Deja Poo

DEJA POO

By

Vandemonium1

As you read this one, you may see a resemblance to Just Plain Bob's, 'Becoming a Slut Wife: Ripley'. Initially, I simply wanted to write an alternate ending, but that author didn't reply to two requests. So, I rewrote the whole story.

As usual, I prostrate myself in thanks to my editor and partner, CreativityTakesCourage, the reason I get up every morning. Okay, she kicks me out of bed to go get her a coffee. The fact the story below is not just a bunch of demented gibberish is all on her.

The following has been rated 4.5/5 pickaxe handles on our rating system, those of a gentler, forgiving nature may want to give it a miss.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I STOPPED MID-MOTION while putting the garbage from the aftermath of the barbecue in the bin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and something akin to a cold shiver washed over me from head to toe. This wasn't the first time. In fact, it happened every time I had a

déjà vu

experience. This one was a subset of those experiences. I called it jokingly,

déjà poo

: the strong feeling that this shit had happened before. I paused to analyse this feeling of familiarity.

This was the second party that my wife, Penny, had organised for her new peers since getting promoted three months ago. Well, she still had a month of probation left, but surely, with her talents, that was just a formality. At least, now she didn't have to do all that damned traveling.

All the guests were fellow supervisors at Halifax Industries, Penny's employer, and their partners. I didn't like them, but one did one's civic duty for the sake of matrimonial harmony, didn't one?

I'd tried to talk Penny out of this particular social function but she insisted. I never really understood the logic, but these guys had helped her career somehow and she wished to thank them. During the barbecue I'd kept to myself, quietly cooking the steaks and sipping beer while they all-big noted themselves, and then, once everyone had gorged themselves, I graciously cleaned up the mess while Penny played hostess.

So, what was setting off the internal alarms?

It was the commotion inside as all the partners of Penny's workmates said their goodbyes and moved on to a girl's night out. I was wise enough to know that none of them would hunt me down to thank their host. Arrogant bitches to a woman. That would leave Penny alone with her five male colleagues. Again. I tried to remember how long this torture had lasted the previous time after the wives left for their girly time but couldn't. All I remembered from the previous barbeque we'd hosted was waking up the next day, in bed, feeling groggy. Well, I'd hit the tequila pretty hard last time.

I looked up after replacing the lid on the bin. From that position you could see into the brightly lit lounge room. What I saw was just strange enough to stop my neck hairs relaxing. All of Penny's friends were sitting in the lounge while she stood in the kitchen doorway talking to them. As I watched, she glanced over her shoulder, through the kitchen, to the brightly lit entertainment area on the deck which overlooked the back yard. It was obvious she was making sure someone didn't come in unexpectedly and that was alarming as I was the only one outside. What could she be saying that she didn't want me to hear?

I decided to keep a close eye on things. Something wasn't right. That's what my gut was telling me, and I'd learned long ago to listen to my gut. Going back to the deck and continuing to clean-up sounded like a wise plan. When she saw me reappear in the light, Penny stuck her head out the patio door.

"Are you almost finished, Kisa?"

"Yup. Just got to clean the barby and I'll be right in. Give me about five."

She smiled the smile I'd fallen in love with and retreated to the kitchen. I watched Penny out of the corner of my eye as I cleaned the barbecue. She was mixing a large jug of margaritas. When she finished, she shared the concoction between seven glasses. My senses kicked up a notch when I saw her reach into her pocket and remove an envelope. They switched to full alert as she surreptitiously glanced in my direction before tearing it open and pouring the powdery contents into one of the glasses.

She stirred the glass for a good half minute, staring at me the whole time. She held the glass up to the light and examined it. She looked at me again.

I just kept cleaning the barbecue, pretending ignorance.

The final act of Penny's bizarre little display was to put the special drink on the kitchen table and the rest of the glasses on a tray. I hoped like hell that the special drink was for one of her colleagues that had pissed her off and was getting the old laxative gag.

That lifeline was dashed when Penny disappeared into the lounge with the tray. I had never shied away from confusing situations, so I finished the cleaning, put the cover over the cooker and made my way inside. My horrible suspicions were confirmed when I re-entered the house. Penny came in from the opposite door, picked up the doctored drink and offered it to me.

