The Editor

Forward

Commenters when replying about a Story, please tell the author the name story. Some of these authors have well in excess of a hundred stories. They will not know which story you are commenting on. Also if you reply anonymous and do not reference the story, I cannot do anything. I cannot even reply.

Also look at date of authors stories when criticizing. See if there has been improvements. I try to do it without editing program, but I have dyslexia. So you can see problem. Also has a problem with auto correct. I was told by another author to turn it off.

Most authors do not mind you emailing them and critiquing them, as long as you keep it civil. I will not allow anyone to talk to me worse than my wife does. That should give you plenty of leeway.

I wrote this for fun. It is way over the top. Pretty close to a parody.

I want to thank all the writers and commenters that gave me permission to mention them in the story, although I couldn't reach PapaToad.

I never heard back from George Anderson, but I borrowed one of his characters. I used her before in another one of my stories. She is from "February Sucks".

I want to thank an unknown Literotica member for proofreading my story and giving me some helpful ideas to make it flow better. He does not wish his name to be known. If I did mention his name, he would have to kill everyone on this website.

I got this idea when I called another more prominent writer for Literotica. I thanked him for his help. I told him I cover his city in my sales territory and would like to take him and his wife out for dinner.

I started laughing and explained my idea to him. He was howling. He said go for it.

Disclaimer: I would never insult another man's wife in any manner. The people below are fictional and do not represent anyone in particular.

The Editor

Be Careful When Responding To An Email

"Hello, yes, I am Captain Mike Moore. Well, I used to be." I looked over at my clock to see it showing; 2:13 A.M. "Who is this?"

"This is Lt. Pascal of homicide Kansas City. I just got a call from Mr. Glen Cromwell. He said you knew him. He wants to confess to murder from almost 50 years ago."

That slapped me in the face. I was wide awake upon hearing the request. "Who is it, honey?" came from my sleepy wife, lying next to me.

I replied, " Just someone asking if I knew someone. Go back to sleep."

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" I asked.

"He is asking for you, Sir. He wants to talk to you about a murder that he said he committed in your city. He said you would know all about it, and if you came to Methodist Hospital here in Kansas City, he would tell you the whole story and confess."

"Listen, Lieutenant, I retired over 15 years ago," informing him of my status.

"He said he wouldn't tell us anything unless you came. He told us he didn't have much time left. You better get there as soon as possible. He told me that you are the only one he will confess to. Or he will take it with him to the grave.

Sighing, "I'll be there as soon as possible."

My next call was to Lt. Mike Moore Jr, my son. I explained to him what was going on. And I needed to get to Kansas City asap. I had gotten too old to drive safely at night, and I needed him to take me. He was interested in the case and had nothing going on at the office. He would be glad to drive me.

Kissing my bride of 53 years goodbye, I loaded my bags into Mike's car. He slowly backed out of my driveway, and we took off into the misty pre-dawn morning. I headed out to the hospital.

The William Moore (No relation to me) and Katherine Cromwell deaths was the only case I could never solve. I just knew that son-of-bitch did it, but I just couldn't prove it. It was just a gut feeling I have. And after 40 years on the force as an investigator. You trust your gut!

The coroner said he had no idea how they died. There were drugs and alcohol in their systems but not enough to kill them. They both just died of exposure. Too bad waterboarding is illegal in this country.

Yea, right they just died. Well, in a few hours, I will know how he did it. I headed up Interstate 55 north from Cape Girardeau to St Louis.

.....

I was twenty-five at the time. I had just been promoted to an investigator. It was a Friday night when I received a call from an officer that was on-site with two dead corpses. (Yea, I know redundant. How else would a corpse be.)

After gathering information from the coroner on site. Both lovers' deaths looked like a drug overdose, but the husband was acting very suspicious.

He was calm, way too, calm. He showed no signs of grief or outrage in finding his wife and the other man in bed when he came home from a business trip. He was sitting on the couch drinking sour mash and coke watching a new Playboy series called "Honey, we have to talk." It is a series about stupid wives wanting to Cuck their husbands. And it never turns out well for them.

"Mr. Glen Cromwell, my name is Sgt. Mike Moore, I would like to talk with you."

