First We Practice To Deceive Marg

This story started out a few months ago. It was finished, but I did not know what to do with it and was not going to publish it. Then I realised it fitted into the 'First We Practice to Deceive' story theme, so I revived it, did a bit of a rewrite, and let's see what happens. The story plot is not original, I wanted to give my take.

Many thanks to my editor kenjisato for the editing.

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I sat in the bar with a beer, looking out the window at the waves on the lake. It was blowing a gale outside, but I knew it was just the prelude to what was about to explode in my life.

At precisely four-twenty-two on Sunday afternoon, twenty-two minutes later than she said she would see me, a text came into my phone. As expected, it was my wife, or should I say soon-to-be ex-wife. The message read, "Where are you?"

The question was -- was she that stupid, or did she think I was so attached to her that I would take everything she handed out to me? What should I do? To ignore her, or at least, get this mess started. I had already switched off my location services, so she could not use the phone-finder app, and I had paid for the hotel using my old credit card, so she could not find the information about the hotel on the banking app.

My reply was, "Gone, for good"

She replied instantly with, "WTF." Then, a few minutes later, with, "What do you mean, I am back home and wanted to give you your present"

I laughed, a present. I replied, "No thanks, what you have to offer isn't a present anymore"

My phone rang, but I cut it off. It rang immediately again, and I cut it off again.

I sent a further message, saying, "Nothing to discuss, you did what you did and now I am doing what I will do"

Her reply took twenty minutes. She obviously had to take time to compose this message. It said, "Dan, what do you mean, what are you going to do? This weekend was a little time for me. I explained everything to you. Now I am back I wanted to give everything to you. I am putting on dinner, your favourite Spaghetti meatballs. When can I expect you home"

I shook my head, she really hadn't listened all week, but she always did have a tendency to being an airhead when she was obsessed with something. Oh well. Her fault!

I'm Dan Simpson and my wife is Marge. Yep, we have heard every joke in the book and a lot more. We have been married for three years, but things between us have been a bit off for a while, and I thought the marriage was drifting onto the rocks; that is, until my wife took the wheel and crashed us right into the middle of them.

What I didn't know was there was a snake in the grass, in the form of one of her co-workers. She, Jackie Devin, was the office party animal, and was whispering in Marge's ear about how my wife needed some 'strange' to liven up our sex lives. The issue commenced last Sunday.

Marge had been strange from the time she arrived home from work on Friday night. The first thing was no drinks after work. Normally, she arrived home at seven-thirty, usually with three or four drinks taken. It often resulted in a row, and certainly, no intimacy.

Tonight, she was home for five-thirty, and made a very nice curry for dinner. She threw herself at me Friday night, and again, Saturday morning. Instead of going to the gym and shopping on Saturday morning, where she would meet up with Jackie, she asked me to go out to the shops and have lunch with her.

Saturday night was the same, a nice meal and sex on tap. On Sunday, she surprised me by saying, "Why not go and play golf today. You haven't been out with the boys for ages."

That was not only unusual, it was worrying. She hated my friends and she made sure I, and they, knew it. I had stopped playing golf on a Sunday about four months ago because the abuse was so bad, I just could not be bothered listening to it anymore.

I also knew she was distracted by something. She spent a lot of time texting on her phone, and she appeared to have a very apprehensive smile, like she was trying to prove something to me.

I decided I would go golfing, but I left with a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew I was coming back to something bad, but what would it be?

By the time I had finished the eighteen holes, I wished I hadn't bothered. My friends ribbed me mercilessly about being henpecked, my game was so rusty it was painful for even me to watch, and the butterflies in my stomach about what I would find when I went home just would not go away.

I took one soft drink and headed for home as soon as I could. As I arrived in the door, I could hear Marge on the phone. Before I could get close enough to hear anything, I heard her say, "He's home got to go. I'll speak to you later." Then, she hung up.

She turned to me with a big smile, but there was something wrong with this picture, and asked, "Did you have a good game?"

I wasn't going to play the game any longer. I had to get this out of the way. So, I replied, "No, terrible. Is everything OK with you? Are you getting me ready for a big after-dinner chat?"

