Frolic Along a Dull Lane

For better or for worse, the worse it might be...

Big old houses with their city gardens and crafty spaces set the scene for this tale. It's not a psychological character study with flaws and weaknesses permeating the journey to its conclusion. It's a simple story of cost and consequences without a bit of redeeming quality drawing instead upon my own familiarity.

It was a struggle to categorize this tale so with a wife and promiscuity, a husband and his nearly Victorian sense of fidelity, I chose to leave it where I've resided most, here in Loving Wives. It is not a ribald exercise in crafting a jism saga so if you really need to get your nut at this precise moment I will not be offended in the least if you head off to another tale but please come back.

Many thanks to the Black Rand for pulling this collection of writers together for another celebration of stories, The Magical Mystery Tour. She is a busy woman and made all the more so with her continuing efforts at improving a thriving writers community. The reception has been terrific among the regulars here and as always there is the small disgruntled element that finds a perverse joy in pissing on any parade within reach of their small stream. By all means, piss.

I'm just a journeyman so please bear with me for any mistakes I've made.

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The checkered gabardine overcoat still held the morning dew as David shook it and hung it up on the rail just inside the foyer to the old stone mansard home at the end of the lane. It had hung on the garden post as nightfall set in and rolled on toward dawn making itself visible through the lens of steaming coffee as the man of the house peered out onto the fresh soil of the garden plot; a spade at the ready to uproot vegetables when needed.

At precisely 9 AM as the chime struck on the mantle clock, the doorbell rang and his spoon fell to the floor. It was a hasty opening; a meticulous turn of the knob yet rushed.

"Good morning, sir. Are you David Morehouse?" The taller of the two rather drab looking gentlemen stood on the entry stoop looking more past him than at him.

"Yes, sir, I am. What can I do for you?"

"I am Lieutenant Detective Simpson and this is my partner Detective Seagerson." He nodded almost imperceptivity at the shorter man to his rear. "Might we come in? We are looking into a matter concerning Lydia Morehouse. She is your wife, is she not?"

Surprise fitted itself upon his face and with animated purpose David invited the gentlemen into the parlor offering refreshments once seated. Both men were strictly to business declining the offer and instead proceeded with their inquiry.

"Mr. Morehouse, when did you last see your wife?" The lieutenant detective asked while his wandering eyes took in the scenery and décor of the room.

"I suppose it was last weekend, Saturday morning to be precise. She was off to visit her family up in Hiram; her mother lives on the old farm and is not altogether well it seems. What is this about, Detective?"

Both detectives glanced at each other before the lead continued, ignoring his question.

"I see. We understand you run a firm down on Congress Street, equities, investments, is it?"

David merely nodded but took note of the readiness of his inquisitors.

"So, have you talked with her since she left?"

"No, she prefers it that way when she's upcountry. She understands how I feel about much of her family and likewise. Again, what is this about?"

"Do you know Phillip Bergman?" The short detective asked abruptly. The senior man seemed a bit annoyed with the cut in but said nothing.

"I've heard the name but I don't think I've ever been formally introduced to him. You might want to talk with the lady next door. I believe she used to be a Bergman. Rosalyn's her name, Rosalyn Sanders, that's her family name but I'm sure she used to be a Bergman."

Maybe out of nervous habit or unconscious deflection David inadvertently glanced toward the back of the house where the doorway to the garden ground was still open to the fresh air.

"Given the circumstances, Mr. Morehouse, we suspect other than innocent occurrences may be at play here. We contacted your wife's family and they never heard anything from her, nothing since her previous visit last month. You can understand our concern, I am sure."

David stared at the two men momentarily.

"Do you suspect this Phillip Bergman fellow as having something to do with Lydia's absence?"

Lieutenant Detective Simpson looked directly at David as he told him they did not have enough information at this time to make that determination.

"Did Mrs. Morehouse know Phillip Bergman as far as you are aware?"

