Cheat-Ify the Bastard!

Author's Notes: This is a sequel to

Cheat-ify The Bitch

. CTB was a 750 word offering and only takes a couple of minutes to read. (yes and vote) This story won't make any sense if you haven't read CTB.

One of the anon's comment on the original CTB story suggested the male cheater shouldn't get away with it. My little reptilian brain thought for at least 2 seconds before saying Hell yes, let's get him.

I wrote it as a flash story instead of the 750 word format. I couldn't stand him getting anything less than every painful moment he had coming. Golfers will appreciate my attention to detail.

All characters are over 18 years of age. Please don't forget to vote and comment. It's the only payment we get.

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Monitoring Virginia's Facebook account after her death I discovered her paramour and his wife intended to be at her announced Celebration of Life. That did not sit well with me. I never intended to kill Virginia and truthfully, in my mind, she did it to herself, but for that asshole to escape unharmed. Not happening!

He was her co-worker. How or what he ever said to persuade her to crawl into bed with him was a mystery. The investigator had supplied me with a small amount of video and numerous pictures, but on the video they never talked about the why. Only the 'God this is fun' kind of comments while his dick beat a rat-a-tat-tat on her willing pussy like Woody Woodpecker hammering a tree. It's not like he was bigger than me or better as far as I could tell.

Maybe if she'd shared something I could identify with, something I did wrong to drive her into his arms. But the constant cries of 'fuck me' and 'harder Bill' gave me no clue why. The shudders running through her body when her pussy melded with his cock taking his fluids bare and unrestrained into her womb gave me no idea either. She always made me use condoms.

He, William, just call me Bill, had the gall to call and tell me her co-workers had gotten together and done a video with some of their work activity pictures. Drinks after work, summer barbecues, Christmas parties and other events. Everybody had contributed. He was going to be the presenter and needed video facilities and an opportunity to speak at her Celebration.

I was rubbing my hands when I gave him a resounding YES! There was going to be an open mike opportunity for people to talk about Virginia and their own recollections of her. Would he care to go first? It seemed he would. Bonus!

The big day dawned miserably grey and pouring rain, heavy clouds stretching from horizon to horizon.

The room was filled with a couple of hundred people by two o'clock that afternoon. Friends, co-workers, relatives and some I didn't recognize at all. I had asked that children be left at home. I told everyone I remembered going to a funeral as a child and coming away traumatized. I was pleased to see everyone had listened for once.

The Master of Ceremonies was up first, one of our good friends that knew Virginia and I quite well. He introduced the Minister who spoke of her being in a better place. God's grace he called it. What a twit.

The opportunity for people to come share their memories was announced and Bill was called up to the podium to start it off. He smiled at all the curious faces staring back at him and took a deep breath turning to the large screen hanging from the ceiling behind him, showing a picture of Virginia taken at our wedding.

He turned back, picked up the remote control for his video and pushed the button...

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I love Skyy Vodka. It's quite mellow compared to other brands on the market being quadruple distilled and triple filtered. Virginia had loved it too. We drank far too much of it, nothing unusual to see us finish a large bottle every week. Sometimes more if there was company. Myself, I loved it with sweetened grapefruit juice and ice. Quite tasty really. Skyy, being a big company was sold in many countries in the world so when you were travelling it was something you could easily find and not end up with crap.

But the best part of Skyy vodka was the promotion they'd been running for the last few months. Atop every one of those large blue bottles of deliciousness was a tiny little promo box. A tiny little box with a free speaker inside. About 2x2 they were perfect size to put a sticky on the back and attach them under chairs, tables and little nooks around the room where they were all but invisible. It seemed with our drinking pursuits we'd acquired a lot of them.

Those tiny little speakers were Mighty Mouse powerful beyond their size, and astonishingly for such a small treasure, Bluetooth capable.

As Bill's finger pressed the start button I pressed mine. Instantly moans of 'fuck me' and 'harder Bill' started ringing throughout the suddenly silent room. An astonished Bill, spun around to face the screen and found video of himself buried balls deep in Virginia. Horrified he hit the stop switch on the remote and when that didn't work, hit it again and again before finally flinging it on the ground and stomping it into bits. Wouldn't help, I'd removed the battery before we started. I was controlling it.

