Finally Found The Bastard

OK. I got a message from a reader complaining that I was always doing Burn the Bitch stories and never a Burn the Bastard story. I actually did a Burn the Bastard, but it was the guy's daughter that burned him, so they put it the Incest category, even though I submitted it for Loving Wives.. For those interested, read

Burning Doug

. The reality is that Burning the Bastard is just too easy with the divorce laws in this country. You want to burn the Bastard? Just divorce him and let the court do it for you. The woman gets the kids, house, child support, and 'maintenance'. The man gets to eat tuna out of a can while sitting in a run-down one-room apartment, existing off the remaining 30% of his pay. And that's if the ex-wife is feeling generous. Regardless, I was asked, and I thought that I would give it a try. This is the result.

Not much sex here. The only fucking in this story is what the wife does to her cheating husband and his lover. Well, maybe a bit more. Any and all characters that do have sex are over the age of 18.

Finally Found the Bastard:

Thank God. Home at last, I thought as I set my suitcase down at the front door to our house. I had just returned from a week-long conference for work. I rarely travel, but this conference was important. I was looking forward to seeing my kids and husband again. I had planned on taking a nice hot bath to melt the stress of traveling away, then spend some 'quality time' with my husband after the kids had gone to bed.

Jeff and I had been married for 10-years. We met in college during our Junior year, and we quickly became inseparable. I was a computer science major, and he was in mechanical engineering. He proposed at a restaurant on Valentine's Day during our senior year. We were married 6-months after graduating. I should mention that I was 2-months pregnant during the wedding, but the wedding had already been planned before I got pregnant. I don't want to give you the idea that he was forced into it or that I had trapped him. We were truly in love with each other, just as we still are.

Oh, introductions. I am Amanda Adams. I go by Mandy, usually. I'm 32-years old, happily married to Jeff Adams, and proud mom of two boys and one girl. JJ, Jeff Junior, is 10-years old. His sister, Jasmine, is 8, and the youngest, Donny, is 6. I have kept myself in pretty decent shape. I'm 5'4" tall, slim waist. Nicely flared hips, still tight, round ass, and my 36-C tits haven't sagged much at all. My flaming red hair flows over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back. Personally, I think my emerald green eyes are my best feature, though. Over-all, I think that I'm a quite nice package. My husband seems to think so, anyway. We normally have sex about three to four times a week, and he has access to all three locations. Since I had been gone for a week, I was looking forward to having him 'Go Around the World' tonight.

I was kind of surprised that the door was locked, and I didn't hear any sounds from inside. Jeff and the kids should have been home for about an hour already. I told them when I would be here, and the Uber that I caught at the airport managed to get me here right on time. I was disappointed, because I had missed them and really wanted to be greeted by hugs and kisses from the rug rats. I was also craving a really nice soulful passionate greeting from Jeff. Perhaps they went out to pick up pizza or something and were just running late. Mentally shrugging, I got out my keys and unlocked the door.

The house was dark when I walked in, so I turned on the lights. Nobody home. Oh well, I would unpack and get a glass of wine and wait for them to get home. Taking my suitcases into the bedroom, I saw the closet door was opened. Stepping in to put my heels away, I was shocked to see that all Jeff's clothes were gone. What the fuck? I went over to his dresser. Empty. I ran down to the garage. His car was gone, and so were all his tools. What the hell was going on? As I walked through the house, I saw that several other things of his were missing. Suddenly panicked, I ran to the kid's rooms. I let out a breath of relief as I saw that all their things were still there.

I got my cell phone to call Jeff. The number had been disconnected. That was odd. I just talked to him on it last night. What the hell was going on? That's when I saw a note on the table. "The kids are at your parent's house. You need to go get them." Was all it said. I was in a state of complete shock. Did Jeff move out? Why? Where did he go? This must be some kind of mistake. Why would he leave? I hadn't cheated on him. We were in love. We were soulmates. He said that all the time.

"Mom? What's going on?" I asked when she answered the phone.

"What do you mean, Dear?"