Maybe it was a pique of angst over an undesirable circumstance showing on his brow or deep in his eyes. He was sure the detectives picked up on it but he said nothing and just shook his head.

"We will want to search the house and grounds, Mr. Morehouse, standard procedure you know."

"What? Surely I am not a suspect in this matter?"

The detectives looked at him and brushed decorum aside.

"We can secure the warrant if necessary, sir."

"I will want my counsel in that case."

David excused himself to his study and placed his calls before returning to the parlor and informed the detectives that his counsel was speedily on his way and they would need a warrant to proceed. The two men just looked at each other and the senior fellow excused himself to the front stoop where he made his request for a warrant.

Half an hour later two more policemen arrived along with David's counsel and the search and investigation continued......

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A fortnight previously Lydia Morehouse sat perched on the wicker recliner positioned on Rosalyn Sanders sun porch watching the couple consume themselves in sheer lust; Rosalyn on her back on the chaise as Phillip, her ex-husband, buried his glistening prick deep into her moistened quim.

Sweaty flesh slapped together in sexual rhythm as the pair grunted until Phillip rose up on his haunches and nutted the woman beneath him. She was his second; Lydia had taken the first breeding and as she sat perched, her thigh splayed open, the milky seed could be seen leaking in a small rivulet onto the seat.

"Jesus, that is fucking hot." Phillip groaned as he sat up and admired his conquests.

Both women rose up and retreated into the kitchen before returning with robes and drinks. Phillip had already slipped his trunks on and had queued up his theme, Back in Black, and was well into his rather obnoxious peacock strut when they seated themselves.

Rosalyn just rolled her eyes at the spectacle and turned to Lydia.

"Do you still think we can pull it off?" She asked her neighbor as the woman leered lustily at her ex-husband.

"If I didn't, we wouldn't be here. Besides, David is nothing but putty when it comes to me. If he had half the dick Phillip is swinging around I'd keep him. "Lydia replied as she dropped onto her hands and knees and made her way over to Phillip.

"How many times can you get it up, Daddy Bull?" she asked him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He just grunted an unintelligible reply and pulled his trunks down past his semi erect package.

Lydia pursed her lips and engulfed the spongy head sucking Phillip's cock to the base and back as she caressed his hanging sack. It didn't take long. With her hot breath and moist lips bringing him to attention he just laid back and enjoyed her ministrations.

Rosalyn watched the two of them, her ex taking full advantage of the cock sucking the cunt from next door was giving him. It was his plan originally to seduce her and fuck her senseless or so he thought. That was one of his few talents; he could fuck all night and was hung for the job. Outside of that he was just a worthless turd but Lydia wanted him. She liked it.

Lydia's tongue and lips worked the prick in her mouth until Phillip seized her by the head and spurted his ejaculate into the back of her throat. Without missing a stroke, she swallowed his seed, licking her lips afterwards with a devilish gleam in her eye.

"Once we have the money, Phillip will take care of the rest." Lydia said to Rosalyn as Phillip rubbed his hands in glee.

"Six million you said, right? Three way split?"

Lydia looked over at the talking phallus, pursed her lips and nodded approvingly.

She wasn't always so calculating and wanton. There were the good years, she remembered, but it grew into something unsatisfying; somewhere there was greener grass, bigger rings, newer models, and shiny bric-a-brac. David was staid, so predictable, so boring then there was Phillip; Phillip with his everlasting cock and stamina and his revelry switch set to eternity. He told her he'd kill for her and she had an orgasm.

Perhaps the sodden path began many years earlier up in Hiram where her mother parked an old weather beaten Airstream off behind the shed at her family's overgrown farm. Lydia and her sister shared pull down bunks as her mother entertained a variety of flotsam on the other end, often sending the sisters to play in the barn until her pleasures were sated.

There was an endless stream of men in and out of their lives and eventually even into the intimate confines of both the girls continuing until Lydia ran away before graduating out of high school. She measured herself against the picked over misery her mother and family offered and chose an escape accompanied by a promise to become somebody, anybody but who she was living in that tin can. Yet in the end, the apple stares up at the branch it fell from...