I knew I had hit a nerve because the mask slipped and the smile vanished, being replaced with a look which suggested she was terrified. I just turned and headed up the stairs, saying, "Obviously, you have something planned, so I'm going for a shower before we arrive at the big reveal in your timetable." Yes, I was being a bit of a prick, but I knew this perfect-wife act was not for my benefit, and I wanted her to know it, as well.

I was just drying myself when Marge came into the bedroom. She said, "Come down when you are finished, I want to make a suggestion to you. We both know our marriage needs a reboot and I think I have found it."

Well that was, at least, an improvement. Over the last number of months, she had point blank refused to discuss our marriage. The problem was, did Marge come up with the solution, or did Jackie make the suggestion? If it was the latter, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it.

Once I had changed, I went downstairs to find her sitting in the office, working on her computer. We had a large, two-person desk, which meant we could both work at either side of the table and we had both set up our own spaces. Mine had a desktop, printer and trays; hers had a laptop, printer and a large space which she filled with junk, mostly magazines.

I sat down opposite her and she looked up at me and smiled. She began her explanation of her thought process. "You look refreshed. I was hoping to speak to you after dinner, but you jumped me a bit. You have been saying for a few months our marriage has been drifting to the rocks and, although I knew that, I didn't know what to do. Jackie noticed how depressed I was and she eventually got it out of me that I was worried that our marriage was going off course. We talked and she said she used some tricks to keep her marriage fresh."

At this point, I held up my hand, and interrupted, "I thought Jackie had divorced twice and says she will never marry again. Is she really a good person to be taking marital advice from?"

Marge looked at me. For the first time since I came into the office, I noticed she was wearing glasses. Marge need glasses but never wore them, unless she was in deep thought about something. Clearly, this was serious for her. I just hoped it was sensible.

She continued, "Both her husbands were older than her and were a bit old fashioned. I know you are more with the times." She then reached over to the pile of magazines and took the top one. She flicked through it until she arrived at a page that had been turned over, clearly marking the spot. She handed it to me, saying, "Jackie said she was going to use this to lighten up her second husband, but he just could not see the benefits. I can see it easily and I know your mind will clearly pick up on it."

I took the magazine but kept looking at Marge, I knew she wanted to say something, but was clearly waiting until I started reading.

She would not hold my eye contact and she returned her attention to the computer screen. As I slowly looked away from her, I noticed her printer had several pages on it which she had just printed out.

I, firstly, closed the magazine to see which one it was. It was a women's magazine, one with a reputation for being a bit over the top. I knew she didn't buy this magazine, she preferred ones with more gossip, so it had been given to her. I checked the date and it was over a year old.

I looked up to see her looking at me and she was biting her bottom lip. When I looked up at her, she averted her gaze back to the screen. She was absolutely terrified of what my reaction would be. This was not shaping up well.

I opened it at the marked page and pushed the folded page back. The headline told me just how big a mess I was in. It read, "The answer to a drifting marriage: Cuckold your husband to get his juices flowing."

I threw the magazine across the desk, where it landed on Marge's keyboard and I just said, "NO! Not a fucking chance."

She looked up at me, and pleaded, "Will you not read it? There are case studies of how this works and the results have been spectacular. Jackie said her second husband researched it and he was interested in it, but ultimately was just too old fashioned."

By this stage, I was taking deep breaths to try to reduce my anger, but it wasn't working. I hissed at her, shouting, "Well, if rejecting this is old fashioned, then I'm as old fashioned as him. Even presenting this is grounds to end our marriage; if you go ahead with it, our marriage is over, finished, finito. Do you understand?"

"Jackie said you would be initially upset, but you need to see the benefits. I have shown you what I can be like when I am happy. This weekend has been great. Doing this once a month will make every weekend like this," she said, in a voice which was half pleading, half whining. P

I didn't think she spotted it, but it grated on my nerves like someone running their fingernails down a blackboard.

