A short little ditty that gives new meaning to BTB. Read it with your sense of humor engaged.
GTT
"Vengeance is mine," sayeth Mike Lord
He is had watched his gorgeous wife work her way across the ballroom for the last thirty minutes, so that, with impeccable timing, she was as far from him as possible when the ball dropped at midnight. Surrounded by her rich, self-important peers, she would be passed around like a platter of hor d'ouevres, kissed on and felt up by all the executives where he worked, with special affection from his born-rich, imbecilic boss.
He knew this because his company's New Year's Eve party had played out just like this for the past two years. The first year, he let it go, attributing it to too much champagne. Last year, however, the clarion call sounded loudly and he began making provisions.
Feeling a tug at his coat, he turned to face Deirdre, Josephine's best friend and co-conspirator. "Happy New Year, Mike!" she exclaimed, reaching up to pull his head down for his annual pity kiss. He barely brushed her lips before pulling away and looking down into her brown eyes.
Deirdre was another society doyen, a trust-fund baby like his wife, from an even richer family than Jo's. He expected to see the little smirk she usually gave him, clarifying that she knew things he didn't because she was from the landed gentry; like his wife, and his boss.
Instead, he saw two new emotions: pity and concern.
"Mike, don't take this so seriously. She's just exchanging kisses, in the grand New Year's tradition. She'll be back in a little while, none the worse for wear, and she will show you again how much she loves you."
He looked at her skeptically.
Deirdre tried to reassure him. "She really does love you, you know. She's just very outgoing, vivacious and impetuous, while you -- you are intellectual and taciturn. Sometimes she needs a chance to be with others more like herself, but time with them only increases her appreciation for you."
"Okay, Deirdre. So that's why she spent all her time at her company's Christmas party under the mistletoe with her co-workers? We go to her Christmas party and she spends the night dancing with and kissing the top executives at her firm, and here tonight, at my firm's New Year's Ball, she spends all night dancing with and now kissing -- no, making out with, the executives from my firm.
"So by making out with everyone at the party except me, she is gaining new appreciation for me? Interesting concept!
"Tell me; is it another New Year's Grand Tradition to kiss George the Imbecile a dozen times? Or is that just her way of showing her love for me, since, you know, she knows how much I hate the little bitch?"
I'll give Deirdre this: she had enough compunction to be embarrassed. She could not hold my gaze, so she looked away, and tried again. "Mike, I see how upset you are, but you need to understand..."
"Really, Deirdre, I think I do understand. For the first time in our five-year marriage, I think I really do understand!"
I turned my back on her, returned to our table, retrieved and opened the briefcase I had placed under the table, and extracted a rather large, brightly wrapped package. With my back still to her, I pulled the ring off my finger and tied it in the middle of the bow she had to remove to open the package.
Turning back to Deirdre, I held the package out. "I'm going to leave now. Please give this to your friend when, or if, she tears herself out of the grasp of the men surrounding her. Tell her I said Happy New Year, and I hope she gets everything she deserves in 2020."
I turned to go, but Deirdre pulled at my arm. "Don't leave, Mike! I'll go get her; she's just had a little too much champagne again! You need to take her home!"
"No, Deirdre, I don't. She has a room here at the hotel. She's been here all day, entertaining men, while I worked. Of course, you know all that, because you've been here with her.
"She has her own car, her clothes, everything she needs. I'm certain that at least one of the gentlemen she's busy kissing will be more than happy to keep her happy. Or maybe they all will!
"Don't give me that look: you told me all the same lies last year. I gave her this year to decide: she has, and so have I. Goodbye, Deirdre. I can't say it won't be a relief to never see you again!"
As I made my way out of the ballroom, I nodded at Helen, the HR director with whom I spent the early part of the afternoon, while my boss and his cronies "helped set things up at the hotel." In reality, he was in the palatial suite he had reserved with the company credit card, pounding my wife.
Actually, I should have said 'they' were in the palatial suite pounding my wife. And I have the photographs and video to prove it! Helen does too, and the Chairman of the Board will within minutes.
After I exited the ballroom, Helen and her husband made their way to the crowd of men around Josephine. Deirdre was fighting her way through the horde of men, many of whom were insistent on kissing her, in the grand tradition.
