Infidelity Leads to Criminal Ending

This is my entry for the Crime and Punishment 2024 Author Challenge

DISCLAIMER ONE: Some characters mentioned in this story are real historical figures who are no longer living. This is a work of fiction and none of the actions portrayed in this story are linked to any person, living or dead.

DISCLAIMER TWO: Even though cuckolding is portrayed in a negative light for the purpose of this story, I personally have no quarrels with anyone who is in the lifestyle.

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I'm lying here, my brain is in that weird world between sleep and wakefulness. I slowly become aware of Emma next to me. She's moaning and thrashing her legs in the blacked-out bedroom and our king sized bed. Man, I wish I could join her in that dream. Lately it's been rough between us, and truthfully, I haven't gone this long without sex since High School. I decide to take a shot at it as my own erection makes it's presence known. I rollover and reach for my wife of thirteen years. Fumbling around between sheets and pajama tops I Find her large soft breast with a very hard nipple, her breathing is labored, she's already breaking a light sweat. As I pull myself on top of her she wakes and groggily asks, "Frank, is that you?"

"Son-of-a-bitch! Wakeup Emma. What in the holy hell is going on? Who is Frank?"

"What are you talking about? Frank who?"

"You called out a name in your sleep, you asked if I was Frank."

"Don't be silly. I don't even know anyone named Frank."

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"You have a big problem Ted."

"Damn... What did you find?"

"Emma is having an affair, but it's not just an emotional affair like you thought, it's a full-blown physical affair."

"Ouch. Okay, that hurts. When I called you I suspected an affair, there are so many red flags, but right now I'm having a hard time believing it. I can't see Emma as a cheater. How certain are you this involves actual physical sex? On a scale of 1-10..."

He interrupted me.

"I'm really sorry Ted, it's a 10, I have video. It's 100% certain."

"Give me a second." I had to leave the room. I'd known Orson for 20 years and he was more than a private investigator to me. I'd hired him in the past, too many times to count. Those times were always for business purposes and didn't have any emotional involvement. I didn't want him to see me cry. I broke down in the waiting area for a few minutes. My secretary, Clarice, was quietly watching me, a concerned look on her face. I pulled myself together, wiped away a tear, and gave her a reluctant smile, and rejoined Orson in my office.

You said this is a big problem? It sounds like a small problem with a simple solution - divorce."

"It's not going to be that easy. The big problem isn't that she's having an affair, It's who she's having the affair with. You are going to have to be careful how you maneuver the situation, extremely careful. Your wife has brought another person into your world, and that other person is a monster."

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Earlier I asked Clarice to clear my calendar for the meeting with my old friend and private investigator, Orson Kimball. At the time I assumed we would need hours to go over the plethora of information he said he obtained for me. It turned out to be a short meeting. He quickly explained his findings and handed me a file-box filled with evidence of my wife's infidelity. He explained the box had transcripts of text messages, bank receipts, and witness testimony. Orson was very concerned about me. He strongly suggested I don't watch the video evidence he had obtained. I promised to consider his advice.

He warned, "It's pretty bad and you're going to hate everyone involved in this case." He graciously offered to stay and support me while I looked thru the box, but I was too stunned to continue. I couldn't face it right now.

Orson's biggest concern was what he called my wife's AP- affair partner. He had me sit down, then said, "The AP's name is Francis Salemmi."

I looked confused, so he continued, "Also known as Cadillac Frank, local mobster and boss of the Patriarca crime family."

I couldn't believe my ears. Everyone in Boston knows Cadillac Frank. He's bigger-than-life, handsome, charismatic, and rich. I even remember talking to Emma about him several times in the past. I know he testified before congress 15 years ago regarding the Irish Gang Wars. Even the United States government had failed to put a collar on Frank. Both Orson and I sat silently for a minute. We both knew Frank could have any woman he set his eyes on.

"Why is he fucking my wife?", I yelled much louder than I should have.

Orson shrugged sadly, gave me a bear hug, and as he walked to the door said, "It's complicated."