I shook my head. "Marge, this weekend has been fake. Not only would I not accept what you are offering as a price for you being a slut; I promise you, I will walk out that door and never be back. No ifs, no buts, no attempts at counselling or reconciliation. Do I need to make myself any clearer?"

As I stood up, she lifted the pages of her printer. "Read these articles. They are by men who have lived this lifestyle. Look how they get turned on. I reckon after the first weekend, I would be happy to let you watch if you wanted." As she said this, she twirled her hair in a way that was intended to be flirty but, in the current circumstances, made her look like a whore touting for business.

I looked at the pages. They were all from erotic story websites. I started to laugh. "Do you realise these are all fiction? They are from men with fantasies, not reality."

I took another deep breath and continued, "IF you want to be married to me, this is not happening. If it does, we are over."

She stood up and tried to summon a commanding tone. "For god sake, Dan; for once, stop making this about you. We need to liven up our marriage and this is the fastest way to do it. I need some excitement and you need something to motivate you. Jackie, Mel and I are going to a hotel next weekend with three of Jackie's male friends. I have met them all over the last week, and they will give me fantasies which I will bring home to you and we will share them together. I never thought you would be so intractable. This is happening, Dan, get with the program."

With that, she walked out the door. I dropped back into my chair. I had five days to save my marriage; the question was, did I want to? I ordered a pizza for myself. When it was delivered, I walked back to the office.

Marge said, "I have made you dinner."

I just sarcastically replied, "Your food tastes bitter, just like your ultimatum." I then closed and locked the door. I heard her try the door.

Then she shouted through it, "That wasn't an ultimatum, it's a well-researched proposal to make our marriage last."

I ignored her.

I stayed in the office for about three hours, researching Jackie, her other friend Mel, who I had never heard about nor met, and who the three men might be. I also researched divorce law and my options to bolt from the house if the worst happened.

I came out around eight PM, and sat in the family room watching TV. She tried to sit on my knee, but I would not let her.

She eventually whispered, in what was supposed to be a sexy voice, "I'm going to bed, I hope you won't be long."

I stayed up watching TV for a couple of hours. I wanted to see if I could investigate what Jackie had been filling her head with. My first stop was her phone, but she had taken it to bed, not unusual. I went to the office and fired up her computer. In emails, I found all the links she had printed out had come from Jackie, along with a list of points to hit me with.

Her laptop and phone synced emails, so I saw an email she had sent from her phone about an hour ago when she was in bed. It read, "It went worse than I expected, he wouldn't even read the article and he is threatening divorce. He point-blank refused to talk and now won't come to bed even when I offered myself to him."

Jackie replied, "Keep in there, he is just being an arse but he's probably jerking off about it already."

I waited as long as I could, but I was so tired I had to go to bed. I did contemplate going to the spare room, but I knew she would think I was 'pouting' if I did that. Then she would think all she would have to do was get me back to bed for her plans to work. So I went to the master bedroom, changed and got into bed.

I was slowly drifting off to sleep when Marge reached under the covers and tried to grab my cock. I slapped her hand away and half turned to her. "No thanks, we won't be doing that again until you give up on this idea."

She tried to reach for me again, saying, "But how can I show you how good it will be if you won't let me touch you?"

Then it was time for the spare room. I got out of bed, saying, "The idea of touching you while you dream of cheating on me disgusts me. I don't want to touch you in any way. I will sleep in the guest room. This bed is now tainted with your dreams of infidelity."

As I left the room, she jumped out of bed after me, shouting, "No, no, it's not cheating when you know and it's for us. Please come and see how great it can be."

I closed and locked the door as she tried the handle. I then said, "Go away, Marge, I really don't want to see you, never mind touch you."

Monday pretty much went as expected. I left the house before she was up, and contacted a family law attorney and gave them the rundown. Our finances were simple, no kids, the current house was rented. We had our eye on a new house, but there were no contracts signed, I earned more than her, but spousal support would not be an issue as there were no kids and I paid the rent. I didn't need proof of infidelity, so I asked for the divorce papers to be drawn up on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour leading to irreconcilable differences.

