An Elevator Ride

The story is a work of fiction, and is copyrighted by Chilleywilley no one has permission to post it on other sites.

It only contains adult humor, situations, and actions. If this is not satisfactory, read some of Rha Spike's superb stories on Literotica.

I would like to thank Cabolover for editing this story.

After a decade of being a wage slave, I developed the knowledge to make a living as a technical consultant. I developed a skill set where I can find work for myself, or rather now after four years of frantic scrambling for business, work finds me and fills my week about half the time. So I have more free time than most people.

My unpaid time is a fun hobby of going to antique shops and flea markets, buying cheap and selling to dealers and on e bay dear. In the business I am called a picker. I have a lot of niche collectables I follow, and one is old weapons of all sorts. Not so much guns, but rather edged weapons like knives, swords and such, and craftsman made weapons, powder horns and other artisan made guy stuff.

I don't make huge money at it, but it's fun, all cash, and therefore untraceable to both the IRS and my wife. For my own collection, I like artisan made weapons, mostly shillelaghs, saps, and brass knuckles. The former are wooden clubs, often carved or decorated as part of gang activities years ago. Saps look a little like really short billy club, but made of leather sacks filled with lead shot flexibly attached to a handle. In use they're about 12 inches long, but folded they fit comfortably in your pocket. More common are' brass' knuckles made by casting, welding, blacksmithing or machining. Most knuckles were poorly made by lads in trade schools and such, but the valuable ones are works of art and rarely to be found.

The wife works in a large office as an accountant. She's not so fond of the work, but likes her co-workers and the sense of belonging to a larger organization. Over the six or seven years she's worked for the firm. I've gotten to know quite a lot of them. As with all women, she has some good friends, Janice and Iona and suppertime conversation usually revolves around them and to a wider circle of acquaintances, often settling on management. Usually idiotic edicts coming down from on high.

The First Signs

It was not remarkable when a new manager showed up, and Marcus Wolf entered our dinner conversation. He was two or three levels above the wife. It's a little hard to tell exactly where he sits in the organization because matrix management blurs the lines of who works for who. In my wife's mind he was a great improvement over the 'Idiot' he replaced. She expected the new guy would correct all the mistakes the last one made, make no mistakes of his own, and generally run the company as my wife imagined it should run.

A few weeks later, hearing yet another tale of divine wisdom from the lips of Markus, I opined that new management often plants wet kisses in everybody's ear to develop goodwill while they gather information and knowledge of the people and business. Then, when a strategy's formed, lower the boom, fire some and it becomes my way or the highway with the rest. To my shock, Karen erupted! Went from idyll conversation to shouting in five seconds! How dare I say such things about someone I never even met! Marcus would never do that! Never! I knew nothing and was undermining her confidence! To emphasize her outrage, she ground her napkin in her dinner plate, and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! (radio code for 'what the fuck'.) I hit a nerve! Oh well, in her retreat to the bedroom she wouldn't suffer too much since she had just moped her dinner plate clean with a piece of Irish Soda Bread. So Wifey likes the Wolf a lot! She calmed down in a day or so, but in the weeks to come, Wolf got no mention whatsoever at dinnertime.

Midnight Panic

A few days later, we got a frightening call at midnight. Julia, the wife's best friend was crying hysterically, begging us to come over immediately, her husband Austin had been assaulted on her door stop ( step?) and she was in danger, my wife relayed to me.

"Tell her to call the police!"

"Austin won't let her!"

"He's clearly an asshole! Tell her to do it anyway. They can get there quicker than we can!"

We were dressing in the car, as I flew the seven miles to their house. Julia and Karen stayed on the phone talking whole while, lest the villain return. As we pulled into their driveway, Karen jumped out the door before the car stopped, and dam took the car door off as the car was stopping faster than she could.

Austin works second shift, got home at 11:30 as always, walked up to his back door, when somebody jumped him and worked him over with a club or a bat. He was in agony, but insisted no police, no hospital.

Listening to him, he was hit in the balls and his ribs, with some broken bones on both sides, although we wouldn't know for sure until he was x rayed and examined. When we gave him some water, I saw the groove on his finger where his wedding ring had been. He screamed in pain when we tried to move him so he was hurt bad.