He replied, "Can you wait another 5 minutes? I want to see how this bitch gets burned."

To tell you the truth so did I. We just waited for the ending, although it was closer to 15 minutes. It was about some woman who wanted to take a lover, and her husband punched her in the stomach twice. She didn't cheat, and he got his lasagna.

"May I call you Glen?"

"Yes, please do, Sgt."

"What time did you get home tonight?" I asked.

"Around six, I guess. I am a Regional Manager for a gas supply company. I travel to nine different states. Illinois, Missouri, Alabama, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas, Kentucky, and a little of Kansas. I leave out on Monday and get back on Friday.

"You sell gas for cars or gas for industrial use like in those bottles?" I asked

"Like in those bottles," he replied. "The biggest seller is carbon dioxide that carbonates carbonated drinks."

Waiting for a few seconds for effect, I looked him in the eyes. "Well, here is the 64,000 dollar question. Did you know they were having an affair?"

"Yes, I did," he replied. Not given up anything is he, I thought to myself.

"When did you find out?" I asked.

"Tonight." I walked in tonight after being out of town for a week. I found them dead in bed together. So I called the police."

His eyes never wavered. "Glen, you don't look very upset about it."

He dried chucked, "Sgt, I'm sure it will hit me later."

"Did you know her friend?" the Detective asked.

"Yes, I did," he replied

Again shorts answers. It was like pulling wisdom teeth to get answers out of him. I was getting a little annoyed, "Well, how did you know him?"

"I write short stories for a website called 'Literotica.' I got an email one day from him. He wanted to see if I would edit one of his stories. He liked how I wrote. He was impressed with my writing skills.

He sent me a copy to try to edit. God, he was awful. That dumbass didn't know the difference between, your and you're, its, and it's, their, and there, and they're. He was notorious for switching from first to third person. And he couldn't punctuate worth a shit. And his conversation skills were jerky and did not flow well. He was getting around fours on his ratings because people liked his stories. Hell, if the stupid Bastard would just have used Grammarly, he would have received 4.5s.

His first story that I edited for him got him a 4.5. He was ecstatic. A couple of months later, he was traveling through our town, and he wanted to take Katherine and me to supper to thank me. I........"

"Glen, don't say another word. In walked a tall man dressed in his tailored suit. My name is Jim McCabe. I am his lawyer."

Cromwell reached over and shook his hand, "Glad you could make it." "I'll answer his questions, Jim," Cromwell replied. "You just stop me if you don't like the question."

Detective Moore, "Did you call home during the week?

"Yes, I did, but her phone just went to the answering machine. I left messages on the home phone, and she never called me back. You can check it. It is over there."

"Was it normal for her not to call you back?

"Yes, it was. Katherine was a private care nurse, and sometimes we talked every night when I was out of town and sometimes not at all. I only called her a couple of times this week, she never answered or called back. I guess you can pull our phone records to verify what I am saying."

"Yes, I'll do that." I replied, "And I want to see that Literotica site of yours. Do I need to get a subpoena, or will you give me access to your account?"

Cromwell walked to his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote the information I requested, "Here is my username DaGonBlue, and Password. And here is my email address and this for my computer password. You can take hers if you wish. Is there anything else I can do for you, Sgt.?

"No, not at this time." I requested he didn't leave town.

.........

I got the coroner's report back that following Thursday morning. I was shocked by the results. They both had alcohol and cocaine in their systems. It looked like they died of exposure by leaving the window open.

I checked the wife's computer, and she had been chatting with him every day. He was from the Kansas City area and ran his father-in-law's Mechanical Rep firm. He was married. And his wife's name was Emily. She was the daughter of the owner of the Rep firm. They sold equipment to the heating and air conditioning industry in the State of Missouri and Kansas.

I looked into the story of how they met, and I saw nothing that would give me any clue on what happened. Except, the two continued to have an affair.

I went online and looked at his story on Literotica and read them. Dam, I got hooked on the Loving Wives Section. I loved the revenge stories. DaGoneblue was a great writer, but he had only posted one story. His story made me think it actually happened.

The coroner's report showed they died of exposure. It was documented as an accident when the water heater went out. And the window was left open. The bed cooled down and sucked the heat out of their bodies.