"I mean, all of Jeff's stuff is gone, and his phone number is no longer active."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that Jeff isn't here, and everything he owns is no longer in the house. I don't know where he is or how to contact him. All I found was a note telling me that the kids are at your place and I need to pick them up. There was no explanation or anything."

"The kids are here. He dropped them off yesterday morning, saying he had some things to take care of, and asked if they could stay until you picked them up today. That's all I know. Did you two have a fight or something?"

"No, mom. I talked to him last night, and everything seemed great. I'll be over and get the kids in a bit."

"OK, Dear. I'll make dinner, so plan on eating here."

I just sat stunned. Now what?

It was Friday evening. I tried calling his office, but they were already closed. They wouldn't be open until Monday morning. I went online to see if I could find any recent purchases that might tell me where he had gone. All I found was that he had taken three quarters of the money in the checking account, and completely cleaned out the savings account. That motherfucker even took the $50,000 my grandmother left me when she died! I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but it was starting to piss me off. Red hair -- temper, all that crap. It's true in my case. The fucking bastard also transferred most of our investment accounts. I started to get visions of him tied to a stake surrounded by dry wood and me standing there holding a torch.

I finally got over to my parent's house. That wasn't a fun conversation. I mean, how do you answer what was going on when you had no fucking clue yourself? No, I don't fucking know where he might have gone. If I did, I would already be there torturing the answers out of him. Why? How the fuck should I know? As far as I knew, things were great. NO, MOTHER! I HAVEN'T CHEATED ON HIM -- EVER! No, I can't imagine him cheating on me either. Come on, mom. Look at me. I know that I'm not a supermodel, but I still look damn good. No, mom, our sex life is actually pretty good.

Talking to the kids was not productive. They knew even less than I did. They didn't even know that Jeff had left. He just told them that he had some work to do as a surprise for me, and that I would pick them up and bring them home today. The fucking coward couldn't even tell his kids that he was leaving them. Now, they would be asking me why daddy didn't want them anymore. What was I supposed to tell them? Those visions began to change to slowly roasting him on a spit over an open fire or tied down over a fire anthill. It's kind of funny how a deep love can turn into hatred so quickly. I guess that it is true that love and hate are separated by a very thin line.

I spent the weekend trying to salvage what was left of my life. I didn't get much sleep. The bits of fitful sleep that I did manage were filed with dreams of ever-increasing torture for one Jeff Adams. My days were spent having uncomfortable conversations with mutual friends. It was uncomfortable because none of them had any clue what was happening, then trying to answer their questions when it dawned on them that Jeff had skipped out and taken most of the money. I dreamed that night of having him strapped naked to a St. Andrew's cross with an enormous dildo up his ass, castrated, and weighted nipple clamps on him while I was using a bullwhip on his dick. I think I was developing some serious anger management issues. Not sure where all that BDSM stuff came from either. Fuck it, I thought. I'll just go with it. Can you really blame me, though?

OK. I'm not really proud of this next part. In my defense, I'm three quarters Irish. Red hair, and all that. Yes, it's a stereotype and a bit racist, but I was going through a crisis. At least I was somewhat responsible about it. I called my parents and had them come over and pick up the kids. They would spend the night there, and my mom would take them to school the next morning. After they left, I pulled out a bottle of Irish whiskey and got ploughed. Plastered, hammered, three-sheets to the wind, drunk as a skunk, whatever you want to call it. I also cried my eyes out.

Yeah, Monday morning was no fun. At least I didn't call in sick. I stood tall and proud as I called my boss and told him that I was taking the week off as vacation. Sure, he may have wondered about me suddenly putting him on hold and hearing the retching sounds as I emptied my guts in the toilet again, but he never asked about it. He was sympathetic when I explained what was going on.

"Jeff Adams, Please." I said after the receptionist at Jeff's office answered.

"I'm sorry, but Jeff Adams no longer works here. Can I transfer you to someone else?"

"No. I need to speak with Jeff. What do you mean he no longer works there?" My rage was beginning to boil.

"Yes. His last day was Thursday. Both he and his secretary left the company."

"Where did they go? I really need to talk with him."

"I'm sorry, but I am not allowed to give out that information."

