavior. I would have to wait another day for the second part of my revenge, when I would have Mandy's stuff sent to a Mexican warehouse. She explained that the stranger was a breeder that sold her a puppy for my birthday. She dryly stated that she never cheated on me, that it was all the fruit of my over-active imagination. As if I believed her.

But I seriously doubt her. After all, since I am back from the police station, no less than ten different lovers phoned here asking for all kind of sexual favors from Mandy. Bitch! Munching on some cookies, I continued to plan my revenge.

Well I hope that you enjoyed that little story and that it induced a few chuckles.