Who Wasnt Fucking Carol Part Two

Who wasn't being fucked by Carol? Part two.

Copyright Catcher78 All rights reserved.

These are my stories and you cannot use them period.

Author's Note this story touches on anal and oral sex, infidelity and gaslighting. Have a great read.

We first found out about Fee and her treacherous friend Carol here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/who-wasnt-fucking-carol-part-one?page=2

I texted a friend from St. Anne's who I knew well. I was at the airport and asked her if I could by and talk to her today at her office, she was a family law attorney. It was four thirty in the morning. I had a monstrous stress headache.

There was an incredible restaurant across from the airport called thirteen Coins I drove the Yukon over and got a seat right in front of the chefs and ordered deep fried brussels sprouts with a fried egg, fried zucchini and bruschetta. Starve a cold feed a broken heart. I got another Negroni and asked for orange juice with it. It was now four thirty am and I drank and ate slowly.

One of the chefs smiled at me and said, "You're so tiny, but you're putting that away pretty well."

I said, "I'm about to start a process to divorce my husband, who has been cheating on me for decades. Call me clueless. But, when that's done, I'm really into tall guys with ink. Do you have a card?"

He fished inside his chef's top and came out with a card and it said, Frank Thomas, Executive Chef.

I said, "Hi Frank, I'm Ophelia Johnson, friends call me Fee. Could I get a cup of coffee?"

When he came back I had my phone out and said, "Here's my phone, let's exchange numbers." We did.

I got in the Yukon and drove to Ballard and was outside our credit union and it opened at eight forty five and went in and had my key to the safety deposit box and got all the stuff out concerning the trust and there was other stuff too, which I grabbed and locked it all up and went out to the car.

There were pictures. Pictures of Tim and Carol. Pictures of Tim and Carol with my kids. Pictures of Tim and Carol in a hot tub. Pictures of Tim and Carol with my parents, not his parents buy my fucking parents.

Pictures at St. Alphonsus as my grandkids were baptized and Carol was there. I squinted at that one. Carol had a wedding ring with an emerald engagement ring on her left hand ring finger. Bigamy?

I pulled out my phone and the attorney Pat Tsakalikis was the choir director at St. Anne's and she had texted me and said would eleven work? I gave her a thumbs up.

I opened the thread to my kids and sent a new text, "Meeting cancelled forever, meet with your new mom." I didn't block them but turned off the phone.

I had the better part of two hours. I drove down towards the locks, where the boats leave or come into the canal to Lake Union then Lake Washington and parked in a closed Tavern parking lot.

I poured through the documents, there was everything Tim had told me about but there was more and it was new stuff more trusts and a codicil to the will naming Carol as his unmarried partner and love of his life. There were end of year statements for his company from banks all over the world, Cayman Islands, Cartagena, Columbia, Zurich, England, Cypress. Millions upon millions of dollars.

Pat's office was on Mercer Street in the Uptown area, just down the hill from St. Anne's. I was on time and parked my car in the alley behind the building. I lugged everything in.

She hugged me and said she'd heard about my mom and said she was sorry. She asked, "When is the service?"

I said, "I'm not going."

We went into her office and it was not especially large, but she was a go-to for women needing a divorce.

I repeated everything I told my dad, the blowjob lessons, then twenty plus years of his infidelity with the same woman etc. I showed her the pictures, noting her wedding ring then the will with the new codicil.

"Is this bigamy, "I asked."

She said, "Probably, but that's just spice on this shit pie you've been asked to deal with.

"If those bank statements are true he's worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Of which I'm clueless."

She said, "The Cypress bank is a money laundering thing."

"Pat, I want out and away. I don't want all of his money but enough to live the rest of my life. I loved him with all my heart. The house was his grandparents and he had that before we got married. That's so rich the first time I go on a date in high school I get pregnant. I'm so fucking stupid, my life is fucking wasted."

"Can you do anything for me?"

"I need you Obi Wan!"

We both laughed.

She said, "Fee this is complicated. I suspect that there is criminality here, money laundering and I need you to first give me five dollars and then sign this paper.

I pulled a ten dollar bill out and said, "Keep the change."

I signed the paper. She said, "I have to call somebody and you may be asked some questions."

