A Shot Across the Bows

A shot across the bows

Before her double penetration

Authors Preamble;

This story is about a treacherous wife and her slag girlfriend caught plotting against a man with a plan who thinks of everything!.

If you're the sort of reader who likes to see a weak, humiliated cuckold husband being diminished by an evil and deceitful wife who wins and puts one over him, then now is the time for you leave because there is absolutely nothing here for you to enjoy.

In the words of one of my favourite characters; Detective Inspector Jack Regan from the '70's TV series; 'The Sweeney';

"On yer bike"!.

However, if you're the sort of reader who likes to see a man stand up for himself, think ahead with a plan and when the time is right, decisively act and teach his devious wife a lesson, then there may be something here in this story for you!.

Especially so if you also happen to like a fun story, including a man driving a high performance car and giving his opponents a damn good thrashing as well!.

A sincere thank you to the good people who have extended helpful support and kindness to me in my writing caper here, especially reader 'OOAA', a gentleman of great kindness and insight whose help is greatly appreciated!.

See you on the road.

Sutekh the Destroyer

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"Oh my God", I exclaimed as I took the corner at high speed, precisely kissing the apex before surging forward as the power from the mighty twin turbocharged 612 horsepower V8 roared aloud and the road ahead was eaten up.

I was a contented man after a good day at work and looking forward to getting home here in the parched countryside of late summertime Australia, well the small state of Tasmania to be precise.

Andrew's my name and it would be fair to call me a successful businessman, running a small business fabricating and fitting out small boats and leisure craft.

Mind you these days, my attention is fully focussed on aiding our navy as well as friendly allies in altering small plastic hulled craft with concealed underwater doors and internal airlocks.

The idea being that navy frogman and commando's would enter the water undetected and then covertly inspect target ships, attach homing beacons or even small explosive charges to their submerged hulls before quietly returning to the disguised leisure craft, open the underwater doors, re-enter the airlock and then emerge back into the living space of the boat.

It was quite a lucrative earner for me these days, as not only Australia used my designs, but also New Zealand, who build some very advanced multi-hulled high speed boats, but also the French, who have interests in the Indo-Pacific oceans too, such as Re'union Island and New Caledonia.

So who was the target of this maritime skulduggery?.

Well let's just say a certain rising superpower located in northern Asia known for its petulantly provocative behaviour and leave it at that!.

Actually, today was also interesting as I was doing important business with a gentleman from Spain whom I suspect was actually a secret agent with Spanish intelligence, the so-called 'Centro Nacional de Inteligencia' or CNI.

Known euphemistically to me as 'Senor Oscar', the well-dressed and mysterious gentleman explained that his country was concerned with illegal drugs being imported into Spain on small civilian boats and as such Spanish intelligence wanted a way to inspect and if necessary, sink these drug running yachts undetected, hence the interest in my technology.

I was happy to be of assistance of course, for the right price and even to a country on the other side of the world with little interaction with my own, so after we came to an agreement with a handshake, we signed a contract that significantly added to my bank balance before he headed off to the airport in his sleek Cupra Formenter.

Its good being a businessman and doing important business.

So with a heavy foot, I was now blasting along this quiet rural road in the early evening with the sun still quite high in the sky.

Dressed in a very smart dark suit and the air conditioning just so, I was most happy as the speedo of my car climbed higher and higher.

Of course, I drove the best high performance car that a businessman should drive, specifically the sublime F90 series four door BMW M5 Competition sedan.

Painted in a striking sapphire blue colour, my M5 was the last word in luxurious performance and looks that meant business with an incredible top speed of 313 km/h and acceleration from 0-100 km/h in just 2.9 seconds!.

Quite staggering for an all wheeled drive sedan and yes, I certainly used as much of that huge performance as I could get away with as driving was one of my hobbies and I was one of the best around!.

I owned a property in the vicinity of a small hamlet called 'Whitemore' located here in northern Tasmania.

Built in the Palladian style, the old, two-story front columned house was enveloped in wisteria and ivy on the exterior and covered a large area, along with the many out buildings, conservatory and summer house, all nestled amongst numerous trees, gardens and even an orchard to one side.

