A Sticy Wicet

Jack Boston was a competent member of the Pottersbridge village cricket team. A good middle order batsman and a good utility bowler. As a youngster he'd even had a trial for Northamptonshire Cricket Club, but it hadn't come to anything.

Pottersbridge was a large village in the Home Counties. It was 40 miles from London and fairly prosperous.

Jack was married to Wendy. Wendy was something of a blonde sex bomb, pretty face, a well-rounded bottom, large breasts and legs that just didn't seem to want to stop.

She was a bit flirtatious at the Cricket Club dos, but fair play to her! Wendy knew how to handle herself and she enjoyed Jack's full confidence.

He never thought of the possibility of her cheating on him. Why would he? He would never cheat on her, she would never cheat on him! Simple! They were both just turned 30. Jack was reasonably tall and well-built.

He was considered handsome by the ladies and a good sport by the men. He had no enemies that he was aware of. But things can change, can't they?

Jack worked in IT for his father's Times' 1000 firm, he was a skilled IT troubleshooter. One of the best in the industry. He was amused, but flattered, that one of the girls in the village had, from about the age of 12, become his shadow. For some reason Sarah Clark was fascinated by computers and IT.

Sarah did not mix all that well well with the other children in the village. She had moved to the village to live with her grandmother in a nice chocolate box cottage on the edge of the village's cricket ground, when she was eight.

There was no hostility toward her, from the other children, or from her to them. It's just that she was not interested in boys (or girls) and rather than getting fun at the village disco in the church hall, she really got off on looking at IT issues, building her own computers, installing her own wireless networks and the like.

The other children were actually sort of proud of her for being their own special geek. Now at age eighteen she was a very comely looking young maid, as the locals described attractive young girls.

When she reached sixteen and had left school she had approached Jack to see if there were any work placements within the company his family owned. For her? Of course there were! Jack liked Sarah and when he quizzed her on her knowledge of computers he realised that he would have to make a place available for her.

Wendy liked Sarah and although she teased Jack about him having a little girl friend, Jack knew Wendy was only joking.

After all, many people in the village described Wendy and Jack as the perfect couple, right? And they were talking about having children. Wendy would be coming off the pill within the next month or so and they'd let nature take its course.

The PCC (Pottersbridge Cricket Club) was, along with the pub the Cricketer's Arms, the centre point of the social life of the village. Especially for the more well-to-do members of the community Doctors, lawyers, architects, company directors and the like were all members of the PCC.

The less wealthy villagers, some of whom resented the "gentry," tended to avoid the hothouse atmosphere of the PCC -and its plush and elegant club house- and either drank in the back bar of the Cricketer's Arms (where they always used the original and ancient name of the pub, the Drover's Rest, resenting the pointless change in name brought about by a deal with the brewery that owned the pub and the PCC Committee) or the Service's Club which was a combined forces venue, frequented by a couple of retired colonels and a former RN commander, though the bulk of the membership was made up of retired NCOs, other ranks and a few serving servicemen.

As far as Jack was concerned, his life with Wendy was idyllic. They had a large, modern house. Jack lived in a lovely, comforting and comfortable pink fog.

They made love regularly, that is to say, they often made love. It was spontaneous and gorgeous. Sometimes Wendy cried off from having sex, as she was too tired to make love and on those occasions Jack was just happy to cuddle her until they both fell asleep.

Jack's father was still the managing director of the family firm, although he left the day-to-day running to the company president, George Murphy, who had been promoted from chief finance officer to president.

His father spent much of his spare time involving himself in the running of the cricket club, which he was chairman of. His wife was president of the Lady's Group at the cricket club and they both enjoyed the social life that revolved around the club, from the monthly tombola nights to the annual dinner-dance.

Jack did not resent the fact that an outsider had been granted such an important role, although he knew that he should. In truth, Jack wanted to be left to do what he liked doing and what he did best. Running the firm's IT systems.

Somehow, Sarah's summer placement had become a permanent position, although only part time. The company was funding her to study for a ICT degree by distance learning and would, if Jack had anything to do with it, rapidly proceed to her MA.