I then went to the bank, opened a new account for myself and split the savings and investments down the middle. Back at the office, I changed the account for my salary from the joint account to my new account. I also prepared letters for the landlord to give one month's notice and letters to cancel all utilities.

When I arrived home on Monday night, I found Marge dressed in a tight T-shirt and loose shorts, clearly intended to show off her assets and give me easy access to what every I wanted. I could also smell dinner. She never cooked during the week, so the full press was on. As I walked in the door, she turned to speak, but I didn't look at her, just walked up the stairs, into the spare room and closed the door, locking it behind me. I had remembered to lift all the keys to the door before I left this morning, so there was no need to change locks or barricade myself in.

About ten minutes later, I heard the door handle being tried. Then a knock on the door before Marge said, "Dan, dinner is ready and I was hoping we could have a little loving tonight."

I lay on the bed and said, "Not hungry. Have you cancelled your trip for the weekend?"

She cleared her throat, and in a haughty voice, replied, "Of course not, that is why I feel so sexy, I can't wait to see you wave me off on Friday, and then see you sitting on the sofa on Sunday, waiting to hear all about it, then reclaiming me and maybe getting a little extra from my pussy. I feel all wet just thinking about it."

I laughed. I don't know why, but I knew it was not a pleasant laugh. "Marge, that isn't happening. All you are doing is destroying our marriage. Go downstairs and think about what you are doing. I have no interest in seeing you and the thought of touching you makes me sick right now."

She banged the door and demanded, "Dan Simpson, get out here now. This is vital for our marriage; you need to start getting used to it."

I didn't speak, didn't move, but worst of all... didn't feel anything. I should have been sad but I wasn't. I would grieve for my marriage later; right then, I just wanted this over and I was starting to hope she would just get on with it, so I could get the divorce underway.

Tuesday morning, I was up early and went to the main bathroom for a shower. When I was in the shower, I heard the door being tried two or three times. Then I heard Marge say, "Dan, should we save water and shower together?" I didn't even respond to her.

After a few moments of silence, she thumped the door and shouted, "God damn it, Dan, this is supposed to motivate you and me. Why are you being like this?"

I replied, "Because it is turning me off. I have no desire for your disgusting fantasy."

There were a few more seconds of silence. Then she spat out, "Look, Dan, this is what we are doing. I am offering myself to you now, if you don't want it, fine. I'm sure you will be even hornier by Sunday night."

I dried and dressed then left the house without going near her.

I checked out the local real estate on Tuesday, and found a month-by-month rental on the opposite side of town. I could not move in until the following Friday, so I booked a hotel in the mountains. It was winter, so it was cheap at this time of the year. I booked the next week of work, and waited for the hammer to fall on my marriage.

We avoided each other on Wednesday and Thursday. It was very easy as I lived in my room.

Thursday night, I printed off and signed all the letters, putting checks into each one for the costs up to closure.

On Friday morning, I sat at the kitchen table, and waited for Marge to come down the stairs. She came into the kitchen carrying a holdall. When she saw me, her face broke into a big smile and she came over to me holding her arms out for a hug.

She said, "I knew you would come round to this and would be here to see me off. I hope you are as excited as I am?"

I held my arm out, preventing her from reaching me, and replied, "I am here to see if you are going ahead with this scheme of yours. If you are, I will be leaving the house and will never be back. Do you understand?"

She was clearly angry and she spat out at me, "Dan, I expect you to be here at four PM on Sunday. This is how our marriage needs to develop. If you are not here, I will be cutting you off for a month,"

I actually laughed at her delusions. "You aren't listening. If you do this, I am cutting you off for life. I will be home at seven PM. If you are not here, then our marriage is history."

I was useless at work all day. I left the office early and went to see the attorney. He had completed all the papers and I showed him the banking that confirmed I had split everything fifty-fifty. We agreed that my wife should be served at eight AM on Monday morning in my former home. As I was leaving the attorney's office, I received a text message from a number I did not recognise. It contained a picture of my wife with a man holding her hand and they were standing at the check-in desk of a hotel I did not recognise. The message read, "Its time for you to become a cuckold. Suck up that cum wimp"