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Don't get me wrong, I know why Cadillac would want to screw my wife. My wife is a raving beauty. Emma was Miss Connecticut 16 years ago and has done nothing but improve with age. She's a hazel-eyed brunette with DD tits and an ass to die for. Also, until very recently, a lady. A real lady and devoted wife. She stood by me while I worked my way up the corporate ladder. The only real conflict we ever had was I wanted to start a family, but Emma demurred. Overall, I thought she was happy as a stay at home non-mom, though occasionally she would complain about not having her own money or career. As far as I was concerned, I had the world by the tail. That is until 3 months ago when I noticed a change in my wife.

In June the bedroom suddenly went cold. I tried everything to rekindle the fire, but nothing seemed to work. She seemed happy but distracted, constantly checking her phone and texting. I thought she needed a therapist but she insisted she was fine. She implied she was having hormonal problems she's was trying to work out.

I'm not stupid, I started keeping track of all the red flags and they just kept piling up. The last straw was the mumbling in her sleep, "Frank". That's when I was convinced she must be having an emotional affair. Never in a hundred years would I have thought she was having a physical affair. That would be completely out of character for the Emma I knew. Our sex life had always been off the charts great until recently, and I didn't know one Frank either. But here I am today, staring at a box of evidence and realizing I'm also in bed with Cadillac Frank.

I hit the intercom button, "Clarice, cancel all of my appointments until Monday. I have a family emergency."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, but I need you to carefully follow my instructions. I'm sorry to act like this way, but this is a serious matter and I need your complete confidentiality. There's a file-box full of papers and a DVD behind my desk. I need a copy of all the documents and the video media, and I need you to do this without reading, examining, or watching any of the contents. Eventually I'll fill you in, but for now please follow these directions explicitly. Put the copies in my office safe, and take the original box directly to my attorney's office before you leave today. Give his secretary instructions not to examine the contents, but to hold the box until I need it.

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I drove my Lexus into our upscale neighborhood, pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Emma's Benz was parked in it's usual spot. The house looked beautiful, but at the same time something had changed. The light hit differently today. I wasn't sure I could ever look at this house the same way again. I took a deep breath, knowing I had to do some of my best acting. Acting like nothing had happened. Acting like I was just as naive as before. Acting like the fool I had been.

Emma greeted me at the door, all smiles, wearing an outfit I hadn't seen before. She looked...great. She threw her arms around me and gave me a wet kiss.

"How is my handsome husband?"

"I'm great babe. How was your day?"

"Boring. I just stayed home, read, and watched TV."

I smiled. I knew this was a lie. Orson had placed a tracking device on the Benz days ago. Although my phone couldn't tell me where Emma had been, it told me exactly where the car had been, and it had been at a large compound just outside of Boston most of the day.

"Well, you're lucky I'm home. I'm glad to keep you entertained."

"No. I'm the one who's going to entertain you tonight. It's been way too long."

Alarm bells were going off in my head. She knows I know, or she thinks I'm about to find out about her affair. Or maybe it ended badly and now I get to play the "pick me" dance and swallow what little self-respect I have left. Maybe she's pregnant and needs sex to cover her ass, so I could possibly be the father. I felt a little repulsed by her, and at the same time, I felt a little repulsed by myself. My cock was getting hard. If I had a chance to get laid for the first time in months, I wasn't going to turn the offer down. I'll just let everything play out for the night and see where this goes.

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"Let's have dessert before dinner, okay?" And with that she unbuttoned her blouse, braless she freed those beautiful DD tits that had been solely mine until recently. I reached out and pinched her nipples hard and got an "OUCH" for my efforts. I then picked her up and carried her to the master bedroom and tossed her on the bed.

"Okay, that was a little rough."

"Yea, I know. It's been a while and I have a lot of pent-up sexual energy." I tried to smile, but it might have been more like a sneer. She looked fearful but offered a weak smile of her own.

That was the end of the conversation. I tore her blouse, pulling it in two directions from her shoulder and yanking the blouse behind her back. The long sleaves effectively locked her arms at her sides. I pulled her ass to the edge of the bed. I didn't bother to remove her skirt, I just forced it up above her waist and ripped off the lacy underwear, throwing them to the floor. This was going to be about me having things my way.