I told him and the girls that for sure he had broken ribs so avoiding the hospital was not an option. Broken ribs besides being painful can puncture a lung. The women went off to call an ambulance, and I leaned down and whispered.

"Did you take your wedding ring off, or did your assailant?"

"He robbed me!"

"Right! And left a good watch on the same hand. Bet your wallet is in your pocket. Look, the guy that did this may do worse to his wife, I might have time to warn her before he gets her too. Who is she?"

"Chris I didn't see who it was!"

"Right, but again, he might very well kill the woman you've been fucking. Either you tell me in confidence or I'll tell your wife. Lets not waste time."

"Chris I don't know who did this!"

Oh well, everybody has the right to remain silent. I said nothing more while we waited for the ambulance, he told us all an improbably simple tale. Walking up to the door, he thought he got hit with a Taser and fell soundlessly to the ground paralyzed. His balls were bludgeoned, and then his ribs. He claimed he had no idea who would want to do that. Right!

The women went with him to the hospital, I stayed home 'to protect' his 14 year old boy Austin, and their 13 year old they named Houston. Oh well! At least they weren't from New Jersey naming the kids Bayonne and Hoboken!

The boys went back to bed, assured that Dad would be OK. The women coming back at 3 AM woke me up in the chair I was sleeping in. Austin was staying overnight for observation and would be OK, but in serious pain, and they still had no idea who did it.

"I can narrow it down to three people."

A chorus of how do you know? Who? What did Austin tell you?

"Austin told us all his story and he's sticking to in, but look at the facts: First: It happened at 11:30PM in his own yard. Zero crime around here, so it wasn't random. His assailant knew him, knew his schedule, planned the job, so they must have had a motive as well. No question Austin was the target.

Second: The hit to the balls was attaching him sexually. Suggests someone didn't like his genitals, or what he was doing with them.

Third: They took his wedding ring but left his watch and wallet, so it wasn't money they were after, back to their notion that he didn't deserve to he married.

Says to me he got punished for adultery."

"Oh Chris! I really can't..."

"There's no proof, but such things happen, Julie. Moving right along, the possible suspects are:

Your sons either Austin or Houston! One of them could have found evidence of what his dad had been doing. They might think they were protecting mom's honor. The taser could be purloined from a friend's house.

Or could be you, Julia. Same motive. You punished him anonymously so you wouldn't have to confront his infidelity, divorce and such..."

"Chris, those are ridiculous. He's not screwing around on me! I didn't beat him up and certainly not the boys. He..."

"Probably true, but I'm only pointing out both you and the boys had motive, means and opportunity to do it. Most likely it's the husband of the woman he's been screwing. What was really afraid of is if the husband did this to him, the guy's wife may be in real danger. That's what I told Austin, but he played dumb."

Julia was near to tears.

"I can't believe it! He wouldn't!"

"Of course I don't know that he was unfaithful to you, but it's the most likely possibility. He denied it to me, but if it's true, somewhere a woman may be battered and even killed. If he had told me who, I might have been able to warn her, but it's too late now."

On the way home, Karen asked:

"Would most men go after both the errant wife and her lover?"

"Don't know about most men, but I tell you truly; you fuck around on me, no question, I'm going after the guy. Like whoever got Austin, I wouldn't kill them, but for damn sure they would feel the damage I'd inflict to the end of their days. Some men would attack their wife, but I personally wouldn't hit you, or any woman for that matter, but I'd throw your ass out the door, and make the divorce as miserable for you as I could. Why, were you thinking of getting a little strange?"

"Hmmh? No, of course not. I was thinking of Julie and Austin."

Our lives returned to normal. Austin's agony had nothing to do with us. One evening I asked:

"So how's Marcus Wolf doing these days? Do you have much to do with him? Does he sit with you guys at lunch or anything?"

"Since you so dislike Mark, I have chosen not to upset you by talking about him. Does that make you happy?"