I heard her side of the conversation, "Sadie, Pat Tsakalikis...Great, Tom's fine...that sounds fun, I'm sure we'll go. I have a client initial meeting, Ophelia Johnson. She brought the contents of their safety deposit box, bank accounts, Cayman Islands, Switzerland, Cypress....she's a flight attendant, five kids grown, bigamy too...End of year statements approximately two hundred million...yes she's here, yes she'll talk now."

I heard this voice out of the speaker phone, "Mrs. Johnson, this is Sadie Feinberg, will you testify against your husband?"

"Yes I will."

"When did you find out about the bank accounts?"

"My mom just died and I got this text from my husband's lover and she told me they've been together since I was twenty five and I'm now almost forty eight. I went down to our credit union in Ballard, this morning, because when he almost died from cancer he told me about these trusts for us in the event of this death and I gathered up everything, the end of year statements were there, there's passports and a will with a codicil giving shit to the love of his life, not me and more trusts."

"Pat can you bring this all downtown to our office now on Stewart, with Mrs. Johnson?"

I nodded to Pat.

"Yes we'll leave now. Sadie, she is probably at risk."

"Yep, hurry down."

Pat said, "Do you have a smart phone?"

I nodded and said, "It's turned off."

"Okay where did you park?"

"In the alley."

She said, "Let's gather all of this up in this."

She put it all into this big brief case on rollers and a handle with a bunch of locks.

"Let's go out the front door I'm parked around the corner on second west."

Her car was an old ancient Isuzu Trooper and she put the case in the back. The windows were tinted and we got in and she fired up the ugly thing and it had a tuned exhaust. She pulled out of her spot and turned right at the corner onto Mercer.

Just then, Tim drove by in his new Suburban and Carol was in the passenger seat, craning her neck looking into the alley. Pat said, "Be still."

"Your car has a tracking device, if your phone was on, it does too."

They went past us without noticing us and we went east on Mercer and turned south on Dexter and then left on Boren and finally dropped down to the DOJ's office in the building on Seventh. We had to answer a question for the guard going into the garage as to who we were seeing.

"I'm Pat Tsakalikis with client here to see Sadie Feinberg, DOJ Money laundering."

There was some squawk from a speaker and he said, "Fifth floor, suite 5220."

We went up the elevator and were greeted by an FBI agent and escorted to this conference room and offered coffee or water and I indicated water by pointing.

Ms. Feinberg gave a lingering hug to Pat whose face was flushed. She looked at me and said, "We went to law school together and were roommates until I married Tom."

I knew that she didn't marry Tom until she was thirty five. They were roommates for fifteen years and seeming were still in love. I blurted, "You guys are a very cute couple!"

Pat crumpled into Sadie's arms who held her as she sobbed. Finally, she brushed the teers off her cheeks and said, "I'm Greek and Sadie is Jewish. I was shy quiet girl and she made me love her and I still do. My parents found out and Tom and I were in an arranged marriage and we have kids and he's a nice man and he loves me. He'd die if he knew I was queer and we are lovers."

Sadie took over and asked me, "Do you have a picture of Carol?"

I opened up the brief case and put a dozen of Carol's pitchers on her desk. She hit a buzzer on her desk and a young man, an FBI agent, came in and she said, "Put these through the facial recognition software. How long will it take to get some results?"

He said, "Ninety minutes to two hours. Ma'am."

"Fee are you hungry?"

I shrugged and nodded yes.

She said, "Sandwich okay? Turkey and Swiss? Anything to drink"

"That's good and a diet coke, please."

Sadie said, "Pat and I have to figure out what is best for you and what options you have, when we know something we'll come back. Okay?

"He brought me back another and it had bacon and avocado on it. I had not eaten and I did not want to loose my money maker (booty) to shrink. I was less and less angry about Tim, or any of them really, there were so many men I met flying, celebrities and athletes on my regular runs who were very interested in my booty and my girls and maybe I'd find someone who might even love me and I'd treat his heart like the precious jewel that it was and give my heart to him too.

I was day dreaming and the handsome FBI agent stuck his head in the door and said, "Come with me ma'am."

Sadie's office was on the other side of the building with a view of South Lake Union. He knocked twice and I heard Sadie, "Come!"

