This story is about a cheating wife and an unusual punishment by a desperate husband. Although the subject matter is cheating, adultery, cuckoldery, pornography and more, there is no actual sex in this story, so if you want something to top up your wank bank, pass this one on by. I wrote this story purely for my own amusement, but, somebody else might like it, so I'm sharing it. Hey, I'm that kind of person.
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Ok, I admit it, I was fat and a slob. I'd always carried a few extra pounds, ever since I left school, anyway. But I'd never considered myself a slob until my wife called me that twelve months ago.
She must have called me much worse than that just six months ago and, I guess, I could have called her a few names myself, only by then the fight had gone out of me and I had got out of town, a long way out of town.
If I am honest, and I am sitting here in the dark by myself tapping this missive into my laptop computer, so I guess if there is any time for me to be truthful, this the time.
So, Jerry Cox, that's me by the way, was and always will be a fat slob. There you are, I've said it, accepted it, and moving on gracefully from there. And that's not the only moving on I have done, which is why I'm documenting my sorry tale, so that others might read and weep, or even learn by my experiences.
I first met my wife Maisie at school but we weren't exactly childhood sweethearts. We didn't start to date until a couple of years later, by which time I was halfway through my car mechanics apprenticeship (yes, they used to have proper apprenticeships in those days), and she was two-thirds of her way through college, taking qualifications in banking and insurance. She was a lot smarter than I was, while I felt I was better off working with my hands rather than my brain. Horses for courses, you could say.
I was already what I would describe as 'comfortably chunky' and Maisie was maybe twenty pounds overweight when we started going out together. We enjoyed typical teenage diets, burgers, chips and beer. I was short and stumpy, about five-six, and always ugly. That was embedded in my genes, my father was an ugly son-of-a-bitch and particularly nasty with it, I never knew my grandfather, but I guess my father had to get his looks and nature from somewhere.
I always thought I'd missed my father's nasty gene, as I was usually so easy going, but now I know it was hiding in there somewhere all along and it has really come home to roost in the last few months. I surpassed myself, in fact. I even out-nastied my father, though I'm not proud of what I did, or what I am still doing, I can tell you. It is something I am learning to live with.
My excuse is that I was provoked. Oh boy, provoked with knobs on, I was.
My mother, though, she was an angel, and she needed to be one, to put up with my violent, womanising father. My mother must be where I got my patience and loyalty genes from.
So, in summary, on the surface at least, I was ugly but sweet natured. And I was happy for a long time.
Perhaps that natural cheerfulness made me more attractive for a limited period of time. I was certainly unusually trusting when it came to the love of my life, and that was my downfall.
Maisie was only about five-three, quite broad-hipped but with a waspish waist and a rack that was absolutely to die for. While I was easy-going and laid back, she was driven to succeed, but she was lively with it and brim full of life. Although she wasn't classically beautiful, she was sexy, vivacious. I found her attractive, when we met up again in my late teens, and I fell for like a ton of bricks. As I say, she was a tad overweight at the time I reacquainted with her but she could carry it. Her skin was pale and translucent, she had shoulder-length thick brown hair with a reddish hint, dark hazel eyes and even white teeth. She was pretty and when she smiled she was simply lovely, well, I always thought so.
Although I was also packing a few pounds at that time I was still active playing football at the weekends and training one or two evenings a week. We enjoyed hiking long distances at the weekend, while we were teenagers, but I liked my beer too much and my waistline was slowly losing a one-sided battle. In all honestly, I didn't put up much of a fight.
I had only been out with three or four girls before we started going steady and I think that Maisie only had one serious boyfriend before she latched onto me. I thought we made the perfect couple. But damn it, what do I know?
I was never ambitious. A comfortable home, a passionate squeeze to come home to or go out with, regular meals and sufficient beer money in my pocket, was all I ever wanted from life. So, for as long as I could remember, life was good, meeting all my expectations. My job, repairing cars at first, progressing later to trucks, was not physically demanding and I enjoyed the work at a small but long-established family firm. I think Trimblett & Son started out doing up bicycles when Queen Vic was on the throne. I wasn't looking for promotion and responsibility at work, I preferred an easy life.
Maisie, however, was extremely ambitious and prepared to work hard to climb her way up the greasy pole. They say opposites attract, don't they? Well, I believed it for a while.
We married at the registry office, rather than have the whole white wedding thing most girls desire, and I loved Maisie all the more for that concession. Boy, was I blinkered, I never had a clue. We accepted the money both our parents had saved to spend on the wedding, and used it on the deposit for our house. The building society took one look at us and decided we would probably start a family sooner rather than later, so only offered me a fifteen-year mortgage. He was wrong about the family, as it happens, but it meant that we'd owned the place lock, stock and barrel now for about two years.
As soon as Maisie left college, she started at our local branch of National Provincial Bank as a clerk. Someone must've made an adverse remark at work because, all of a sudden, she became a little self-conscious about her appearance and started jogging in the evenings several times a week. I joined her in the jogging at first, although we always ended up at the pub afterwards; she would drink sparkling water, with me swallowing a couple or three pints of best bitter. Later, she joined a gym instead of jogging on the road and I decided early doors that I just don't do gyms. I went back to light football training with the boys once a week and rolled home late after a bellyful of beer in the pub afterwards. My play at darts was ten times better than my passing and tackling, which wasn't surprising.
So Maisie became svelte-like in her early twenties and I got fatter. She started taking more pride in her appearance, having her hair done more regularly and spending an increasing amount on smart clothes and killer high heels for work. At the same time I grew my hair long, stopped shaving under my nose and developed a dart-player's beer belly.
We never had the blessing of children as it happened and, with hindsight, that turned out to be a good thing. Maisie was climbing the promotion ladder at work and wanted to put off starting a family until she had reached as far as she could go. She never really stopped reaching.
Me, I was happy to go along with anything she wanted, she really had me bent around her little finger. I enjoyed an easy-going life, too. See, you knew that already, you've come to know me so well in such a short space of time! Besides, my brother and two sisters made up for my laziness in the parental stakes by expanding the Cox gene pool, presenting me with nine nieces and nephews between them.
Maisie's brother Colin also did his bit for the Goddards family tree, marrying twice and having two boys with his first wife and a boy and twin daughters with the second, so Maisie's genes were also more than covered descendants-wise. Mind you, Christmas and birthdays began to cost us a small fortune. As the only childless couple in the family, by default we became everybody's favourite uncle and aunt and we had to maintain our generosity to the tykes at an expected high level. Good job that Maisie rapidly achieved promotion after promotion, becoming branch manager about three years or so ago and now seriously in the running, she told me every time I moaned about her evening workload, for a regional post.
I hadn't completely stood still in my job. As I said before, I soon moved on from car servicing to trucks but about eight years ago I was asked to help out the front desk after the company had introduced computers and the old hands in the office were simply not up to the task of using them. I managed to get everything up and running and sort out the service diary and invoicing. It was almost idiot-proof; how was I to know that all the guys and girls in the office were complete idiots?
Soon I was asked to move over to the office permanently, to deal with the customer service and bookings. As well as ordering parts and materials I had to do the staffing rotas and holiday schedules. Without being asked, I started producing graphs showing turnover, stock levels, production times and, it turned out, the boss absolutely loved it. There was no-one else who was more interested in working the computer than I was, so I asked the company if they would pay for an evening HTML course, which they agreed to. Once I knew what I was doing, I created a website for the company. I got a nice little extra bonus for that.