I could find nothing that could lead to the murderer, and the case went cold.

.....

The 7-hour trip seemed to drag on and on. Finally, we pulled up to Hospital around 1 P.M. that afternoon. We walked into the lobby and asked the receptionist, "Can you tell me what room Mr. Glen Cromwell is in, please?"

After hitting a few strokes on her keyboard, she replied, "Sir, he is room 303. He is in Hospice.

A few minutes later, I arrived at the room to see the man I hadn't seen in years lying in bed with tubes running out of arms and wired up with devices. I had no idea what they did.

It was what appeared to be his family surrounding him. The two men looked like they must be his sons. They looked like him when he was younger. Two beautiful middle-aged women were sobbing as they gathered around him.

I introduced myself and my son, "Hello, I'm Mike Moore and this is my son, Det. Mike Moore of the Cape Girardeau. Mr. Cromwell asked to speak to me."

The oldest of the two men walked over and introduced himself as Glen Cromwell Jr. He informed me that they were expecting me. But Glen made it quite clear that I was the only one allowed in the room.

Mike handed me the recorder and left. Glen Jr. gathered the other man and two ladies and left.

Gently shaking his arm, "Glen, Glen, it's Mike Moore. Can you hear me?"

I saw the old man open his eyes and smile. "Do you mind handing me my water?" he asked. I reached over, grabbed the stainless steel cup, and placed the straw on his lips. He sucked the water out of the cup. When he finished drinking, I sat the cup back down on the tray.

"Good to see you, Mike. Glad you could make it," he said with a wheezing-sounding voice. You could hear the push-pull sound of the Oxygen flowing into his lungs from his respirator as he tried to breathe.

"Looks like my heart is giving out, Mike," he said. "I thought you might want to know why and how I pulled it off."

I smiled, "Ok, Glen, this is your circus. Are you ready to start?" I pulled out my recorder and clicked record.

"I will start. If you have any questions, please stop me, and ask," Glen said.

"I, Glen Cromwell being of sound mind, but, not so much of sound body, freely admit of my own volition that I with malice and for thought murdered, my late wife Kathrine Cromwell, and her lover William Moore.

It was as if a dam was being released in my mind. I wanted to know everything. I had to relax to keep myself from yelling Hallelujah. I knew it all the time. In a calm voice, "Please go ahead, Glen."

"One day, I turned on my computer, and an email alert popped up. It was from a guy calling himself Littlecockcuck. I chuckled when I saw his username as I read his message."

Mr. DaGoneblue

I just read your story. It was by far the best-written story of BTB that I have ever read. It is so beautifully written. I felt everyone's pain and agony. I felt like I was actually living the story. I would give you a ten if I were allowed.

I am trying to become a better writer myself. (Fuck! I thought to myself, not another one of these guys. You inspire me to do better and all that shit.)

Have a good day, and I hope you will post more stories. I have marked you to follow. I can't wait for you to post your second story.

Littlecockcuck

Being polite, I replied.

Thank you very much for your kind comments.

A few weeks later, I got another message from, Littlecockcuck.

Mr. DaGoneblue

I was wondering if you could read my story and give me some helpful hints. If you could maybe edit it a little for me, I would always be in your debt.

Littlecockcuck:

I replied:

Sure.

A couple of days later, his transcript showed up. It was an eight thousand word story. It took me longer to edit it than it did for him to write it. I sent it back, and he posted it. About a week later, I received an email again.

Mr. DaGoneblue:

I got my first 4.5, thanks. I owe you one. I read your story, and it sounds like you live in southeast Missouri. I live in Kansas City. If I am ever out that way, I would like to take you and your significant other to dinner. In my line of work, I travel the state. (

Shit, judging by his username, I thought he was from England.)

I replied:

Sure. And I forgot about it.

About a month later, I got an email explaining William would be in town and offered to buy me and my SO a dinner at the best restaurant and nightclub in Caper Giradeau. Knowing the cost of that place, I quickly accepted the invitation.

A couple of weeks later, my wife Katherine walked into the restaurant section of the Starlite Club. We told the maître d' we're looking for a Mr. Moore. He escorted us to a man sitting by himself.