Some of the women at work teased Jack, calling Sarah his faithful puppy. They meant no offence by the remarks. But there was some truth behind them. There was something puppy-like in her devotion to Jack. But Jack could not notice it, as he was so hung up on the love of his life, the lovely, loving Wendy. Well, you have to know this must end badly, right?

Despite her youth and despite her lack of experience with boys, Sarah knew a great deal more than one might suppose possible.

Sarah had come to live with her grandmother because her parents had fucked their marriage away by cheating on each other with multiple partners and then, as idiots often do, chose to blame each other, rather than accepting their responsibility for the debacle they had each helped turn their marriage into. Even at eight, Sarah had known the truth about her parents and what infidelity was like and the trouble and pain it could cause.

She had gone to live with her mother's mother because her parents had not worked out how to live with a little girl who they had both failed so very, very badly.

So, to their shame and discredit, they had abrogated their responsibility for their only child and a temporary arrangement ("Just a few weeks mum. Until Matthew and I both get ourselves settled down.") had become something far more permanent.

In fact, Sarah thought of her gran as more of a mother than her own mother had ever been. Certainly from the time Sara turned six and when, eventually, her parents marriage crashed into the rocks of infidelity on both sides. She had rarely seen either of her parents. Didn't miss them, really, either, for that matter.

They each had new partners and seemed to regard Sarah as an embarrassing relic of their failed marriage. As a consequence Sarah's grandmother chose to have very little to do with her own daughter.

So, as a result, Sarah knew a good deal about cheating. Had a sixth sense for it. Knew it when she saw it. Had a nose for it, as you might say.

Sarah knew that Wendy was cheating on Jack. As far as Sarah was concerned, the stench of betrayal was heavy around her. After learning how to cope with her parents, Sarah knew enough not to show Wendy that she knew what she was up to.

Besides, Jack would need hard evidence before he decided what course of action to take. And Sarah, with her knowledge of computers and allied fields, would provide that evidence for him.

Sarah would be patient. She had to be. She did not want anything to go wrong with her plans. And yes, Sarah did have plans. Not the plans of a girl of her age, but the plans of a woman, still young, yet old before her time in so many ways.

Wendy would get hers. And so, thought Sarah, would she!

One morning in the early summer Jack was on his way to work in London when he took a very unusual phone call from Sarah. "Jack, hi, it's Sarah, here."

"Hi, Sarah! What can I do for you?"

"Jack... I am sorry to disturb you, I know you are on your way to work, but I need for you to please come back to the village. There's something very badly, terribly wrong. Please come back."

She sounded upset. On the verge of tears, which was unusual in itself. Jack wondered what on earth it could be. Boy trouble? What?

"Are you in trouble?" he asked, feeling concerned about his youthful protégée.

"No, Jack. Not me. But there is trouble. You must come back. You have simply got to come back! Now! I will wait for you at the overspill car park at the cricket club. Please hurry! But don't tell anyone! Anyone at all!"

"OK, I'll be back in about fifteen minutes, I hadn't gone very far towards London, so I'll turn round as soon as I can."

They broke the connection and Jack's powerful Mercedes Kompressor Coupé made the journey back to the village in just over ten minutes.

He found her at the far end of the overspill car park, lurking surreptitiously by the hedge.

He locked the car with the remote and walked over to her. He realised that she looked distressed, on the point of tears.

"Sarah! What on earth's wrong? What's happened to you?"

She shook her head. "There's nothing happened to me. I'm not the one with something happening to them. You need to come with me to the cricket clubhouse. Be as quiet as you can and no matter what we find, please, please promise me that you will not do anything stupid! Please?"

What on earth had she discovered? Some kids using it to smoke dope? He'd had suspicions that the clubhouse had been used for something illicit several times, but had never had any concrete proof. "Probably that son of my best friend, Steve. I really will have to have a word with Steve about his boy," he thought.

The front door was locked, but Jack realised someone was inside as he noticed that the light on the alarm was not flashing, so the alarm system wasn't activated.

"Shhhsh! Do it quietly!" urged Sarah, who was standing at his side.

He grinned, slightly, and unlocked the door with his set of keys (he was in charge of youth training) as silently as he could.

