REVENGE; BEST SERVED...
By mysteriousquill
©2025 All Rights Reserved
PREFACE
It's been a while since I published anything to Literotica, not that I haven't been reading and voting on a regular basis. I'm glad to be back.
This is a fictional story that I started several years ago and finally made the time to finish it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
This is a two-part story. ( Part 1 - Revenge; Best Served... and Part 2 - Revenge; Best Served... Cindy's Viewpoint ) Due to its length, I published both under the Novels & Novella Category. To get the most out of this story, read Part 1 first. Part 2 contains a lot of spoilers that are best left until they show up in Part 2.
As a
WARNING
, the story contains something for just about anyone. Just about. It has parts that could fit into Literotica Categories of; Anal, Erotic Couplings, Exhibitionist & Voyeur, First Time, Interracial Love, Loving Wives, Mature, Romance, and even a little Toys & Masturbation. Even though they are not separate official categories, there is some cheating, wife sharing, and cuckolding, which, for whatever reason, draws a lot of hate mail in the comments.
Simply put, if any of these categories are not to your liking, go read something else.
Everyone depicted in acts of sex are over the age of 18. Any resemblance or reference to real names or places is purely coincidental.
I'm sorry to have to add this statement, but...
This is a copyrighted work, and not to be copied, altered, edited, or published in writing or other media, without the author's express written permission. ©️Copyright 2025
Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
Traveling by air just isn't what it used to be, even for short trips. Even for business trips, it was... fun. Passengers used to get a little dressed up for trips. But today, they wear the same clothes that they do on intercity buses and subways. Maybe that says something.
The competition between airlines killed the class once associated with flying. Airliners became nothing more than large buses that didn't have to worry about bus stops, redlights, or traffic congestion, even though the growth in the number of flights created their own congestion. Rather than striving to make all seats first class, all seats were made "business class", which is nothing more than tourist class. Four of the airline corporations that make you wonder where air travel would be had they never existed; Pan Am, TWA, Eastern, and BOAC, no longer exist except in old movies.
Even with the advanced pre-boarding security check, which claims you can be through in less than five minutes, it still requires you to be there at least an hour before the flight, and most times it's beneficial to be there at least 2 hours in advance. And that's for domestic flights. In most cases with international flights, just getting through the airport and onto the plane takes longer than the actual flight to your destination.
The conference I attended was three days in length, four if you want to count the bullshit meet and greet, hospitality reception the first night. Only one of the break-out sessions on the first full day interested me. Time; the hour drive to the airport, a half-hour ride in the shuttle to the terminal, the hour check-in, the flight took just about an hour and a half, an hour after picking up the one bag I checked, picking up the rented car and the drive to the hotel, two more hours, that's six hours. That doesn't include the check-in at the hotel. Before you know it, you've spent an entire day getting there just to attend a two-hour session at a conference. The return trip was just as grueling, which is why I cut the conference short. With a travel day on each end, attending the conference becomes a five-day ordeal. I'd have rather stayed home, gotten work done in my office,
for which I'll still be responsible when I get back,
and be home with my wife who I simply adore.
Yeah, I know, all husbands say something like that. But after almost 35 years of marriage, there has to be some truth in that, at least for me.
I wasn't supposed to arrive back home until Saturday. Instead, I decided to catch an early flight on Thursday, getting me home just around lunch time. Cindy, my wife, would be working, which would give me time to unpack and surprise her by having dinner done when she got home. My decision was made rather suddenly and I didn't want to bother her at work to tell her I was coming home early. Besides, I like surprising her when I can. The night before, when I talked to Cindy on the phone, I was still planning on getting home Saturday morning. On the plane, I had figured what time I'd be getting home and devised my plan for dinner.
It was a lovely day. Sunny and very warm. The flight wasn't crowded and stayed on schedule. Actually, we got in about ten minutes ahead of schedule. My checked luggage was actually waiting for me when I got to the pick-up area. The shuttle to the long-term parking was outside as if waiting for me. Because my flight got in between the morning rush and noon, traffic was quite tolerable. I made excellent time, taking just about an hour to get home.
I turned into the driveway and as I got ready to hit the remote to open the garage door...