"No it does not, and I'm glad you brought up the subject, though. For starters it was you that got upset and had a fit, running to our room, and leaving me with the dishes. I think we can assume he means much more to you than to me. And you're also correct that I've never met him. Secondly as I recall the conversation some weeks ago now, I was not accusing Marcus of anything. I was mentioning my personal experience with new managers. My greatest concern here is your attitude. Hiding from me what goes on between you and Marcus, suggests there is a reason why you feel the need to hide your intercourse with him, of course I'm intending the benign meaning of the word."

"Jesus! I'm not fucking him! How dare you accuse me of that"

"Intercourse in the sense of conversation or legitimate business. I admit I used the word to be provocative."

"A marriage is built on trust. I hold you to the same standards as I hold myself. You know my passwords, you see my telephone records. I have no secrets, I'm where I said I would be, doing what I said I would be doing with whoever I said I was with, and always available by phone because I am not hiding anything. I expect the same from you."

"See Chris. There you go again. Now you're accusing me of cheating. Keep this up and it might just happen, let me tell you! You are not going to treat me this way."

"Karen. Get off of your high horse and have an honest discussion here. I have neither accused you nor suggested that you are cheating. The point I am trying to make is that we have to tell each other the truth. Otherwise little lies build up into big lies, and someday we find that lies are the stuff our marriage is built of. And by truth, I mean the whole truth. If you ask me who I went out to dinner up at the Bridgeville job, and I tell you Joey was with me, and don't mention the two women we met at the bar, then I have lied to you by omission."

"I deliberately mislead you. If you later find out I lied about the supper, you might reasonably assume I lied to you to avoid more questions as to who these women were, and if I fucked one or, bless my sole, two of them. Do you agree?"

"I see no reason why I have to ask permission or even tell you who I see and what we talk about. You're being controlling and unreasonable here. It's only business. They're people I have to go out to lunch with. Live with it. Keep this up and our marriage is in trouble."

"No! No! No! You don't have to ask permission. You just need to mention it later. Jeeze if we didn't talk about people we interacted with at work, what the hell would we talk about?"

"Our marriage is in trouble right now. Married people do not put themselves in positions where there is doubt as to their fidelity. I need to hear it from you first. There is no reason to not mention before or after the fact, who you lunch with, and in general what you talked about. Particularly when it's one on one with a man, and especially...well look."

"Let's call a spade a spade. You normally go out with peers. Your cube mates. Bosses on high go out to lunch with their superiors and their immediate reports. Lots of business to talk about. In my admittedly limited experience, it is remarkable when a boss reached down several levels and takes a person out to lunch with any frequency. There is not so much business to talk about. Different if he takes a group of you out. A one time thing? Sure. But if it becomes a frequent thing, not so good. You both should think of your reputation."

"Son of a bitch! This is something out of a Victorian novel. think of my reputation!' Give me a goddamn break. Business is not about sex, although it's apparently hard for you to believe that. Here's what I'll do. I'll go to lunch with whoever I please. Thank you very much. However, I will tell you honestly when and with whom I go. I may even tell you what we talked about. Will that make you happy?"

"It was all I asked for in the first place. Tell me the truth and do what you do in the open. If I find you lying to me, there'll be hell to pay, as you can imagine."

As it happened, a couple of nights later the wife left her office laptop on with the mail account open. I wondered if reading her mail might be like reading someone's diary...I rationalized that e mail is meant to be read by someone (although not me), so I read to my heart's content. It seems she and Marcus were taking long lunching about once a week. Nothing to say it was improper, but...Thursday was usually the day! I would be ready.

The rubber hits the road

Their lunch spot was the Broad Moor Hotel (nicknamed the Brood Mare Hotel before it was rehabbed.) Like the proverbial lurking husband, I was in the lobby wearing a fake beard, a black suit my dad gave me, muted tie, and had, now don't laugh, added some tapered strips of black plastic to my eye glass frames to make them look different. I also wore a fedora I bought at a junk store. I figured my wife wouldn't spot me unless she looked closely, and then why would she. Oh, and I had a sap in my pocket. Figured I might as well try it out if my fears were realized.