"I've made a drink for you, Kisa."

I took the drink like it was arsenic, but with more questions than answers, I needed to stall things. I pretended to take a sip, noting that Penny was watching me intently to see if I noticed anything wrong with it. I complimented her on the flavour.

"How much have you had to drink tonight, Kisa?"

"About eight beers, I suppose," I lied. It was actually less than half that number.

"Okay, I'll tell the boys they have to find their own way home then."

"You don't mind if I drink this in the other lounge, do you, Didi, and watch the end of the game? I mean, it's not as if any of your friends have been bending my ear all night, is it?"

"No, go ahead, Dave. It shouldn't be much longer now."

With a strange look, Penny turned away and headed back into the lounge.

I lingered in the kitchen totally confused. Why had Penny doctored my drink? And what the hell had she put in it? Well, that was one question I could answer: possibly.

I opened the medicine cabinet. Sure enough, right at the front was the bottle of sleeping tablets I knew lived there. Just to be sure, I opened the bottle and sniffed the contents before checking out the mortar and pestle Penny always kept on the kitchen bench. Yes, there was white powder residue in it. And, yes, the powder smelled the same as the bottled pills, confirming it was used to grind up the tablets.

So, there it was. I was supposed to be rendered unconscious while Penny was in the house with five men. Well, I didn't need to be Einstein to come to a horrible conclusion about that set of facts. My long-standing love for Penny and her assumed love for me, however, wouldn't let my certainty go beyond 99.9%. I needed that last 0.1% and there was only one way of getting it.

I tipped about a quarter of the glass down the sink, before walking through the den to the formal lounge at the back of the house. As I walked through, conversation dropped and more than one man turned his head to follow me with his eyes. On reaching my destination, I turned the TV on and tipped another quarter of the drink in a pot plant.

Ten minutes later, oblivious to the game being played out on screen, my mind was awhirl with questions when I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. Without moving my head, I saw Penny in my peripheral vision, peering in the door before disappearing again.

I decided I couldn't achieve any more by thinking with the facts I currently possessed. I dumped the rest of the drink in the pot plant and glanced at the clock. I waited, both impatient and relieved at how slow the time passed. When the allotted ten minutes I'd given myself passed, I rolled onto the floor with a thump, landing on my stomach.

The thump must have travelled to the other lounge as within seconds Penny was kneeling by my side, rolling me onto my back and peering into my face, calling my name. I heard the rustle of her clothing as she stood again and walked from the room. When she returned, I sensed at least two of the guys with her.

I listened as she directed them to pick me up with a welcome admonition for them to be careful. I learned how hard it is to make yourself totally limp in a hostile environment. I was carried somewhere and put on a bed. We hadn't gone up the stairs so it must be the spare room downstairs. Things weren't looking good. I sensed all three of them still in the room.

"I'll be along in a minute; I need to make him comfortable."

I heard their departing footfalls, made soft by the carpet as Penny untied my shoes and removed them. She undid my belt and loosened my shirt before bending down to kiss me on the cheek.

"Sorry, Kisa, I do love you, and I'm sorry you made this necessary. I promise this is the last time."

I heard her leave, closing the door behind her. She was confident I was out for the count as she made no effort to close it quietly. In my head, 99.9 became 99.99. I leapt up and put my ear to the door for a few moments before carefully opening it a crack. I heard laughter and giggling, but more worryingly, multiple footsteps walking up the stairs. The only things on the upper floor were bedrooms and bathrooms.

I gave them a minute's head start to make sure there were no stragglers, then tiptoed up the stairs. I waited for my heartrate to drop below 200BPM outside the closed master bedroom door. When it was obvious that the sounds from inside weren't going to allow my heartrate to drop below the double century, I steeled myself, took a breath and quietly opened the door a crack.

The last 0.01% screamed into my head. I'm sure it waved at my love for Penny as they passed mid-flight. They say that love dies gradually. To that I say, bollocks!

Through the crack I could see Penny, now naked, lowering herself down on the cock of a man lying on the bed. She slid up and down on him several times, while the other guys completed disrobing. The next one that finished was the subject of Penny's attention.