They crept through the large lobby, passing the notices on either side of the room detailing net practice dates and times, youth team sessions, the club dinner-dance and the like.

They were faced by three doors, Sarah tapped his arm and pointed to the door to the club lounge. With its plush leather armchairs it always reminded Jack of an exclusive gentleman's club in London. Which was pretty much the effect his father had aimed for.

They opened the door, walk through and the Jack's world collapsed. The room was filled with a large group of men all in various states of undress, but all without trousers. But only one woman. His Wendy.

Wendy was the centrepiece of the room, she was naked and sat, cowgirl fashion, on the lap of his putative best friend, Steve Markham, Cricket Club chairman.

It's odd how things strike one, in that first moment of discovery. "Shit! Steve has no cock! Wait! Oh my God!" It was them that Jack realised that Wendy's mons was bulging with Steve's large, fat cock buried up to the hilt in her cunt. Which was why he appeared to have no cock. Bastard!

The silence in the room crackled. It was broken by Sarah who gasped out: "Jesus! Oh, god! Jack! I'm sorry! I thought she was only cheating on you with Steve! But she's just been fucked by the entire Cricket team!"

Wendy gave a little shriek and shouted: "Get your cock out of me, Steve! My husband's here!"

She had forgotten that one of the reasons she had allowed her lover to arrange a session with the entire cricket team (with the honourable exception of her husband, of course) was so that she could be filled with all of their sperm. Which, without the plug of Steve's cock, gushed out like a gooey, translucent fountain.

Jack had lost his voice. The shock of seeing what gushed forth from the slut that used to be his wife caught him unawares. He projectile vomited onto the carpet, splashing the naked legs of the two fuckers. And on Steve's patent leather shoes which he had incongruously continued to wear as he had fucked his friend's wife.

At this point the door to the gents opened and a rich, plummy and affected voice intoned, heartily: "What's going on? Why has the fun stopped? Oh, fuck!"

Wildly, Jack glanced to the left and realised that the portly and naked form of his father had just entered the lounge.

"You were with everyone in the cricket club except me, you fucking whore! Even my own father! Oh, Wendy, you fucking bitch! How could you?"

Wendy stood in front of Steve, she tried to use a small face towel to stem the flow of the sperm of eleven men from her enlarged and gaping cunt. The combination of her own body's desire to rid itself of the interloping fluid and gravity ensured it was a losing battle.

She had gone white with shock. "It... it's not what you think, Jack! Don't listen to that bitch, Sarah!" She pointed at Sarah, who was standing to Jack's right side. Sarah was still deeply shocked by what she had just witnessed.

"Fuck off, you stupid cow!" Shouted Jack. "Sarah told me nothing! She just asked me to meet her here. And look what I found! The original good time that was had by all!"

"I say," intoned a pontificational voice. "There is no need to address the lady in that manner!"

"Oh my God!" Shouted Jack. "You, vicar? You bastard! You took our wedding ceremony! You made us spout those vows of fidelity! How could you help her cheat on me, you cunt!"

Nobody else said anything. Wendy looked at Jack, and, tears streaming down her face, she shook her head.

Jack turned, grabbed Sarah and ran back through the doors. Once out in the open air he was again violently sick.

"Oh, Christ, Sarah! Why didn't you warn me about that?"

She looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "Jack, please believe me, I had no idea that they had arranged that giant gangbang! All I thought was that Wendy had arranged to meet Steve here for a tryst! I knew she was cheating on you, but... fuck me! Not with all of your mates from the cricket club! And wasn't that fat bastard who came out of the bog your own dad?"

Jack gave a bleak smile at her description of his father.

Sarah walked round the side of the building and she stooped, opened a small external cupboard and removed a portable drive unit and a mini receiver, which she placed in her pocket. "I recorded it all. HD video, stereo sound. I had several video cameras and microphones hidden in the room. Don't worry! It's approved for use in court cases!"

By this time they had reached Jack's car. Sarah gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "You don't have to worry, Jack. You can come and stay with me and my gran. She took me in when I was a victim of the infidelity of my stupid parents. So, you see, she's got form for looking after people who are victims of infidelity. She'll see you right!"