Introducing myself, "Hello, Mr. Moore. I'm Glen Cromwell." The gentleman looked and got the biggest grin on his face and stood up. As he stood up, he went up and up. He must have stood six foot ten inches tall. I am six foot three inches and weigh 225 pounds. He dwarfed me by sixty to seventy pounds.

To make it worse, he was one good-looking man. Hell, I have was getting a man-crush on him. And Kathrine looked like she was ready to have his baby that night.

It was funny he hardly paid attention to her during dinner. He was drilling me on how I got my ideas and how I built my story. Then how I went about editing my stories. We finished dinner and moved into the lounge.

The band came in, and I took Katherine out to the dance floor. When we finished, Mike asked me if he could dance with Katherine. He kept his distance for the first dance. But as the night went on, Kathrine moved closer and closer to him. By the end of the night, he took the last three dances. And she was all over him.

They came back across the floor. William said he had to go and thank me for the evening and left. When we got home, she was all over me. She fucked me till I was blind. I asked her what was up? And she said she just loved me, and she missed me when I was out of town.

The following week I was out of town when I got a call from my nosey neighbor. He told me that an Escalade had been at my house all week. And it was there all night, every night. In the morning a really tall good looking man came out of my house. He turned and kissed my wife that as she was standing in the doorway naked. Hell, I could hardly get her to have sex with the lamp turned on.

I know Katherine wasn't a ten in the looks department. She was a little overweight with big tits and butt and a little stomach pooch. But I loved her, and she was mine. She had the most beautiful red hair that flowed down to her ass. And we had what I thought was a great sex life.

I traveled a lot, but we were building towards the future. I was about to become Vice -President of sales, where my paycheck would double. Travel would have dropped to a couple of times a month. And that would have been just for a night each time I went out.

She had always wanted children, and this would make us financially secure with our future. So up until that night, I thought my life was perfect.

Instead of coming home Friday, I came home Thursday night. As I pulled up in the drive, I saw the Escalade that my neighbor told me about sitting in my slot in the garage.

Slowly I went into the house through the garage door. When I heard his voice as I walked into the house. It was William's. "Oh my God, Baby, he yelled. No one has ever been able to take my fourteen inches in her ass to the hilt and deep throat me. I am going to come." he yelled, trying to inform the entire City of Cape Geraldo of his predicament. Fuck me, William wasn't exaggerating either about the size either.

I walked in to see my Loving Wife naked on her knees in front of him. She was licking the bottom of his balls as she buried her nose into his crotch. She had taken it all the way down her throat.

His body convulsed and shook as he came. Katherine never stopped sucking. I could hear the gulping of her throat. I finally looked down at her ass. It had a two-inch diameter gape in her ass. As cum was pouring out of it.

Her pussy looked like it had been stretched to the breaking point and would never go back to its normal size. It was also leaking William's sex juice.

Katherine finally stood up and sat down beside him. She took her finger. And caught any fluid she had missed around her mouth the first time and stuck it in her mouth. She seductively stuck it in her mouth and licked it off." I slowly backed out of the room before they saw me.

Mike, I bet you're asking yourself why I didn't go in there and kick the shit out of them. As the Rock said, "Don't believe the bullshit. 'It's not about the size of the dog in the fight. But the size of the fight in the dog.' No, it is the size of the fucking dog. So I needed to take it in the ass for the time being. At least until I could formulate my plan.

I ran to the side of the house and threw up. I hopped in my car and drove to the local Holiday Inn to get a room for the weekend. I contemplated getting drunk. But that is not me. I wanted my wits about me until I could divorce the bitch.

The next morning, I called my boss and informed him of my family problems. And I needed some time off. I told him I didn't want the promotion yet because it would mean paying Katherine more alimony. He said he understood. He had the same thing happen to him by his first wife, and he offered me the name of a good divorce lawyer.

I called the number and was told I could come in a 1:30 that afternoon. After leaving the Divorce lawyer's office, I realized that Katherine wasn't the only one that was going to take it in the ass. I didn't care. I wasn't going to be anybody's cuckold. So I had him fill out the paperwork.