A few tried to accost Helen, but they seemed to find the scowl of her husband, a former all-pro lineman to be discouraging.
She made it through the crowd to CEO George Burke and his paramour just before Deirdre did. She stopped her husband about six feet away, and watched. Deirdre's distraught look and shrill calling of her name caught Jo's attention, and broke George's embrace. She frowned at her friend's frantic look; Helen smiled.
Deirdre held out the gaudily wrapped present, and said something to Jo, who took the package, leaned closer, and seemingly asked Deirdre to repeat herself. "Mike left this for you! He's gone, Jo! He watched you flirting and teasing all night, and when you started kissing all these men, he gave me this package and left!"
Jo smiled. "Oh, you know Mike! He throws these little snit-fits when I neglect him for a few minutes. I'll go home, beg his forgiveness, fuck him silly, and all will be well.
He loves me! See, even when he's mad, he leaves my gift! Let's see what it is!"
"Jo, I don't think it's a gift..." Deirdre began, but Jo was busily untying the ribbon to open the package. When the ring hit the ground, he paused, frowned, and said, "What is that?"
George bent over, picked it up, held it out to her, and smirked, "Isn't this your husband's wedding ring?"
She stopped tearing at the paper, looked puzzled, and took the ring. She looked at Deirdre, who said, "I tried to tell you."
Jo began tearing the wrapping off the gift, and found a white gift box inside. Reassured, she smiled, shook the box, said, "It's heavy!" and began cutting the scotch tape on each side with her fingernail. When the tape on the third side broke, the contents of the box fell out and scattered across the floor.
She squatted in her knee-length gown so she could pick up the glossy sheets that had fallen. Others were squatting to pick up the ones that had sailed over near them. Suddenly everyone froze; Jo's eyes grew wide, and she screamed, "NO!"
He cry drew the attention of others in the area, and more people moved into their circle.
Deirdre's eyes were also wide in disbelief; she glanced up and saw the look of horror on George's face. He snatched the 8" x 10" glossy color photo at his feet off the ground, held it against his expensive suit, and involuntarily yelled, "What the fuck, Jo?" loudly enough that everyone in the proximity heard him.
All eyes went down to the photos lying all about, and saw Jo engaged in sex acts with persons not her husband!
There were numerous pictures of Jo and George, but also of Jo with other executives of the firm where Mike worked, and with Jo's co-workers and bosses. There weren't enough to cover the positions of the Kuma Sutra, but Mike had done a good job of selecting photos that proved Josephine wasn't averse to vaginal, anal, or oral sex, with men, women or toys, or any combination and number thereof.
Faced with a photo array of her sexual adventures, Jo fainted. She pitched over backward, and only hitting George's shoe kept her head from striking the tile floor and sustaining a likely concussion.
Deirdre knelt beside her, held the back of her head with her hand, lightly slapped her face, and frantically cried, "Jo! Jo! Are you alright, Jo! Talk to me, Jo -- are you alright?"
While the two women were on the floor, others began picking up the photos and looking at them. One woman then turned and slapped her husband as hard as she could while he was looking down at a photo he was holding. "You whoremonger! No wonder you can't keep me satisfied!"
He looked at her in stunned silence, until she swung her purse and caught him in the right eye; he clutched his eye, screamed in pain, and then crumpled to the floor when she kicked him in the balls with her closed-toe pump.
The woman knelt down and began systematically going through the photos on the ground; she paused, looked up, and declared, "You bitches that are married to the management of Taylor and Son might want to grab some of these photos and check them out. I see pictures of several other husbands I know fucking those two sluts!
"If you want to save on your divorce attorney, call me and I'll see if I can get us a group rate."
Nine other women knelt and began examining photos, and men began backing away.
"There are USB drives too!" one announced loudly as she held one up. "No telling what is on these!"
"You rotten cocksucker!" yelled a pretty blonde at a well-dressed older man, "Remember our pre-nup? I'll bankrupt your sorry ass!"
"Baby, I'm sorry! It didn't mean anything! She just kept hitting on me and finally I gave in, but it was only the once, and she wasn't nearly as good as you anyway, and..."
"Lying mother fucker!" the blonde screamed, holding up two more photos. In one, he was fucking Jo's mouth while George fucked her doggie; in the other, he was taking her up the ass while she rode another exec doggie.