The interior was equally sprawling and confusingly intricate with large and small interior columns, various alcoves, internal balconies and archways together with multiple marble staircases.

I spent a lot on the house and grounds which also included extensive farmland too.

I actually bought the place a few years before I married my wife Clare, such was the success of my business, so at 30 years old, owning a wonderful home, doing important business and now driving one of the best cars in the world, I was feeling pretty happy as I now sped toward a looming T- junction.

Suddenly I saw an approaching white and blue striped Mustang GT ahead of me but perpendicular to my direction on an intercept course to the T-junction.

I knew I'd reach the T-junction before the Mustang, but I had to slow a little in order to make the turn.

Remaining calm, I maintained my speed for a few more seconds and then using my carbon ceramic brakes, began my rapid deceleration just at the last moment as I sharply turned left with a screech and safely negotiated the junction, kissing the apex before again surging forward in pursuit of the Mustang.

Sadly, the Mustang just continued onwards at high speed and passed me as I competed the corner, so now I was behind and in a race with my opponent.

I don't like being overtaken as it's a sign of weakness in a man, so suddenly I was in a catchup and overtaking race as I had no intention of being beaten by some Mustang loser so close to my home!.

Fortunately I was now in pursuit of my quarry on one of the longest stretches of country road in the state, the ominously named 'Dead Man's Straight', a whopping 10 kilometre long arrow straight line of bitumen that was constructed many decades ago to speed the delivery of milk lorries to the local processing facility.

Punching through the gears, the mighty BMW M5 Competition rapidly accelerated as the hawthorn hedges that lined the road flashed by with increasing rapidity.

From a standing start, I knew that I could hit 100 km/h in just 2.9 seconds, but that accursed Mustang had clearly seen me and was now racing toward its top speed, so I just patiently kept on going, knowing that I had the performance, courage and skill to defeat my adversary, all I had to do was to remain calm and run the bastard down on this long straight.

I knew the measly Mustang could only manage some 250 km/h and its acceleration to about 100 km/h was a pedestrian 3.8 seconds at best, so I was confident that I could catch the blighter and then give him a damn good thrashing on this fantastic road!.

With no-one else on the deserted road, I kept my attention on my target and made the most of my car's superior performance as my speedo rapidly climbed steadily higher and higher!.

The mighty M5 blasted down the straight as gradually I edged ever closer to the dumpy Mustang which began to get bigger in my sight as I closed in on my quarry.

"Come on, come on, power, power", I shouted as the roar from my V8 became ever louder.

Now in top gear, my speedo pushed past 280 km/h as I knew the stagnant Mustang was at its top speed and struggling to maintain it, judging by the slight swaying as the driver fought for control.

As I pushed past 300 km/h, I began my overtaking manoeuvre and couldn't resist giving the Mustang man the classic 'L for Loser' sign by forming a letter 'L' with my extended index finger and perpendicular thumb held up to my forehead!.

"Ha ha, ha ha har Loser", I said aloud as I blasted past the pathetic Mustang man before diverting my eyes back to the road as the speedo now pushed past 305 km/h.

He was probably some kind of limp-wristed homosexualist, as its widely known that the Mustang is the car of choice for homosexualists!.

Anyway, the road ahead was devoid of any cars and I now owned it.

Looking at my fuel indicator, I saw that I was down to 25% of a tank, so I then decided to really push it on this straight and hit top speed!.

With my foot firmly pressed on the throttle, I saw 310 km/h and then the all-important 313 km/h flash on the indicator as an aural warning indicating that the car's absolute maximum speed had finally been attained!.

I called the car aural warning system 'Katrin' after a sexy German woman I once met years ago as a joke, but the smile plastered on my face at my high speed, now made jokes seem pale by comparison!.

Due to the long hawthorn hedges, my world was now confined to the road ahead and the greenery by the roadside which was looking quite blurred now due to my speed.

I felt my breathing rate increase as my heart thumped in my chest as I maintained my concentration on my driving.