I was reading a newspaper when they came in, holding hands. I had scoped out the bar and restaurant. The bar was very open and uninviting for secrets, so the restaurant was a better bet for seduction. Neither of them went to the hotel counter, so If anything was indeed on for the afternoon he was already registered. I had a sandwich in the bar as otherwise I look odd hanging around.

I checked on them once during the meal. No messy kisses, just hand holding above the table. Karen was obviously fascinated by Bozo. Her face had a slight flush, and all smiles and laughter. I finished my lunch and went back to the lobby and read my paper. I was so engrossed in an article that if Karen hadn't laughed as she waited for the elevator, I would have missed them.

As it was they were in standing with arms around each other in front of the elevator as the doors were opening. I went across the lobby as quickly as I could planning to beat the shit out of him the moment the elevator doors closed.

They paused to let some woman off the elevator, and I swept inside beside and slightly behind them. He had his arm around her as he ushered my wife into the elevator. I was right behind her, just inches away. Of course he saw me but he had no idea who I was, we didn't make eye contact, so I doubt if he would have recognize me out of costume.

I was prepared for a god awful fight right there, with loud howling and screams. What happened...well you could barely have choreographed it for a movie. Fortunately my wife was all charged up, thinking of her soon to be filled pussy, so she didn't even notice me getting into the elevator.

He pivoted her around him so they both faced the door, and I easily stepped to the back wall behind them, keeping directly behind her. He hit 5, on the elevator panel, and glanced at me, I held up ten fingers...he hit 10 on the key pad. Karen was gushing about how exciting this was. He was trying to hush her. I got out my sap. He was a lot shorter than me, I think Karen was taller than him. Didn't seem fair what I was going to do. It wasn't even going to be a fair fight, I wasn't trying to prove I was the better man, I just wanted to pound the shit out of him.

His hand reached down and grabbed the cheek of her ass. I stifled the impulse to nail him then and there. Now I realized that the elevator was very small, I was thinking maybe the hallway be better for the attack...more room to maneuver, ya know?

Soon as the door started to open, I reached across an' hit the door close button. They started out the door, her racing ahead, talking about pissing. I saw my chance and swung the sap hitting him hard in the back of his head, made no great noise and dropped him like a stone. Couldn't have done better if I had practiced. I half caught him as he collapsed and dragged him two steps back into the elevator just as the door closed while my dip shit wife continued to babble about 'last one in the room' and such nonsense. Bozo was out cold lying on his back his pants tended out a bit by his still stiff cock.

A grim joy was upon me! Two hard kicks to crush his balls, a third kick to his pecker as we passed the sixth floor. I pressed the button for floors 7, 8 9 as well as, 11,12,14 and 15. Some are superstitious about 13, so most hotels don't have a 13th floor. I used the sap to hit his face a few times, taking out teeth, and mashing his nose, and used his shirt to wipe the blood off it before I, stuck it in my pocket. I straightened my tie, picked up my briefcase and stood patiently for the door to open at the next floor. I was surprised that I felt no remorse as what I had done. I'm a civilized man, never struck anyone with intent to harm, and I suppose because I felt so justified... I felt no revulsion.

The couple of times the elevator doors opened at the upper floors I panicked a bit for fear that someone would see what was happening and sound the alarm. Now the door opened on the eighth floor, I was done with him, so I stepped out and let him continue his assent. I hit the down button in a hurry to get the hell out of there. I would have done what I did even if my arrest was certain, but I had no intention of becoming a martyr.

I was beset by tremors, shivering with adrenalin every 15-20 seconds and the hardest thing was to wait outwardly calm for the fucking elevator

The other elevator stopped for me as the floor indicator showed Wolf was at the 12th floor and rising. I stepped in and glided nonstop to the lobby. It was at this point that I realized I just might get away with this. Looking at the floor indicator as I walked out, Wolf was coming down, passing the 11th floor. I didn't look back again as I walked through the bar and out the side door of the hotel.

I ducked into McDonald's around the corner, went into the John. Superman, I was, shucking hat glasses and suit, putting on a t shirt and jeans, walking out of the John a new man. A quick walk three blocks to my car and I drove home. I pried my beard off in the car and threw it away; after all I committed a crime.