Cuckquean Brittany The Patient

This one was definitely written with tongue firmly ensconced in cheek. Thanks to both my first draft readers for their valuable feedback, and to my editor who kept the brakes on, before I got TOO carried away.

And thank you for all the kind comments and feedback on my first two stories. I hope you like this little adventure.

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"Damn it, Allen! It's after three in the morning. You reek of booze and smell like some floozy! What the hell is going on!" I shrieked at my husband of nine years, the father of our two beautiful children. This was becoming a habit, and I was going to nip it in the bud!

He kicked off his shoes, ignoring my tirade. I tried to contain my anger, but this was too much. How DARE he ignore me.

"I'm talking to you, Allen! What do you mean by coming home this late?"

I was sitting up in bed, my robe clutched around me. I hated when he got drunk. He always expected sex, and I was tired of giving in.

"Why would I want to come home?" he sneered, then walked into our bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Why would he want to come home? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He had duties, responsibilities. He had a family, a wife and two children. A job. Admittedly it was a Friday, and he didn't have to go to work in the morning, but just two weeks ago, he'd come home drunk on a Wednesday! I'd had a hell of a time getting him off to work on time.

He exited the bathroom naked and dripping. At least he'd showered the stench of booze and smoke off of him. I saw him scratching his balls, and expected that any moment he'd start stroking that cock he was so damn proud of, and demand that I do my duty.

The hell with that! I wasn't going to reward him for his actions.

He climbed into his side of the bed, and rolled away from me. The nerve of him.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself? And what was that crack about why would you want to come home?"

"I ask myself that everyday. Why should I go home to listen to your endless bitching, Brittany? Why should I have to beg to get a little pussy from my wife, no matter how good it is? Why do I bust my ass five days a week to make your life easy, when your goal in life seems to be to make my life hell?"

"You son-of-a-bitch! You think I make your life hell? That you have to beg for pussy? You ain't seen anything yet, if you don't straighten up. Next time you come home this late, drunk off your ass, that's the last you'll be seeing of this pussy for a long time, do you hear me?"

"Whatever," he growled, and ignored everything else he needed to hear.

- ( . Y . ) -

A week later it was after two, and he still hadn't come home. He'd virtually ignored me all week, and the freeze out on my part didn't seem to affect him in the least.

When he finally walked in the room around two twenty in the morning, I was ready to give him what for. I'd had enough of his shit. He looked at me waiting for him, and sighed.

"God DAMN it, Allen!" I shrieked, letting him know just how pissed I was.

"Shut up, Brittany. I know. You're pissed. You're going to make my life hell. That pussy of yours that I ain't seen hide nor hair of in five weeks is off limits. That's fine. Carla's pussy ain't off limits. Not by a long shot. I'll sleep in the guest room, fuck you very much."

He walked past me, as if I didn't matter, having confessed to his cheating! What the fuck! How could he do that to me? To us? To his family!

And what was that nonsense about five weeks. That was so much bullshit. Hell, I'd given in to him after the Hammond's party, even though he'd been drinking. That was just, uh, right after Labor Day, back in . . . Shit! Had it been five weeks?

Well, so what if it had? That was no excuse. I wasn't going to put up with it. No way.

I went to my room, slamming the door so he'd know just how much trouble he was in. I had a hell of a time getting to sleep that night. Carla? That big tittied tramp! Fucking divorcée cocksucker. She'd get hers, too.

- ( . Y . ) -

He was gone the following morning, and while I got the kids dressed and fed, I had a terrible feeling in my gut. Would he even be back? Were the kids enough to lure him home? I could see that he wouldn't want to face me. He had to know I was going to tear him a new one.

Why had he started getting drunk every Friday night? Why was he so sullen? And what the hell was he thinking, taking up with Carla?

It hit me hard. He wasn't cheating. He was leaving. If he didn't want to be here, how could I make him? Sure, he'd end up paying for the kids, and I'd get some alimony, but did he even care? Allen had simple needs. A beer with his buddies, the occasional card game or fishing trip. A TV to watch his sports. A place for his tools. He earned enough to manage that after paying me off, and we had enough money saved for him to start over, if he wanted. Damn it!

I almost regretted riding him so hard to get that Master's degree, and fight for that promotion. I thought eighty grand in the bank was a great thing, more than any of our friends had. Now it just meant that he could start over if he wanted.