Feeling totally alive, I reflected that I must surely be one of the best drivers in the world to handle a car like my M5 Competition at its maximum speed with such aplomb!.

The mighty M5 blasted along, eating up the road ahead until finally, I saw another T-junction which loomed toward me with alarming speed.

This marked the end of 'Dead Man's Straight' and with the slower loser Mustang now far behind, I readied myself for another rapid descent and quick turn to the left as the straight finally came to an end.

Easing off the power and down selecting the gears, my speed gradually slowed from the frantic pace I had attained as I prepared to negotiate the corner.

Mentally counting down the seconds, I slowed to just enough before hitting the power again as I swept through the corner, kissing the apex and with just a trace of lift off oversteer.

Accelerating again, I blasted forward as the mighty V8 roared aloud as the speedo again quickly climbed as I didn't want the homosexualist in his white and blue striped Mustang to follow me and find out where I lived, no proper man wants Mustang driving homosexualists lurking around their home, so I drove ever faster around some sweeping roads and a few more strait roads, until now confident my adversary was long gone I finally slowed as I neared my home.

Inwardly smiling, my speed slowed to standard road speed as I sighted my house, nestling amongst the many trees well off the road as I reflected how fortunate I was to live in the country, far from the maddening crowd, as Thomas Hardy once wrote.

Here at least I could drive as fast as I liked, whereas in more populated parts of the country, the government as well as various 'interest groups' waged a relentless war against speed and freedom itself!.

'Free driving for free citizens' is how the Germans described it and they were exactly right, as one only has to compare how the German industrial and economic powerhouse with its many 'open roads' compared to other sluggishly stagnant nations with their surveillance on the public and of course crippling speed limits!.

A car like my BMW M5 Competition is like a honed thoroughbred in that it needs to be vigorously exercised in order for it to remain 'healthy' and in top form.

Finally I neared my front gate, I glanced at my rear view mirror and seeing all was clear, turned into the open gates, which indicated that my wife Clare was home.

Driving a few hundred metres up the smooth bitumen driveway lined with oak trees and hawthorn hedges, I rounded a slight corner and saw standing outside, my wife and her so called 'best friend', a shrew of a woman named Lyndell Whyte talking on the pebbled driveway outside the front door.

Slowing to a crawl, I parked a little behind Whyte's car, an ugly electric Chinese front wheel drive 'crossover' vehicle from a company called 'Build Your Nightmares', which seemed an apt name to describe the garish burgundy and silver coloured car that more closely resembled a lady's electric shaver!.

I despised this slag and the malignant influence she had on my wife and certainly made it very clear to Clare that I didn't approve of her nor wanted her around, which is why these days Clare seldom mentioned her and hardly ever had her around to visit my home.

Still my early high-speed arrival had worked in my favour as I had caught the vile slag 'in the open', standing on my front door step.

Shutting down the M5's engine, I casually exited the car, closed the door and with my briefcase, walked a few paces towards the two women.

Ignoring Whyte, I coolly nodded to my wife with a stiff back and narrowed eyes.

Both women sensed my mood, stopped chatting and instinctively stepped back a pace and stood a little closer together as my wife nervously licked her lips and said uncertainly;

"Hello dear, your home early, is everything alright"?.

Ignoring her, I turned my attention instead to Whyte.

She was dumpy woman, about the same age as Clare and I, with long reddish-brown hair, a round face and an arty background.

In other words, she was a wastrel and worked in the same department as Clare in a 'natural' local cosmetics company.

Looking at the slag closely, I tersely said;

"Before you go, I've got something for you".

Quizzically, both women looked at each other with sideways glances and baffled, Whyte replied uncertainly;

"Oh errr, that's nice what is it", she replied in a cautious tone.

"Well that's a surprise, but just wait a minute and I'll get it before you go, hang on"!.

With that I dashed indoors and quickly crossed the front hall, up the main staircase and trotted down a corridor to the front wing and into my own private library which I used as my private office.

Looking very old world, with maps on the walls, shelves of books, an ornate desk made of Tasmanian blackwood, watercolour landscapes on the walls, a refracting telescope and drinks globe, the room looked and felt like a Victorian gentleman's private room, something James Clerk Maxwell would be at home in perhaps.