Because our bedroom had been dry for months I expected her to be dry, but I was wrong. She was wet. Her pussy was running like the Amazon River, swollen, her clit was engorged and begging for attention. I admit, I was confused for a moment by her physical desire but I was in no mood for foreplay. I pulled down my pants and exposed my fat 8 inch cock.

My cock had been denied any attention for months and it was thicker, harder, and angrier than she had ever seen it. She tried to reach out to hold me back, but realized her hands couldn't move from her side.

I forced her legs apart and her knees up to her tits. She was fully exposed at the edge of the bed and I took a minute to look at the sweltering hot mess that was her pussy. I could smell the aroma, it was a mixture of vanilla, amber, and sandalwood. I fought the temptation to lick and nibble that large proud clit standing at attention near her swollen lips. Everything about Emma is designed to make me crazy with lust. She is an aphrodisiac embodied in flesh. For a moment I forgot the betrayal, forgot the other man, forgot that our life as we know it was never going to be the same. Then, clarity returned.

In one quick movement I shoved the entire length of my cock deep into her vagina. She let out a shriek, but it wasn't the scream I wanted or expected. It was more of a guttural, 10,000 year-old wail. Something older than civilization itself. I had successfully surprised her, but I didn't hurt her. She was actually enjoying this. Her enjoyment sparked my anger and I let it all out. I pounded her flesh. I moved from side-to-side. I pulled out completely and drove into her time-and-time again. I was focused on my own need for release so I was surprised when she orgasmed multiple times in the first few minutes. Again, I was confused. Why had I been cut off for the last three months. She was acting like she hadn't been fucked properly in a long time.

I'd seen enough of her face, so I pulled out and flipped her over onto her stomach, with her legs hanging off the bed. From this position and angle my cock feels more like 10 inches. Emma braced herself, using her locked arms and hands to spread her ass cheeks. I slapped her ass as hard as I could, leaving a red handprint on her right butt cheek. She squealed and glared over her shoulder at me. I pressed her face down into the mattress and entered her pussy from behind with all the force I could muster. Emma took it like a champ and started moaning as I picked up the pace. Then I came hard, shooting rope after rope of pent-up seminal fluid deep into her already sloppy pussy. She joined me with an orgasm of her own. I was shocked. She was shocked. I just kept coming and coming like it was never going to end. I didn't know one guy could store that much semen.

At last, I felt a tremendous release and I pulled out with a plop. Three months worth of cum began flowing out of her gaping hole and onto the side of the mattress. As I stood there starring at the mess that was Emma's pussy, I slapped her ass one more time, hard. She reacted by gushing pussy juice. Not a little squirt, a flowing gush. Her thighs and legs, the whole side of the bed, the carpet, everything was soaking wet.

Emma was seeking air like a marathon runner. We'd never had sex like this before. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she looked back at me and inside me something snapped. I had my first ever panic attack. It was a physical event- not mental, not emotional, physical. Fight or flight kicked in, an instinct handed down since the beginning of man. If I chose fight something bad was going to happen to Emma. I had to go, and I had to go now. I looked at her with crazy, bulging eyes. She looked back with a mixture of fear, concern, and confusion. I pulled up my pants, and ran.

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I pulled into the Marriott and told the valet I didn't have any bags. I looked rough and he gave me a knowing smile. I guess I'm not the first husband to escape the house and land at the Marriott Marquis. But, if you have to land somewhere, this is the place to land. I stumbled up to the bar and ordered bourbon.

"Make it a double, neat - please"

"You got it. Is everything okay?"

"No, but I can't go into it. I appreciate your concern though."

Two doubles later my breathing was normal, my pulse was normal, and I was no longer sweating like a pig. I got a room on the top floor, took off my shirt, and turned on my phone for the first time since leaving the office earlier today. I had seven text messages and three missed calls from Emma. I'm sure she's having a panic attack of her. I ignored her... There was a voicemail message from Clarice and I punched in the passcode and listened in horror.