Why would he even want that? He had a great family. I knew damn well I was easy on the eyes. The attention I got from all his buddies assured that. I rocked his world in bed. Best damn pussy in five counties. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating.

At least I used to rock his world. Five weeks? How the fuck did that happen?

I picked up the phone and called my sister.

"Brittany?" she answered.

"Heather, he's leaving me. I know it. He's fucking Carla, and he walked out the door today without a word. I've lost him. What am I gonna do?"

"Whoa! Slow down sis, did he tell you he's leaving?"

"He says he has nothing to come home to. That he didn't need my pussy, that Carla's wasn't off limits. He's barely speaking to me lately. I know he's gonna dump us. I know it."

"Shit. When did he start sleeping with Carla, that bastard! And why the fuck would he? No way she's half as good as us."

I thought about it. I don't think it was something he'd been doing long. Not Allen. "I think last night was the first time."

"Maybe he was just blowing off steam. Did you give him any reason?"

"Reason? Fuck no! I've never cheated on him, not that I ain't had plenty of opportunities."

Heather interrupted me. "I'm not talking about cheating necessarily. Why did he say he had nothing to come home to? What's the deal with that? I thought you guys had it good. There's no money issues, are there?"

"Hell no. I almost wish there were. We're shitting in tall cotton. Got over eighty grand in savings, and the bastard's in line for another promotion. That's all we need, another few thousand he can sock away for when he abandons us."

"Then what's the problem? You're not cheating. You have two gorgeous kids. Finances are strong. He's not working too many hours is he?"

"Not really. The usual. Still gets home around six."

"There's gotta be something, Brittany. He's always been crazy 'bout you. A guy like Allen don't just fall out of love overnight. What's going on?"

"I don't know, Heather. Everything's a mess. I'm gonna lose him. How am I supposed to raise two kids by myself? What'll I do if he never comes home?"

"Shit, sis. You best figure out what the hell is wrong. That's all I've gotta say. I can't believe he'd walk out for no reason. You sure you didn't cheat?"

"Damn it, Heather! You think I wouldn't remember if I spread my legs for anyone but my husband!"

"Then explain it to me. When did this start? What did he say about not coming home?"

I tried. I told her about the previous weekend, his asinine comment after getting home after three in the morning. The chill in the house ever since. So maybe I didn't tell her everything. I mentioned the five weeks, but left out the lies about me making his life miserable.

"You cut him off? Totally, for over a month?" Heather asked.

"I didn't really cut him off. I wasn't going to reward him for getting drunk and coming home at all hours!"

"So how many times did he come home drunk? Every night?"

"Of course not! He still has a job. It's been, well, like four times in the last month. That's ridiculous, if you ask me."

"Shit sis, if the man can't get pussy at home, he's gonna get it somewhere. You need to sit him down and find out what the problem is. Maybe it's not too late."

"That's if he ever comes home again," I said, feeling the tears starting. "He was gone when I woke up. Not a word, not a note, nothing."

"So you fought last night, and he took off this morning. His stuff is still there, right?"

"Yeah."

"He's probably out cooling off. I bet he didn't mean to say nothin' about Carla last night. Hell, it might even be a lie just to piss you off. He's doesn't want to come home just to have you tear into him. You need to handle him with kid gloves. And stop cutting him off, you idiot!"

"I gotta do something, Heather!"

"Well that's sure as shit not the answer. I would hope that's obvious by now. Maybe you should talk to Mom."

"Oh, hell no! You know she'd take his side in a minute. He's such a fucking suck up. As far as she's concerned, his shit don't stink. She'd somehow blame this on me."

Just then I heard the front door opening. "Gotta go," I said. "I think he's here."

"Kid gloves, sis. And make sure that all the pussy he needs is at home."

I could tell by the look in his eyes, he was prepared for a fight. I bet he'd been thinking up all kinds of cruel things to say. Well I'd be damned if I was going to give him the pleasure. Kid gloves? I'd give him kid-fucking-gloves.

He was standing in the doorway, like he didn't even want to come in to his own house. What the fuck was with that? I walked over, and put my arms around his neck. Gotcha. Weren't expecting that, were you, asshole?

"You look tired. Have you eaten?" I could smell the damn beer on his breath. I bet he'd been whining to the guys down at Joe's. That or maybe Carla had given him one.

He was slow to answer. "Wasn't really hungry," he said.