I walked in and it was just Sadie, "Sit please, Pat had to use the facility, we can talk when she's back. Water?"

I nodded yes.

She got up from behind her desk and went to the mini fridge and brought three bottles of water back to me. She paused and stuck her arm out and on the underside of her wrist there was a tattoo that was a pink outline of a heart with Pat's and her initials inside it and underneath was written I love her forever. I looked up at her and tears were raining down her cheeks, she was showing me a vulnerability having been so deep in the closet and the façade was cracking. I jumped up and hugged her and she sobbed. She composed herself and sat in her chair. Pat came out of the ensuite. Her hair was loose, her blouse was mis-buttoned and she'd lost her pantyhose and she half stumbled her ankle half folded on her and when she sat down she yelped and said, "Pillow baby, so sore."

Sadie jumped up and pulled open a drawer that had two pillows and she brought them over to Pat and helped her stand up. Pat clung her arm and they tenderly kissed. I averted my eyes and the drawer was open and I saw a strap on harness with two fifteen inch black dildos, that looked real with veins and circumcised heads and they seemed to be glistening with some slippery goo. While the facial recognition software had been doing it's thing Sadie had fucked Pat for hours, reducing her to a wobbly legged cheater, lovers or not. Pat looked so indescribably beautiful now.

I put my arms down on the desk and my forehead on my arms and felt never more alone, empty and scared. I had nobody and was probably going to die like this.

Several minutes later I heard, ahem. I was thinking I needed to get an attorney to look out for me, and I get an "ahem" they've been fucking for the better part of four hours while there's hitmen lurking downstairs on the sidewalk.

I said, "What."

"She is the daughter of Pablo Escobar, Manuela Escobar."

"What does that mean to me, other than she's waiting outside with hitmen who'll murder me here in thirty minutes, Pat, I'm so happy that Sadie fucked the shit out of you with that strap on with fifteen inches in your cunt and asshole for three hours."

"What's next a quickie divorce and I'm living in a cheap motel by the airport waiting to be murdered?" If I'm divorced I have to testify, right?

"Say that all happens and everybody goes to jail and I'm utterly broke and fifty years old. Gee thanks for the help Pat, but we can have two or three meetings per week and Sadie can fuck you silly while Tom sits at home wondering why you're bowlegged now?"

"I should go shoot myself now. If I was wrong at any point you would have interrupted me right?"

I stood up and immediately and there were two huge male agents with hands on my arms, Sadie stood up and said, Mrs. Johnson you're a material witness and in protective custody, she said "with a smirk on her face.

I said loudly, "Pat Tsakalikis, "You're fired. You don't represent me and I'm not divorcing my husband and I will not testify against him."

I said, "You're just another cunt that cheats on her husband. I will seek punishment against both of you from the bar and I will stand mute until I stand in front of a judge."

"I demand my right to talk to a lawyer."

I was hustled out her office and into a huge elevator and found myself in the back seat of a black Suburban with blacked out windows and soon we were blasting down I-5, then we cut over and were on I-90 blasting eastward across the floating bridge to Mercer Island and out across the East Channel bridge in the commute lane and we were flashing blue lights and we had to be going way north of eighty miles per hour. We shot all the way up to and past the summit of Snoqualmie Pass and were headed towards Lake Kachess, when we went into a four wheel drift in to the East Summit exit and powered through a left turn and two right turns and slid into an open garage screeching to a halt and the garage door ground down.

It seemed as if it took thirty minutes. The two agents got out of the front seat and locked the car. I fiddled with the door handle and locks and I could not open my door.

I had made the decision on the fly, but firing Pat and saying I was not divorcing Tim was the only thing that gave me any leverage or hope that someone might help me, I needed a lawyer that was not fucking the federal prosecutor.

I was freezing cold and had been in the garage for several hours. The condensation from my breath had iced up the inside of all the windows. I heard the door from inside the house.

The doors clicked and mine was opened. I stared straight ahead, nor did I move any muscle. I focused on the smallest breath coming in and out of my nostrils. All of my

thoughts were focused on my nose. My eyes were closed.

"Please get out Mrs. Johnson."

I did nothing. My breaths were very slow and moderately deep. My lungs filled up slowly and the exhale was moderate.