"Look. I'm his wife! I need to know where he is."

"Hold please."

[annoying as hell elevator music]

"Richard Jefferson speaking." Richard is Jeff's boss.

"Richard. This is Amanda Adams. I need to talk with Jeff."

"Oh, hi Mandy. I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Why are you calling here? Jeff quit, and his last day was Thursday."

"Yeah. Your receptionist just told me that."

"What do you mean? Didn't you move with him?"

"No. I didn't even know that he quit. Where did he move to? I came home from a conference Friday evening, and found all his stuff was gone. Where did he go?"

"I'm sorry, Mandy. I really don't know where he went. I was led to believe that he had gotten a great offer for another job, and that you and the kids were moving with him. Jacki, his secretary was leaving also. They said that they were both going to be working for the same company."

"You mean he took off with that blonde bimbo Bitch?"

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit is right. He also pretty much cleaned out all of our accounts before he left."

"I'm sorry, Mandy. I really had no idea. Seriously, if I had any idea where he was going, I would tell you. Unfortunately, he didn't tell me anything."

Well, that wasn't helpful. Our conversation ended quickly after that. Now to contact a lawyer.

My appointment with the lawyer didn't go very well. Sure, I could divorce his cheating ass and make him pay -- if I could find him so he could be served the paperwork. That was the kicker. You can't serve divorce papers on someone that you can't find, and Asshole had made damn good and sure that I didn't have enough money to hire a private investigator. The alternative was to wait a year and divorce him for abandonment. That was a year down the road, and it was pretty much letting him off the hook. I wouldn't get crap from it. No child support, no maintenance, and let's not forget all the money he ran off with. Anyway, the only real reason to divorce his sorry ass in that case was if I wanted to get married again. Once Bitten, Twice Shy, as Great White said. I was starting to get really pissed off at men in general at this point.

I needed to vent. To the gym, Batman! I was a machine. I attacked my work out like a starving woman that just had a T-bone steak set in front of her. Stationary bicycle, treadmill, Stair-Stepper, free weights, I was working the heavy bag when the outside world began to come back into my awareness. Apparently, I was screaming at the bag while punching and kicking it to death. "DIE MOTHERFUCKER! DIE! FUCKING ASSHOLE! TRY USING THOSE BALL AND THAT PATHERIC LITTLE DICK NOW! I'M GONNA WAIT FOR YOU TO GET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL, THEN DO THIS ALL OVER AGAIN, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" That was only some of what I was screaming at the bag. No, I don't remember any of that. I saw it on YouTube the next day. I watched all twelve videos that were posted. I became a viral internet star the next day. Yay me!

I stopped and looked around to find all activity in the gym had stopped and every single pair of eyes was staring at me. I looked at the bag, and it looked as if it had just gone 12 bad rounds with Ali. My eyes caught the face of the biggest asshole at the gym. This dickhead had been hitting on me from day one. It didn't matter to him how many times I told him that I was married and not interested. I looked at the bag, then back at him. Pointing directly at him I said, "Looks like the bag has had it. You're up, and the practice ring is free." I'm 5'4" and weigh about 105-pounds. He's 6'2 and weighs 250. I think that he could see the insane look in my eyes. He left the gym in a full sprint. After that, he left the gym whenever I came in. Odd.

The gym was just what I needed. It cleared my head. After putting the kids to bed that night, I was sipping a glass of wine in the tub when clarity hit me. Who needs a private investigator? All that shit is done electronically on computers. What was I, chopped liver? Hell. I probably had more skills with that than any private investigator did anyway. I also had plenty of time on my hands.

Computers were my babies. I finished in the top 5% at college. True, what I was doing now working in IT for a large company was not exactly the skill set that I needed, but that didn't mean that I was totally clueless. Part of my responsibilities was performing background checks on new hires and prospective clients. I didn't need to hire anyone; I could do this myself. I had the skills and the resources necessary to find the bastard and his slut.