Rosalyn looked in studied silence until she whispered "I want to watch him kill him."

For whatever odd reason the three of them thought that to be the funniest thing as they laughed in unison.

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The Lieutenant Detective stood looking at the fresh soil of the garden rubbing his brow deep in thought. He had already probed the loose soil with a rod and found nothing. Still, there was something about it that wouldn't settle in his mind. The soil was sandier and much lighter than the darker soil around it. It was out of place.

"You've been working in your garden a lot, Mr. Morehouse?" He asked.

"Yes, I've been building the beds, thinking of a good row of greens to put in for next autumn."

Still, it remained unsettled.

The detectives and the other members of the search team combed through the house and basement as well as the grounds and later gathered in front of the house in animated conversation. David stood watching them along with his counsel.

"It's standard procedure, David. I would not be concerned at this point but we certainly need to sit down and go over the events of the day and take precautionary measures."

The police remained in the front yard for a considerable time as some of the neighbors congregated at the mailboxes wondering over all the excitement. Rosalyn Sanders home remained unobtrusively quiet as if vacant and uninterested, not even a stir at the curtains. It was the buzz of his phone in the pocket that broke David's stare.

"It's done." The message on text stated.

Nothing more needed to be said.

The two detectives strode down the walk and approached Rosalyn's house ringing the bell and knocking several times on the heavy oak door facing the street without results. They peered into the bushes and even one of the windows before walking around toward the backside. Seagerson stooped down and picked something up near the back door to the sun porch.

"I've found something you need to take a look at." He yelled out to his senior.

With gloved hands the lead detective held the evidence up to the light and examined it closely before whistling to the other police still on site next door and they came scurrying to the back side of the Sanders home. Of course they deliberated for a several moments until the better of them turned the doorknob and entered the unsecured abode.

David's esquire had settled into an easy chair in the study and reviewed notes as his client observed the happenings next door. Before long another car arrived and two more officers entered the scene. Another fifteen minutes passed and a burst of activity excited the neighborhood.

Another police car arrived followed by an EMT vehicle and they all entered the house next door. For several minutes officers came and went scurrying between the front door and the back yard.

"Clearly they've found something." The counsel exclaimed as they watched the EMTs enter the front door with a gurney.

Nearly an hour later they exited with multiple black plastic bags secured on top of the gurney and the two investigating detectives following. As the gurney was loaded into the vehicle, Lieutenant Detective Simpson and Detective Seagerson returned to the Morehouse residence.

"Mr. Morehouse, Counsel... we'd like your client to come down to the station house so we can take a proper statement." Simpson said looking at the attorney.

"There is no need for that. My client will have nothing to say that hasn't already been said. Anything you might want to ask can be done right here but again, he has nothing to state at this point. If you are going to Mirandize my client, please do so now."

"You know we can take him in and hold him." The shorter detective piped up while his senior scowled at him.

"And I'll have a writ before you can fix your coffee. In the meantime, if you have completed your search, let's wrap things up, shall we? We realize the warrant will entitle you to return if you choose but I will insist on my presence if you do, as is my client's right."

Both detectives were none too pleased at being dismissed so readily but they knew as well as the counsel there was no choice if Morehouse was not willing. A writ of Habeas Corpus would have him free before sundown especially with the esquire's well known connections.

Still, Simpson pondered over gnawing thoughts. The fresh soil continued to provoke an interest and there was something else. The home was modestly furnished in outward appearances yet each piece, the choice of accent pieces spoke refinement and wealth. The marble tray next to the divan was not a box store knockoff. The wealth was subtle, almost deliberately masked in simplicity. After years of this police work, one thing the man knew; money is always a potential motivating factor to take into account in suspicious circumstances.