"I'm sorry I've been bitchy. Why don't you have a seat in front of the TV? The game should be on soon. I'll make you a sandwich."

"I thought you were supposed to go shopping with your sister. I was going to watch the kids."

Yeah. I bet you were. Probably take them and run off, once I disappeared for a few hours. "That was her on the phone. She had to cancel. I'll take care of them. You relax. I know the last few weeks have been tough. You don't need any more stress."

He was still wary. I could see it in his eyes. Still one foot out the door. Well, we'd see about that! I stood on tip toe and kissed him. That surprised the hell out of him. It took me a few seconds to get him to open up, before I could give him a little tongue. That woke him up. Hell yeah, fuck you Carla!

I pulled away slowly, rubbing my tits against him. They might not be as big as that slut's, but they were holding up better, and I knew he loved 'em. Oh, yeah, the son-of-a-bitch was getting hard. No way he was leaving me. No way.

"Sit, lover, and relax. I'll get you something to eat."

I turned away, and felt his hands on me. He couldn't leave me alone. Not this body. I gave my butt a little extra wiggle. In the kitchen, I grabbed one of the frosted mugs out of the freezer, and poured him a lite beer. Didn't need him drunk again, that was for sure. If he got beer dick, I'd be wasting my time. I brought him the lite, and he already had the pre-game show on. He thanked me, and I knew it was working.

White bread wouldn't do. No, I was pulling out the big guns. I turned on the oven, and broke out one of them Pillsbury french breads. I cracked it open and put it on a greased pan. Twenty minutes was all it took. I found the Steak-ums in the freezer, and fried those up with some onions and six slices of cheese. I'd have the bastard die of a heart-attack before I'd let him get away.

I covered the pan, and went out to see how he was doing. He watched me like I was up to something. That's just fine. I was. He's a fisherman. He should understand, I was baiting the hook. I knew just how to set it, and I was going to reel that bad boy in, no matter how much fight he put up.

I knelt before him, and unlaced his shoes, easing them off. That should be a kick in the pants. I couldn't remember the last time I'd pulled that one on him. "Relax honey. The sandwich will be just a few minutes." I rubbed his feet for a few minutes, reminding myself to get odor-eaters.

I gave him another peck, grinning to myself as I left, giving the booty another wiggle. Carla may have tits, but I had her ass beat to hell and back.

In the kitchen, I gave Heather a call, hiding in the pantry while I spoke.

"Sis? Can you watch the kids for a couple of hours?"

"He's home? How did it go?"

"Kid gloves, remember? I need the monsters out of the house. I'm gonna remind the asshole that the best pussy in this town is right under his nose. Best damn blowjob too."

"Damn straight. Lannister sisters are the best, and it's high time you reminded him. I got the kids. Ten minutes?"

"That's good. They're in the backyard."

"Alright. You go get him girl."

"Oh, I will. Trust me."

I delivered his sandwich, and set up a tray for him. "Heather wants to take all the kids out for a while. Is that alright?"

He stopped in mid bite, and I knew what the bastard was thinking. I was setting him up. As soon as the kids were gone, I'd lay down the law. He was right about setting him up, but not about anything else. "I love you, honey, and I'm gonna remind you just how much, as soon as they're gone."

Take that!

Bingo, that one got me a nibble. "Listen, Brittany. I'm sorry—"

"I know, me too. Let's not talk about it. Watch the game, and I'll supply the half-time entertainment.

The mid-game blowjob worked like a charm. He sat back in his chair, and I was just where a pig like him wanted me, on my knees, sucking his cock. At least it was clean. Sure didn't taste like Carla had been his morning distraction.

After the game I took him back to bed, and I fucked the cowboy shit out of him. I'd like to see ANY of those bitches, Carla included, ride that stud like I did. Jesus, before I was done with him, he was telling me I was the best fuck in the country, and that he loved me.

Right. I'd seen what his idea of love was.

Didn't mean I didn't give him a good show. All teary eyed and crap. Yeah, I said I loved him back, sucked that cock back hard, and didn't let him up until the late game was in the second quarter. I also made sure he knew he'd be seein' a hell of a lot more pussy. Best pussy in town, mother-fucker!