First off, I had lots of spare parts from tinkering with some of my older computers stored in one of the spare rooms. I had also created our own in-home network with a server that everyone could connect to. Step one, I fired up the desktop and began running a search through the files on the server for any keywords that might give me a clue to any planning he may have done. I set it up, and let it run. Step two, hack into his email and social networking sites to see what information I could find.

What I found was that he had deleted most of his emails. He had also stopped posting to his Facebook and Instagram accounts about two weeks ago. Still, I went through all of his old photos and messages. One thing that I didn't know was the name of the slut he ran off with. His boss called her Jacki, but that's all I really knew. Facebook solved that. Jacqueline (Jacki) Kincade. OK. At least I had some information to start with. A search for any other accounts for them was fruitless. She had also stopped posting two weeks ago.

Phase three was going to require some serious computing power. By the end of the week, I had rebuilt or repaired six old computers. I set them up on the server and fired them up. Two went to the Dark Web, and the other four were set loose on Facebook and Instagram. It took a week, but I managed to get every piece of information on Jacki that had ever existed. Including her social security number. I already had that on Jeff and had been working with it for the last week. If they were working for any reputable company or filed taxes, I would have them.

1-year later:

Jeff and Jacki had stayed off social media sites. I still hadn't had any luck in my search. I had six computers scanning the internet and dark web for any hints of them. Computers don't sleep, so they were working 24/7/365. I was able to manage to start rebuilding my finances, though. The kids had stopped asking about their dad 4-months ago, so that was good. Now, I didn't have to worry about them missing him when I killed him. As far as I could tell, either neither one of them got another job, or they were able to do it without using their social security numbers. Neither one of them had applied for any credit cards, either. I had added four more computers by this time too. Time to reallocate some resources.

Since it was obvious that they weren't using any social media, I took all but one machine off of the task of searching for any new social media sites that they might open in their name, or a similar name. It occurred to me that several of my friends have photos of me on their Facebook and Instagram pages. There are also several photos where I am in the background and not identified. I can work with that. One machine was retasked to search social media for any reference to Jeff Adams, Jacki Kincade, Jacqueline Kincade, Jacqueline Adams, Jacki Adams, Jacky Adams, Jacky Kincade, and/or Jeff Kincade. The other three machines were tasked to run facial recognition through every Fucking Photo that existed on any social media platform.

Being in IT, I tend to meet some rather interesting people. Now, most people don't think of computer nerds as interesting. In fact, computer geeks really are uninteresting to the general public at large. To other computer geeks, we find some of them absolutely fascinating. Take, for example the shy, goth, wallflower that I met who happened to have a rather brilliant talent for cracking into government computer systems. Say, like the FBI fingerprint and DNA databases. I found that extremely interesting. Unfortunately, it didn't produce a hit on the DNA or fingerprints from Jeff that I had given her to search for. Yes, there was a cost. Yes, I actually enjoyed it. Hell, I hadn't been laid for over a year by then. What do you expect? Apparently, she really enjoyed it too, based upon the trouble that her inserting his fingerprints and DNA into the system caused Jeff years afterwards. That little goth girl was really quite evil.

Divorce for abandonment after the year was up, you ask? Oh, you poor innocent fool. I wasn't going to divorce him until I got my money and pound (or two) of flesh. Nope. I was going to make him pay.

I hit paydirt after four years. One of the facial recognition computers found a picture with both of them in the background. It was in a Facebook post from someone in California about a party they were having. The post was a week old by the time I found it. Now, I had something to go with. It was easy pulling up the woman's Facebook page. PRIVACY SETTINGS, PEOPLE!!!! Seriously. I understand that it is California, but you would still think that the people out there would have SOME common sense. It took another hour before I found a post on one of their other friends' site that Identified them. No wonder nothing came back from all my other searches. They had changed their identities.

OK. Now using the new identities and a more localized location, I reset all my computers to get more information on them. HO. LEE. SHIT. BATMAN! I hit the motherload. It seems as though they had gotten married shortly after arriving in California. No kids yet, so I didn't need to worry about collateral damage. He had started his own consulting firm, and it was doing extremely well. They had a 4,000 square foot house with a pool and large back yard. He had a BMW, and she had a Lexus. He also had a 1970 Corvette Stingray.