So What Happens Next??
Do you want to know what happened next? This is what. I didn't ask for any kind of O.K. to elaborate on someone else's story, so this is stand-alone. But it is short and simple. You'll see.
***********************************************************************************
I am down the street from my house, listening to the audio and watching the video of the action in my house. My wife was getting ready to meet me on our 10th wedding anniversary, for dinner. I knew about her affair and the fascination she had for my boss. His reputation with married wives had finally caught up with him. I was tipped off by a really pissed-off husband of another woman in the office that he had seduced. But it was too late. My wife had already succumbed. Typical measures-cameras in the house, mics all over, her phone tapped. Relatively easy and cheap. No P/I's involved- she was too easy and sloppy, once I started watching.
My boss finished his business- a blow job, for God's sake's-, and left. I started the car and left. She had to go get ready AGAIN for our date. I thought it was over, and the paperwork was ready to be served, based on how she reacted to my confrontation tonight at dinner. But it wasn't over, was it? Based on what I'd seen and heard, the marriage was over, though.
Everything was saved to a cloud storage site, subject to recall, dissemination, and use in court. But it probably won't be necessary. After tonight.
I followed him to his bar hookup. I pulled up in the alley, while he went to one of the covered parking spots on the side of the club. I pulled on a black balaclava, donned leather gloves, and checked the.45 cal. Colt auto, and slipped out to intercept him as he made his way to the front door. The decorative bushes screened us from the few early patrons. I brushed past him and turned and blew the back of his head off. I stooped and grabbed his watch, rings, cash, car keys, and his wallet. Of course, the simpering fuck had a money clip. Showoff!!
I dumped his wallet, keeping the credit cards and other money, and left his driver's license. I wanted him ID'd. I turned, got in my car, and left. I headed for home.
Meanwhile- My wife
I went back upstairs and got cleaned up. This stupid obsession with Dave had to end. Or not. I loved the submissiveness of it. I couldn't get enough. I thought it was over. He used you, then cast you aside. It had been almost four weeks, and I thought he was out of my system. Then, a knock on the door, he walks in, and I was naked and sucking his cock. I was hooked.
I checked my makeup in the mirror- a second time that night. I looked at the watch my husband had given me for our 5th anniversary; a Longines. Good, I had ten minutes before the Uber showed up. I raced downstairs in the two-story showcase home I had to have. Mortgaged to the hill. And it was upside down in financing. There was almost zilch in equity, but it was what I wanted and my sucker husband couldn't say no. Whatever I wanted, I got. That's what 'entitled women' could do. I checked my hair in the hall mirror just as the car arrived. I left for the restaurant. (He'll never know! I remembered thinking.)
Back to Me
I arrived just as my wife was leaving. I waited down the block as the Uber left, then pulled into the driveway. I went in and upstairs, grabbed my two suitcases and my duffel, and packed everything I wanted. Then I went downstairs and put them in the back of my Ford Edge. Her Audi was safely ensconced in the garage. It was in her name, too. I loved the shit that was coming.
I went back in and got myself a Coke from the fridge. I walked into the living room, placed the can of soda on the end table (NO COASTER), and spooled up the tube. I turned off my phone. Went to Paramount and found Deadpool 2 and proceeded to enjoy myself.
Wife, again
I arrived at the restaurant and got to our table, ten minutes early. No husband. No problem. I ordered a hurricane and sat down to wait. There was a dance floor and after about thirty minutes (I was starting to be concerned) I was fending off sleazes who wanted to dance. I tried calling my husband, but it went straight to voicemail. After an hour, with his mailbox full, I was pissed. Where the fuck was he? It never dawned on me that something could be wrong with him. After almost two hours, and having several men removed from my table, I rose paid my now sizable tab, called for an Uber, and staggered to the front door. Refusing several 'unsolicited' offers of assistance, my ride showed up and I gave him my address. I stewed and fumed all the way to the house. It was close to 10:30, almost three hours past our dinner reservation. ON OUR TENTH ANNIVERSARY!! I was furious. I would ream his ass out for standing me up. He better be dead. Who the fuck did he think he was??
We pulled up and I paid the driver. Well, I gave him my credit card. I was about out of folding money. I saw his car in the driveway. I was going to castrate him. Who the fuck did he think he was?? I stormed into the house and yelled. "MICHEAL? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU??" His mellow response cut me to the quick.
"In the living room, cunt. What's it to you?"
Stunned, I stumbled into the front room, where we seldom, if ever, entertained. It was much too formal and swanky to just sit in. I walked in and there he was. WATCHING TELEVISION! SITTING ON MY DAMASK SETTEE!! AND THERE WERE FIVE COKE CANS ON THE COFFEE TABLE- WITHOUT COASTERS!!! I exploded, in my drunken stupor.