"Mrs. Johnson, it's below freezing in here, please get out."

Still I did nothing.

Finally, another agent came to the passenger door and they pulled me out, holding me upright. When they let go, I crumbled to the floor, which hurt as I banged the side of my forehead and opened a small cut. Stayed with the focus of my breathing.

One of them picked me up as if I was a bride and carried me into a ground floor bedroom and laid me on a fairly stiff bed.

At some point I fell asleep on my back and during the night I turned on to my side and my hands were between my legs to keep them warm. There was a bathroom, ensuite I it's called. I got up and went inside it and looked at my face which was covered on one side with blood. I took all my clothes off and voided my bowels and pissed. I took all of my clothes off and left them on the floor. I drank from the faucet, cupping my hands.

I left my dirty clothes on the floor and went back to bed, sliding under the covers and laying on my side. There were floor to ceiling windows and it was still dark with the hint of the sun to come. There was no birdsong and the wind was utterly non-existent.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing centering just below my belly button and I fell back asleep and I slept the sleep of the dead. No dreams. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

I woke up and it was dark still or again, I was not sure which. I had to piss badly and I came out of the bed and started to walk to the bathroom. There was an older man sitting in a corner and I stopped staring at him.

He said, "Why are you naked, " I think he was a psy-ops guy trying to shock me. I brought my finger up to my lips, which was the universal sign to be quiet. I continued into the bathroom and then pushed out a couple big turds, for spite I did not wipe. I ran the cold water in the basin and drank quite a bit of water. I found some shears in the drawer below the sink. I cut my hair down to no more than an inch long. I turned on the shower rinsing the hair off my neck and chest. There was a power setting on one of the hand held shower head and I put it up inside my vagina and sloshed everything out, like a hot water douche. Using one finger I opened my anus enough to give me an enema and after a few minutes the water hurt my belly and I pressed it against the tile wall and the water and shit poured forth. I repeated it twice until clear water flowed.

I point the shower head at my feet rinsing them off then the floor I looked like a fat waif as I stared in the mirror. Not fat for long though.

I walked out of the room and he was staring at me. He said, "Are you hungry Mrs. Johnson."

I walked towards him and stopped. I touched my lips again with the silence gesture. Then I pointed at my belly and shook my head..

I got back in bed under the covers and I fell back asleep quickly.

I lay there one morning. By my count I'd been on my hunger strike for fifteen days on purpose and a half day before I started officially. Most of my belly fat was gone, there was still fat on the inside of my thighs, my ass had shrunk some too.

I actually felt wonderful, the first three days were the hardest, now there was no cramps or pain. When there was nobody in my room I walked back and forth. For hours. I had cheek bones now.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of beeps. It was the smell of a hospital.

There was a doctor and she started talking to me. I held up my free un-intubated hand to my lips. I made the gesture for a pen and paper.

She found some and I gestured to be raised in my bed. She did that that and I wrote the following:

Approximately three weeks ago I was imprisoned in a house by the FBI in a house near Snoqualmie Pass. I went to a family law attorney to divorce my husband after finding evidence that my husband had a long term affair with the daughter of a Colombian Cartel leader. My attorney called a DOJ attorney specializing in money laundering. The two of them are having a long term affair, which means she is unable to represent me as it's a conflict of interest, so I fired her. I have the right to counsel and they in effect have disappeared me. Please get me an attorney. I do have money.

She read it looking at me a couple of times then walked out of my room. Thirty minutes later Pat walked in, I looked at her and screamed, "Your fired, "Help me, "Help me."

She walked out. I crawled out of the bed and pulled the pole with the two bags of ship dripping into my veins. Pedialytes and morphine, they all came with me into the restroom. I rolled out at least ten feet of toilet paper and wet it in the sink. I pulled both tubes out and pressed the wet toilet paper against the wound and closed my arm up holding my fist to my shoulder. I went into my room and there were a pair of old chinos and a sweatshirt and some old runners. Everything except the shoes was way too big. The pants would not stay up. I went back into the restroom and closed the door. There was a door which opened into the other room I opened it and there was a handsome young man with his leg in a foot to ankle cast and it was held up in the air.

I said, "Honey can I take your belt?"