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.