"Ted, I don't know how to tell you this and I'm sorry to leave it as a voicemail message, but after you left the office today Orson Kimball's office called and said he died unexpectedly soon after leaving our building. They didn't say how he died, but they said it was very important that I get this message to you as soon as possible. I'm so sorry. I know you two were close friends."

"I copied everything as directed and I'm leaving now for your attorney's office. Call if you need anything, and again, I'm sorry for your loss."

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My first instinct was to get in my car and drive to the office. But truthfully, I was reeling from the discovery of my wife's infidelity and four glasses of bourbon. Am I crazy? It just seems like too much of a coincidence that Orson was dead after snooping around on Cadillac Frank for a couple of weeks. Oh my god, this can't be happening. I was overcome with guilt for involving my friend in this mess. Should I call the police? Tell them what? I decided it had to wait until morning.

I sent one text to Emma saying, "We are officially no-contact. Anything you want from me will need to go through my attorney. Have a nice life." Then I blocked her.

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The first thing I checked the next morning was the location of the Benz. It was traveling west out of Boston, probably heading to the same compound it was located at yesterday. With Emma out of the house I used this opportunity to go home and grab my laptop, some clothes, toiletries - and my Glock. I'm an computer guy, but I've always loved the engineering and technology of firearms. This was a really nice weapon and I felt like I needed personal protection. This particular Glock handgun fires 40 caliber Smith & Wesson ammunition. It was loaded with hollow-points, and I had three additional magazines in my pocket. If you don't know what that means, the 40-caliber hollow-point will leave a hole in your chest about the size of a dime, but it will leave a hole the size of orange coming out your back. It hurt's like hell if you ever catch one. It also has 400 pounds of knock down force. I felt safer.

I thought things couldn't get any worse, then I arrived at the office and the police cars were out front. The office had been burglarized, everything was dumped out, including the safe, and the box from Orson was missing. No prizes for figuring out who did this. The police were asking questions and I felt like I had no choice but to tell them what had transpired the previous day. I told them about my wife's unusual behavior, my panic attack, Orson's death, and the burglary all happening in less than 24 hours. I was actually relieved when the officers didn't believe me. I saw them exchange glances and an eye-roll. That's fine. I did my duty, so just investigate this as an office burglary and get out.

I gave Clarice the next week off paid, and told her to make herself scarce. I left the office and took a very random route, making sure I wasn't followed, to the car rental company. One Ford F-150 later and I was on my way to my attorney's office.

It was time to see what's in that box.

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Orson had labeled the DVD "Your Eyes Only". He was a hardened PI and the fact that this video bothered him was a very bad sign. I put the DVD into my laptop, took a big swig of coffee, and tried to eat a dry bagel. I realized I hadn't eaten anything in 36 hours and I was getting low blood sugar. I needed a clear head to avoid deadly mistakes.

A file menu came up on the screen and it was clear that Orson had managed to hack into Cadillac Frank's media server. There were dozens of mundane folders labeled security cameras, Instagram photos, music.... I checked a few of these folders and it was obvious this was Frank's stuff, photos of him, his family, and his pets. Looking at his wife and family my mind went towards revenge, not just for me, but for Orson. I want to hurt this guy. I want to hurt him real bad. One of the folders was named Accounting and contained hundreds of Excel files, Word documents, and some encrypted documents. This might be interesting and useful later, but for right now I'm looking for evidence of my WW's (wayfaring wife's) infidelity. Orson referred to my wife as WW and Frank as AP. It was kind of clandestine and I amused myself by trying to use the same language. In a way it depersonalized them so I could focus on facts.

Towards the end of the list was a folder called Your Eyes Only, so I went there. This folder had several large video files. I clicked on the first one. It appeared to be professionally shot with at least two camera angles. What in the fuck is this about?

I wasn't expecting the jarring reaction I experienced when my naked wife Emma walked into the video, leading Cadillac Frank by the hand. I didn't know it was possible to feel so many feelings at the same time- betrayal, humiliation, anger, hurt, hate, insecurity, embarrassment, anxiety- all rolling through my body in the same moment. This must be what total devastation feels like. My looked at the floor and could feel my countenance fall.