Surprise, surprise!
The garage door was open and Cindy's car, a bright red Mustang GT convertible, was already in the garage. She hadn't said anything about taking off. She hadn't said anything about not feeling well. As I pulled a little further up the driveway, I noticed a motorcycle parked outside the garage. A police motorcycle. A nice big Harley, decked out with all of the lights and markings.
"What the fuck?!?"
"Is everything okay?"
I asked myself. If there was a problem, why is the cop parked that close to the garage instead of closer to the walkway leading to the front door? I was thinking, if there WAS a problem, wouldn't it be a patrol car, not a motorcycle cop?
I pulled my car up to the garage just outside where I would normally park. I checked my phone to see if the alarm was set. It wasn't. I walked to the door to the kitchen and slowly opened it. That was a little unusual too. Even when we are both home we usually keep that door locked. I slowly pushed the door open. I didn't see a thing. I listened, hoping to hear some type of conversation in the kitchen. There wasn't any. Nothing in the dining room or living room. The house was quiet. I looked out on the deck and patio from the family room sliding doors. Nothing, or should I say nobody there.
As I turned around and headed back to the kitchen and check downstairs, I noticed clothes laying over the back of the sofa in the family room. The cop's pants and shirt were folded neatly and laid across the back of the sofa. A pair of high, shiny black boots were parked in front of it, and a gunbelt was laying on the sofa.
My heart started racing. There was only one thing that I could think of. Like all women, maybe I'm safer saying MOST women, Cindy is attracted to men in uniform. I knew a few of the police in the area but none on motorcycles. Actually, it was a little unusual to see a motorcycle cop this far out of the city and this far from a highway. The county sheriff's office only had a couple, and they seldom used them except for parades and funerals and occasionally speed traps.
My senses were peaking. I could hear the birds outside, but nothing in the house... at least not yet. My nose was picking up an odor I wasn't familiar with. And husbands always thought it was just a "wives' tale" that a wife could smell another woman on their husband. As quietly as I could, I moved closer to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Our bedroom, the master bedroom, is at the end of the hallway.
As I got closer, I could hear some sounds, noises.
The door was partially closed, that too was a little unusual. We seldom shut the doors when we were home. I got close enough to peek in. My adrenaline was in overdrive and everything seemed to slow down. My eyes immediately went to tunnel vision. I reared back on one leg and just about kicked the door open and charge in. I stopped with one leg poised and ready.
The cop, or who I assumed was the cop, was standing at the foot of our bed, completely naked. His back was to the door... and me. He was tall, dark, and handsome.
Let me rephrase that, very dark, actually black.
He looked to be around 6 foot 2 to 4 inches tall and muscular. Not huge, just... defined. His head was shaved and from a quick glimpse of his profile he looked to have a thin mustache.
Cindy was kneeling in front of him. She was wearing a gorgeous black lace bra, garter, and panties set I bought her a couple of years ago. She was also sporting a pair of black stockings and her black stripper style high heels. She looked terrific, very hot. Very slutty, the way I like her to dress when we play or when I'm in the mood to show her off.
Even though I couldn't see her face, it was obvious she was blowing him. His head rolled back as he moaned. I could barely make out him saying, almost whispering to her, "Oooo, yeah! Suck it! Ooo, baby! You like that black cock, don't you?"
Cindy, trying to talk with her mouth full again, could only get out, "Uhhhh huh!"
Quickly, but quietly I took out my cell phone and started to record what was going on.
He leaned over and lifted Cindy to her feet, backed her onto the bed, and climbed up over her. I heard her say, "Wait a minute! I don't know about this." She sat up.
Officer Friendly replied back to her, "What do you mean? Don't you want to? You're not going to tell me you can't because you're married."
Very quickly, Cindy replied, "But, I am married! I love my husband. I can't do this."
The cop held his cock out like an offering. "Come on baby, you want this. You said you've always wanted a black cock. You were just sucking it."
"Blowing you is not the same as fucking you. I'm just not sure."
"You know, making love and fucking are different too. I thought we were just going to have cheap, meaningless sex. I don't want you to fall in love with me."