"Yeah, hop up here and stuff that monster in my mouth."

The pure lust in her voice was sickening. The rest of the guys finished undressing. Two of them knelt on either side and stuffed a breast each in their mouths. Penny took the cock out of her mouth long enough to glance down. "Fuck, yeah." The guy standing on my bed, grabbed the back of her head and rammed back into her mouth. Penny grunted.

I left the door ajar in my haste to get back downstairs. I ran into the kitchen and spewed in the sink. After wiping my mouth, I walked into the lounge, feeling like a zombie. Before I even realised where I was, I had my gun safe open and my snub-nosed .38 in my hand. The feel of the cold metal against my clammy palms snapped me out of whatever reverie I was in. Was my wife worth killing for? Shit, yeah. Was she worth dying for? Getting life in prison for? Not anymore, no.

A little rationality returned. I knew if I confronted the partiers upstairs with a pistol, I couldn't guarantee I'd be able to restrain my rage. However, if I went upstairs and confronted them without a pistol, their animalistic behaviour would probably cause me to end up in hospital. Neither outcomes were acceptable. There had to be a third option. One that guaranteed pain for the five pricks and bitch in heat upstairs and freedom for me. Flopping down on the couch, I tried desperately to make sense of it all.

+++++

I MET PENNY, AKA, Didi, in rather tense circumstances, seven years ago. I'd been driving down a quiet country road when I saw two cars parked. As I flashed past I saw a tiny girl dwarfed by three guys. She looked worried.

To this day I'm not sure what it was, maybe just gut instinct, but something about the scene didn't look right. I stopped, did a U-turn, and drove back. Two of the guys strode over to my car and tried to tell me everything was all right. The girl still looked very tense, so I ignored the guys and walked toward her. As I asked if she was okay, she incongruously stepped really close to me. It was obvious she was doing that for protection. She told me she had run out of fuel, her cell phone was flat, and the guys had stopped when they saw her parked beside the road. Despite realising the danger I was in, I told the guys I had it covered and they could leave. They exchanged glances, something non-verbal passing between them, then piled into their car and drove off.

We were both shaking like leaves as we watched them go. Long story short, I gave her a ride to the nearest servo where we filled a jerry can with fuel before returning to her car. I followed her home to make sure she got there safely. She insisted I come to dinner the next night as a thank you. Seven months later, we were married. Since that day I was KISA, acronym for Knight In Shining Armour, and she was DIDI, Damsel In Distress.

In the intervening seven years my damsel had to be rescued more than a dozen times. It happened regularly enough that I kept a jerry can of fuel ready to go in the garage. No amount of explaining, teasing, or berating could get her to look at the bloody fuel gauge in her car.

Until now, I'd thought we were a happy, pre-children couple. There'd only been one rough patch about four months ago, when Penny became withdrawn and moody. When I'd asked what was bugging her, she'd said that she was sick of travelling and told me there was a vacancy for a supervisor coming up at work and she was keen to go for it. I encouraged her. At the time I thought that if she travelled less we could think about starting a family.

Were there any clues in our sex life? None sprang to mind. Her being away so much actually kept things vibrant far longer than the normal honeymoon phase of a marriage. When things did start to flag, our open and honest outlooks ensured that the sharing of fantasies wasn't uncomfortable. Boy, did that open the floodgates. Many hours of harmless role-playing followed. All absolutely threat free... except that time about four months ago when she'd hinted that she wouldn't mind if her favourite fantasy became reality. I'd shut that down fairly quickly, saying there was absolutely no way I was ever going to go along with her screwing a bunch of... oh my. I felt sick again and had to swallow bitter bile.

With my new certainty, I reviewed what I had. Four months ago, the possibility of promotion. A promotion she needed support from the existing supervisors to get. Male supervisors. A month of moodiness as she battled with a decision. A month during which she subtly sounded me out on the possibility of my going along with her fantasy to be gangbanged. The promotion and her sudden need to show gratitude to the guys that had supported her bid. Another no-Einstein-required moment. How fortunate for Penny that she'd been able to kill two birds with one sordid stone.

That explained it, but did it excuse it? Fuck no!