So that's what happened. The cottage was Tardis-like, in that it seemed larger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Jack was given a bedroom at the back. "Best not let you have the room that overlooks the cricket pitch," had opined Mrs Clark after she had sat, ashen-faced, listening to the story of Jack's betrayal.

The problem for Jack was that his whole social and professional support network had been cut from beneath him. His wife, his best friend, the vicar, his father, his own doctor and the family solicitor. Jack felt that they had all conspired to destroy him. And even if they hadn't, the result was exactly the same. He had been destroyed.

He drove to a town fifteen miles distant and attended a walk in NHS clinic. When he told the sympathetic doctor there that his own MD had been caught fucking his wife, the duty doctor had given him a fit note, pointing out that he was, in his opinion, unfit to work for a month. He also gave him a prescription for Paroxetine, having diagnosed Jack as having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He also arranged for an STD test at the local hospital's GMU clinc. (Somehow, Jack was clear, but no thanks to Wendy fucking eleven other men unprotected, he mused.)

The doctor had also handed Jack a leaflet of how to lodge a complaint against a doctor. "I hope you nail the bastard to a tree by his bollocks!" the doctor had said, adding: "Metaphorically speaking, of course!"

He asked Sarah how she had known about Wendy's infidelity. Sarah looked sad and said: "From watching my own mum and dad. It wasn't that they had an open marriage, they just cheated on each other, with multiple partners. I began noticing certain behaviour patterns that were common to the both of them. I realised your wife began to exhibit the same behaviour patterns as my stupid parents had shown and I just knew she was cheating."

"How did you find out?"

She grinned: "Oh, I planted Voice Activated Recorders in her handbag and in her car! That was how I found out about her and Steve. I am so sorry that I never found out about the gangbang. That shocked me, to be honest. I suppose she left her handbag in her car while they were together planning her 'event' at the cricket club."

He looked dubious. "Isn't what you did illegal?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. However, the recording I did in the cricket club is legal, if we stretch a point. You have expressed concern that you thought someone was making illegal use of the cricket club buildings, so you had me put a security system in. I mean, it's not your fault if you forgot to mention this to your wife or the other members of the club, is it?"

He laughed. "God, Sarah! That's pretty devious! I'm glad you're on my side!"

"I've always been on your side, Jack," she said, with a mysterious smile on her face.

He steeled himself to watch the video. The duplicity, the lies, their mocking words about him and his relationship with Wendy, the fact that she laughed along with them, the fact that she requested her fuck buddies to have unprotected sex with her as many times as they could, so that they could fill her cunt with as much spunk as they could produce, killed any chance of reconciliation as far as he was concerned.

The whole village was a-buzz with rumours that something had happened, but nobody knew the exact truth. Though the continued absence of Jack's Mercedes from the double drive of the house caused much speculation. Most villagers didn't know where the car was, as it was parked in the old stable block behind the cottage, safe from prying eyes.

All Jack wanted to do was to sit and mope and try to knock himself out with copious amounts of Scotch. But he knew this would be a bad way to cope. Over a cup of tea sat at the well-scrubbed white pine table in front of grandmother's Aga range he spoke with the older woman. "Mabel, I want to get drunk and stay drunk. But why should I let my cheating wife and those miserable bastards who I mistook for friends dictate to me how I should live my life?"

She nodded and after taking a drink of tea said: "There's no reason at all. You need to stay strong and well for yourself. You haven't spoken to your wife yet, have you?"

He shook his head. "No. I haven't. I suppose I'll have to."

He called Wendy's mobile. The conversation was short and to the point. "It was as if the bitch was angry with me! Christ! She'll be blaming me for the bloody gangbang, next!" he thought.

They arranged for him to visit the house later that afternoon.

The meeting was tense. They sat in the lounge, staring at each other, each waiting for the other to start.

Eventually Wendy began. "Jack. I am so very sorry you saw what you saw. Sarah had no right to..."

Jack shouted: "Fuck off, Wendy! Don't blame Sarah for what you did! She didn't force you to fuck eleven of my so-called friends! You did that!"