And now the circumstances, at least next door were more than suspicious. Body parts and a greater mystery would consume the detectives time at this point and certainly there would be a return visit to the Morehouse residence. There was not just the body parts but the mystery of who made the call and concerns that brought them out here in the first place.

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Lydia gazed at the specimen before her through eyes heavily lidded from the black hashish that Phillip had crumbled up earlier. The bulbous head strained before her with its piss slit oozing a drop of clear slippery pre-cum waiting for her adulterous tongue to swirl around, catching it on the tip before smearing it on her already wet lips.

Eight inches and thick, a cock whore's delight, it waited for the perverse woman's mouth to engulf it but patience was never the virtue of an oaf like Phillip. Maybe that was the attraction she had for the man; he was an thug, a well- endowed, stamina-driven lout who served only one purpose, well, a couple of them if truth ever shone on either of them.

"Suck my prick and stop wasting time."

With both large hands holding her skull tight, Phillip fucked her mouth bumping the head onto the back of her throat with each thrust before she allowed herself to take him deeper. With deliberate slowness he plunged the large prick balls deep into her moist mouth and throat. It was pornographic, whorishly so.

Rosalyn wasn't far off. The supplier of the dope, a brutishly large Hispanic man, scruffy and ill mannered, had her on her knees and elbows with her exposed, spread ass turned upwards obscenely revealing her puckered and unprotected anus. Jesus or Humberto or Pedro or whatever the fuck his name was; neither woman could remember at that point; had his dark veiny cock lined up and with the guidance of his extended thumb, pushed past the sphincter until Rosalyn's ass swallowed it up and allowed easier access.

Soon the brute was fucking her ass as he held her cheeks wide open and the oaf was skull fucking his ravaged whore filling the strewn room with the carnal sounds of an impromptu bordello. Ruthless ravishment was apropos for the scene; it was the source of Lydia's strongest orgasms and why she had thrown her moral proclivities to the wind, that and the dope.

"Why did you bring him into the mix, Phillip?" Rosalyn asked while nodding at the man lying back on the bed worn from his exertions.

"None of your damn business except I needed him. Besides I'm paying him, not you."

Lydia just shrugged. "Whatever it takes to do it right."

It was Wednesday afternoon last and the four of them were upstairs in the master bedroom of Rosalyn's home making their final plans.

"Are you going to gut him?" Rosalyn asked her ex almost salivating from the excitement the question posed.

Lydia looked at her and contemplated her sick perversity. They were never originally going to kill David, instead planning on transferring the money and traveling to South America somewhere, maybe Uruguay. That was fine until they realized that only Lydia had a passport and Phillip had outstanding warrants on him and Rosalyn was only interested in smoking dope and fucking and didn't care where. Lydia decided they would part company when it was over. Both of them were stupid people in any event.

The best of plans never mesh well with stupidity and dope addled minds. In this case, sex and dope were just a substitute for planning and before they could formulate a coherent strategy, one or all of them were on their backs being ravaged by the other. It was a 'blood simple' mindset.

Rosalyn and Phillip suggested killing him and disposing of the body giving cause to think David had run off with the funds. Lydia shrugged and went along with it when it was suggested. Maybe it was the opium laced hashish that did the thinking for her. In any event they were here now and two days away from carrying out their dark scheme.

"What do you mean am I going to gut him? It's not a damn thrill kill, you stupid cunt." Phillip sneered.

Rosalyn just pulled on her cigarette and blew smoke in his direction as the brute sucked on one of her nipples.

Lydia pondered the past several days' activity. It had been easy to get the passwords, far easier than she thought. They were in David's little black book right there in the front drawer. When it was done she would have to erase her tracks but she couldn't do that until the transactions were complete several minutes after the transfers. That was her end of the deal; Phillip and Rosalyn would take care of David and they would meet back here at the house... blood simple......

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By early evening the police had left the scene next door except for a sole police cruiser parked at the curb and a night duty officer to stand watch from the front seat. Pouring himself a cup of tea in the kitchen,