Making sure I was alone, I swiftly strode one of the ornamental columns inlaid along the far wall and grasping it with both hands in the mid-section, carefully rotated the column counter clockwise once to the left by 90 degrees, then clockwise 180 degrees to the right, and then counter clockwise again the left by 180 degrees.

Immediately, a large panel amongst the bookshelves clicked and opened slightly ajar.

This was the entrance to a secret room that I discovered soon after I bought the house and before I got married!.

Exploring within, I discovered a note written by a previous owner of the house in the 19

th

century, describing it was a 'bolthole' in case the house was ever invaded by 'bushrangers' which is an Australian term to describe 'highwaymen', brigands and other 'gentlemen of the road'.

The secret room started as a small three metre long narrow passage between rooms, but then lead to a small hidden windowless room that was sandwiched in the central wing of the house that had furniture and even a small water tap and open drain which could act as a functional lavatory 'in extremis'.

There was no electricity connected, but there were air vents to the outside, so I could imagine, if necessary, people could survive there for quite a time in this hidden room, which was about five metres long and three metres wide in total.

I simply worked out it's existence by studying the dimensions of the surrounding rooms and corridors before noticing the house's dimensional anomaly.

Then it was a just matter of working out how to get into the concealed room once I worked out the room's presence.

I never told my wife about the secret room, but over the years, outfitted it with my own more modern supplies, equipment and things I didn't want Clare or anyone else to see.

Without pausing, I went to an ornate table and grabbed a small paper bag by its looped handles.

Placing my briefcase on the table, I opened it and removed a small felt bag which I then put in the paper bag.

Reversing my course, I placed my briefcase on the floor beside my blackwood desk in the library and moving to the special column, carefully closed the secret door by rotating the column some 90 degrees to the right which was its original configuration.

With everything looking normal, I grimly smiled, straightened my tie and with my little paper bag, swiftly strode out of the room, down the corridor, then the stairs and back to the front door and outside where I found both women in a huddle, whispering and giggling to themselves as women are want to do.

Both Clare and Whyte looked up and toward me in expectation as I made sure they could see the brown paper bag I now carried.

Stopping close to them I reached into the bag and lifted out a small grey coloured electronic device.

"Do you know what this is", I asked both women evenly as they looked at the device and myself with curiosity.

Both women shook their heads in confusion and Clare replied;

"Tell us".

I replied;

"It's a Digital Compact Cassette recorder and player.

Within is a standard sized cassette, but this type stores audio or voice data on digital tape with crystal clear clarity for over 100 minutes.

Pretty impressive don't you think, well lets listen to it for a while shall we", I said ironically with a cold stare toward the two women as I quickly pressed a button and the built in liquid crystal display registered 'Play'.

Instantly the three of us picked up on a conversation that I had primed on the Digital Compact Cassette a few days ago;

".....so we leave work at noon next Friday, just a few minutes apart and go straight my home in our own cars, where we'll both get ready", said Whyte.

"Are you sure no-one knows and no-one will tell", replied Clare with some obvious apprehension.

"Nah, we'll be right, we'll have our enemas and girled up and then get ready for an afternoon of DP fun with four monster dicks, that's 36 inches of gentleman's sausage that you're going to love", chortled Whyte.

"Ohhh, I can hardly wait", exclaimed Clare with obvious glee.

"Yeah, then you'll be able to go home, give you pathetic hubby a big spermy kiss and laugh at him as he tongues out your twat that night.

Play your cards right you dirty girl and soon you'll have your little hubby salivating at the thought of you coming home with a twat full of spunk which he'll be keen to tongue out of you and roll the spunk around in his mouth like a fine wine", she laughed as Clare joined in with her own demented giggling.

"Hmmm I'll give my little dicked hubby so much spunk it'll act like a tonic and finally grow his little dick to a real man's size", Clare laughed hysterically.

Having made my point, I finally switched off the 'DCC' player with a deadly and disgusted stare on my face and without a word, slid the machine into my jacket pocket for safe keeping.