After the game, he insisted I shouldn't cook. We took the kids out for pizza, and he gave me some sob story about changes at work, stress, taking his buddy Frank out last Wednesday when his eleven year old hunting dog had to be put down, after getting bit by a rattler protecting his kids. Right. All kinds of lame excuses NOW. After he'd been plowing that slut.

I was sympathetic and oh-so loving. I could play the game. That evening, while he was reading bedtime stories, I got my sewing scissors out and cut my 'not tonight' nightgown into shreds, leaving them on the bed.

When he came to bed, he had a book in his hand. No fucking way. Not yet. He saw the mess, and looked up. "What happened?"

"That's one outfit you're never going to see again," I explained. I opened up the covers so he could see I was naked. "I can't believe we went five weeks without lovin' each other. I promise, that won't happen again."

Yeah, he lost the book, and I let him take charge for that one. Didn't even complain about the wet spot. He'd taken the hook. Deep. Now the only question was how much fight he'd put up.

- ( . Y . ) -

I played him. Played him good, with a light drag. I'd learned something from those endless boring hours sitting in the boat with him, reading my romances while the fish teased him.

Being naked in bed every night was ninety percent of the work. I was draining him constantly. No way was I leaving him anything for any of those other sluts. I made his favorite meals, met him for lunch twice. Even let him take me to the bar, so he could show me off. Better that, then let him go in there alone.

Late at night we cuddled, and I told him how sorry I was that I'd been such a bitch. I blamed it on the usual, wore out from the kids, feeling old and unloved, gaining five pounds - all a lie, but hell he'd never know - you know the story.

He played along, how he thought we were losing the passion, making love less, all the stress from his new responsibilities at work, bla, bla, bla.

I found that impromptu blowjobs were a great mood-changer, anytime he started backsliding.

It wasn't easy, but I'd say after about three months, I'd landed the guy. No way he was leaving. He had it made and he knew it. Thank God, because the hombre was wearing me out.

I talked it over with Heather, and she agreed. He wasn't going anywhere, and I could ease up off the gas.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't cut him off, but I didn't feel I had to be blowing him every time he turned around. He still got all the pussy he wanted, I'd learned that lesson. He had to work for it a little, and I let him take charge, but if he wanted it, all he had to do was ask for it. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life being the man of the house.

I had to admit, the sex was good. Best we'd had in ages. Hell, maybe ever. But I think we both knew we couldn't keep it up like teenagers.

Still, we were good. Heather had a little talk with Carla. Got the truth out of her, and that wasn't so good. It was true. She'd fucked him. My sister is not as nice as me. She made sure the slut understood if she wanted to keep what was left of her hair and the rest of her front teeth, she'd think twice before even thinking about messing with a Lannister's husband.

That's why it didn't make any sense. I knew I had him. He was getting pussy when he wanted it. I never fucking told him off any more, not even when he needed it.

Still, he didn't come straight home one Friday. At least he called and said he was going out with the guys, but the fucker didn't get home until after two. I could see it in his face. The fucker had no shame, and he just stood there, all weepy eyed and shit.

I marched up to him, and smelled him. Beer, smoke, and some floozy's perfume. "You bastard!" I snapped. "Who was it? Who'd you go out and fuck!"

"I didn't mean to, I swear, Brittany. It wasn't planned—"

Shit. He was drunker than a skunk. How did he even drive home in that condition? "I don't want to hear your fucking excuses! Who was the dirty cunt this time?"

He looked ashamed, and he damned well should. "Dan's sister. She and her friends were getting drunk, celebrating her divorce—"

"And you thought it was time you started yours, did you? You lousy bastard, how could you? After all I do for you. Don't you get enough pussy at home? Don't give me no five weeks excuse this time you asshole!"

"I'm sorry, I know I fucked up. I was drunk and stupid, and you didn't deserve it."

"You're fucking right I don't. God, you piss me off. Go on. Run off to the guest room and hide. I don't want to see your cheatin' ass right now. Fuck you, Allen!"

I watched him slink off, lower than a snail's belly. I locked up the house and went to bed, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong.

Nothing! Not this time. Hell we were still having sex three or four times a week. It's not like he'd been cut off. Even when he fucked up the car registration, I didn't blow up. I kept my cool. And this was how he repaid me.

That wouldn't stand.

- ( . Y . ) -

He was laying there, in that stupid little bed in the guest room. Too drunk to even get under the covers last night, naked on top of the sheets. The fucker got laid last night, and had morning wood this morning.