I went back into the kitchen and poured a finger of my best scotch with which I did my own killing of two birds—ridding myself of the foul taste of vomit and silently toasting the death of my marriage. There were no if, buts, or maybes, the marriage was slumped against the wall after the firing squad had fulfilled their purpose.

+++++

THE OUTLINE OF a plan formed in my mind. I teased it and tested it. Yes, perfect. I briefly examined my conscience. Did her behaviour and the fact that she'd wasted seven years of my life warrant the worst I could do? Fucking hell, yes. I decided my conscience wouldn't be a problem.

I was startled by a phone ringing. It wasn't mine or Penny's. They were both ensconced on their chargers on the bench. No, the ring was coming from a jacket draped over the back of a kitchen chair. The wallet in the pocket of said jacket showed it belonged to Mark Smith.

I wasted five minutes when I couldn't decide which of two sub-plans to go with. Which would wreak the greatest destruction on the maximum number of people?

Option 1A would destroy Penny's support network and possibly the five assholes.

Option 1B would do the above and also, just maybe, land her in deep poop.

I took the home phone off its cradle. Next, I grabbed the tub of left-over coleslaw from the fridge and put a large spoonful in a bowl. A few drops of Angostura Bitters mixed in gave it a pleasing orangey colour. I moved to the medicine cabinet and pocketed four of the sleeping pills before making my way to the front door and unlocking it. Once back in the kitchen, I grabbed Penny's cell and the other one I'd retrieved from the jacket and placed them on the bench. Lastly, I hunted around and found two fat candles. It was a bit awkward but I managed to carry my hoard into the spare bedroom, dumping everything except the two phones on the bed. I ran through my mental checklist, ticking items off. Satisfied I had all I needed, I tiptoed back up the stairs.

Not wanting to waste the squeals and screams emanating from the master bedroom, I hit the speed dial on Penny's phone for her parents and just held the phone up to the crack in the door. The only question in my mind was whether Penny's father would merely come over to investigate the strange calls from his daughter's phone, the calls with a woman squealing like a stuck pig in the background, or whether he would call the police first. Either way, the respect Penny had enjoyed from her family was about to take a nosedive and the police were going to be involved.

Satisfied with three calls to Penny's father, I turned her phone off and picked up the man's phone. Setting it to video, I quietly cracked the master bedroom door a fraction more. I identified Mr. Smith, he was standing separate from the rest, watching. How nice of him to help me out. Pressing record, I got all the faces recorded, except Mr. Smith's. There were some particularly clear images of Penny. Thirty seconds was enough. No one noticed me. They were too busy. It should look like Mr. Smith was the videographer. Who can say what a drunk, lust-affected man will do?

I carefully closed the door and went downstairs to replace Penny's phone on its charger after turning it back on. I then used the soon-to-be-famous, Smith's phone, to send the clip to his entire address book. I heard two other phones beep from various parts of the room. Happy that six lives were on their way to ruin, I went back to the spare bedroom for Part ii of the plan.

Before committing to the next part, I paused to ask myself if I'd already inflicted enough punishment. I concluded, no. I knew that when my adrenalin surge passed, I was going to hurt. Perhaps forever. Who knew if I'd ever love or trust again? Therefore, it was only fair that their pain should last forever too. Was it the bible that said, 'An eye for an eye?" Well, the Dave Brown corollary is, "An eye, a nose, an ear, and all their fucking teeth for an eye."

For Part ii, I turned the spare bedroom heating duct off, unscrewed the light bulb a little, and opened the window. The crisp, cold outside air would cool the room quickly. Next, I laid on the bed and stuck my finger down my throat. I gagged but nothing came up. I hoped I hadn't lost all my dinner in my previous spew down the kitchen sink. My second attempt was a success if you can call vomiting on the pillow beside yourself a success. Talk about gross. The stench almost made me hurl again. Thankfully, my concentration overcame that reflex.

I sat the bowl of coleslaw and sleeping pills next to me, ready to go, then placed a candle under each armpit, level with my nipples. I practiced clamping my upper arm to my side, checking that when I did, the radial pulse in my wrist disappeared. I didn't know who would be the first in the room, the police or one of my in-laws, but they were going to be shocked with what they found.