Several male friends of ours obviously incensed that he would sully a Life Celebration with such a disgusting video, rushed the podium and hauled his ass down. Several punches and kicks later he was lying bleeding on the floor moaning in pain.

Gentlemen that they were though, they all respectfully stood back when his wife arrived in the melee. I couldn't believe that woman's ambidexterity. Beating his head with an umbrella in one hand and her purse in the other, those arms whirled like a Dutch windmill caught in a hurricane until her pointy high heels came into play trying to launch his balls up through his throat. I almost cheered. His screams for mercy climbed the register until he sounded like a little girl and then his voice abruptly stopped. Best of all was when she screamed her Daddy's Little Girl prerogatives and fired him on the spot. Daddy apparently owned the company. I didn't know that.

I subtly fished in my pocket and opened a sealed baggy. I had soaked a napkin in onion juice earlier and took the opportunity afforded by the distraction to quickly wipe my eyes. Tears poured forth instantly. Anyone looking at me would see a grieving husband, tears streaming down his face, horrified by the events. That they were crocodile tears didn't matter. Good PR even works for the Demonically Possessed, just ask Trump!

With the people firmly entranced by the video and the beating taking place, my new and improved Cheat-ify app loaded on a new burner phone was reaching out with Bluetooth. It took over Bill's phone and downloaded a very special personalized version of the Cheat-ify app into it. His phone then snarfed every phone in the room.

It got busy launching any apps it found from Facebook, Linkedin, Instagram or any other social media site that would accept video and picture uploads. Along with the top twenty porn sites in the world it also found everybody's secret links to any porn site and found their FTP address. Reaching out to a string of anonymous Tor servers it started uploading the video and pictures while everyone was absorbed in watching the ruckus up front. For a minute I wished I'd enabled to camera option and uploaded Bill's smack down, but that would get people in trouble. They didn't deserve that for coming to my defence.

In a couple of minutes it was all over, thousands of videos and pictures starring Bill and Virginia uploaded all around the world from hundreds of sources. It would take forever to get them removed.

I had to admire the dedication of Bill's wife. She was taking time out in the middle of his beating to practise her golf swing with the heavy handle of her umbrella. I wasn't so sure standing with the spike of her high heel crushing his balls was improving her stance any, especially when she viciously ground her heel down. However her dedicated swings using his nose as a golf tee was inspiring. Pure poetry in motion!

All too often she missed and the tee was gradually getting bloody and broken. If I was a betting man I was pretty sure surgery was in his future. If she went too low the occasional tooth went flying, but there was no quit in this woman. She had perfection on her mind. Finally a couple of ladies in the room went up to her and managed to calm her down, leading her away in tears.

By then I was surrounded by a bevy of weeping women stroking me and cooing at me completely concerned with helping me through this ordeal. Several of Virginia's single friends volunteered to take me home and look after me. I let myself get led out, the horrified victim of a terrible, terrible cheater and his perverted video at my beloved wife's funeral.

One of Virginia's foxy friends and I always had a thing for each other. She offered to stay over and take care of me. She did, several times that night. As soon as things die down I'm pretty sure we'll be a couple.

So now my new beefed up Cheat-ify app is now being downloaded 20,000 times a day with a higher price of $30. I was shocked. Could that many women be cheating on their marriages. But then critical thinking kicked in. Pictures and videos are sexless. The app works no matter who's using it, men, women, it's meaningless.

Be very scared Gentlemen!

Epilogue:

Of course the above beating was nothing once everyone found out what Bill's phone had done to their phones and social media accounts. The lawsuits and criminal charges were endless. He ended up broke and doing five years. It would have been more, but no one could explain why he would out himself like that. The prosecutor intimated it was a mental desire to punish himself over Virginia's death or to boast about his conquest. He even paraded some psychiatrists to say so. I guess the judge and jury bought it.

It cost Bill several operations and cartilage from other parts of his body to rebuild his nose. He now wears dentures. His balls had to be surgically removed and strangely no one at the funeral remembers how they got damaged. In fact several witnesses testified his wife was nowhere near him, she got off completely!

Me, I used my newfound wealth to buy a South Pacific Atoll that was for sale. Susan and I, the girl I mentioned before, are building a new house there. There will be no internet, no cellphones or computers. Nothing!

God only knows what the next nutcase coder will come up with!

The End

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