There is a presence that invades the pick-up joint out on the other side of town. It is a joint that is frequently frequented by loving wives out to love others who are not their husbands.
He is tall, 6' 5". He is well built with a tight 6 pack, hard, well defined rippling muscles, broad powerful shoulders, devilishly handsome and most importantly, equipped with a beautiful, monster cock. Yes, he does know how to use it. It is the kind of cock that emasculates straight men and thrills women (even the lesbians, yea it's just that beautiful). He is well spoken, well dressed and clearly has resources (as demonstrated by his $200,000 sports car with just enough room for two and a small overnight bag) sitting out front of the pick-up joint. He has a dismissive "air" about him, a flash of danger in his deep crystal ice blue eyes and a bad boy smile that just gets women into trouble.
This pick-up joint was like a hundred others he had been in. The same country western styling, the same tables (busted) and booths (old). The music was loud and the dancers were getting sweaty. He pretty much smoked all the other men in the club. Thus many eyes followed him as he strolled across the dance floor to the crowded bar. You could feel the sexual tension in the club move up a notch. Many of the women in the club started to scheme.
But he isn't here for "the pussy". No, he is working. He is on the job. Some husband is trying to deal with a slut for a wife and has engaged The Slut Wrangler to that end.
The Slut Wrangler's price is high. Yes, there are many dollars needed. But, The Slut Wrangler's costs are far more than just a lot of money. The Slut Wrangler offers a full service package. He will wrangle the inner slut while roping the outer slut.
He breaks those sluts. He owns those sluts, for life. And that too is part of his fees. So a loving husband should take care before engaging The Slut Wrangler.
He leans into a woman seated at the bar and whispers in her ear. She turns her head and smiles. She almost plays it a little coy. She joyfully slides off her chair and they head to the dance floor. She doesn't even look back, much to the consternation of her lover who had been sitting next to her holding her hand. Everyone's eyes are on them as they hit the dance floor.
Back at the bar, her lover's friends are giving him shit.
A couple of dances later her friend runs a bit of interference. She snatch's the unfaithful wife's purse off the bar. She gives it to her in the restroom and the unfaithful wife heads out the back door.
Another slut wrangled.
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Bob was besides himself. He knew. Not that he could prove all of it mind you, but he knew it was ALL true. It felt like there was a stone buried in the middle of his chest. Breathing was hard, his heart was beating furiously just this side of a monster heart attack.
She was cheating on him. And she had lied to him, to his face, repeatedly. To HIM!
A rage born of the inflicted pain and disrespect fell upon Bob. Bob, normally a pretty mild mannered fellow, flat out fucking lost it. He beat on his metal desk with his hands, feet and forehead until they were battered, bruised and bloody. To say Bob was "pissed" would be a serious understatement.
It took a while for Bob to calm down and to somewhat come to grips with the fact that his wife was a cheating, lying, traitorous cum dump of a slut.
Oh fucking joy.
Alas, her poor behavior was bad. Worse, she is his wife. Which, of course, means she is Bob's problem. While it was clear to Bob that the lying slut had no respect for their vows, Bob, unfortunately, did. He had promised so many things until death they do part. To love, honor and cherish. Well, he hated what she had done, was doing and apparently planned continue to do; but love isn't rational. There was a part, admittedly, a very very very small part of him that still loved her. Honor her? Cherish her? Just hours ago, those were easy vows to keep. Now, Bob was really struggling.
But, at the end of the day, his vows, to him, have meaning. Bob is nothing if not a man who's word meant something. His vows were til death. He sat, thinking and drinking. Death was on the table as far as Bob was concerned.
As Bob sat at his desk, still bleeding, battered and bruised, he asked himself, what do you do with a slut for a wife? Not that he had been getting any benefits from her being a slut, their sex life was, in a word, pathetic.
Bob's wife, Missy, was a lot of things; entitled, selfish, self centered, unaware and not at all empathetic (unless she thought it would get her what she wanted). On the plus side, she was absolutely smoking hot. Where as Bob, on a good hair day might, at a stretch, be a 7.3. Missy was a stone fox and clearly at least a 10.
Bob is no fool, he knew he married up, stratospherically. And it is true that Bob was in love. That tends to happen when a 10 pays attention to a 7. So Bob considered himself the luckiest man on earth. Or at least he did before the "The Truth" about Missy was revealed to him.
What to do? What to do? Bob pondered.
His next thought was just to pack all his shit up and hit the road. But that would mean he walks from all he had built. That didn't appeal to him. And, she was STILL his wife, and he STILL had his vows to contend with.
In good times and bad; well this was a pretty fuckin' bad time. Bob was spinning. He just couldn't stand by as Missy shit all over him. He couldn't dump her, those damned vows. He wouldn't kill her, but he damn sure wanted to. God, what a mess.
That was when Bob recalled tales about a shadowy figure who "reformed" wayward wives. He really hadn't paid much attention to the stories, so the details were a little slippery. But Bob thought he had heard it from Ted. Or was it Tom? Ah, maybe Tony?
IF Bob could figure out how to 'fix' his slut of a wife...
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Missy really loved Reggie's big black cock. She loved to sit up and watch as that beautiful 8 inch black uncut cock slide into and out of her sloppy snowy white and pink shaved pussy. God how she loved it slamming in and out of her sloppy sloppy pussy.
Her husband, Bob, wasn't even a after thought in the back of her mind as she exploded with yet another massive orgasm. Yes, Missy is, was and planned to continue to be, a very unfaithful wife. What Missy didn't know was that her husband, Bob, now knew. She had been getting away with being a cheating slut for a while. Apparently, she had just gotten sloppy.
Yes Missy loved Bob, sorta. Not nearly as much as she loved herself or Reggie's cock...or Sam's cock or, well, you get the idea. Hey, at least Bob made Missy's Honorable Mentioned list. That's something, isn't it?
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Bob looked about the bar. It was the kind of place that daylight wasn't that kind to. It was run down. In the light of day, one could see it was very well worn. But, this is where Theo was.
"Theo"
"Hello Bob! It's been a while, pull up a chair and join me!"
"Thanks Theo...I was looking for you." Bob said as he settled into a chair across the table from Theo.
"Looking for me? "
"Yea, a while back I seem to remember that you were telling me about some guy who could fix things with a wayward wife."
"Fuck Bob, is Missy fucking around on you? That a damned shame man."
"Yea, as far as I can figure, she has been fucking around on me with several assholes."
"Bob, that totally sucks..."
The men paused chatting as Theo drank some beer.
"Bob, yea, I know what you are talking about. The Slut Wrangler".
"The Slut Wrangler?"
"Yea, The Slut Wrangler." Theo poured Bob a glass of beer and pushed it across the table at him.
Theo leaned in, so Bob did too.
"My brother's wife went full slut on him. It was bad. She had no shame and would fuck damned near any dick she could find. My brother wanted to eject her from his life but a divorce would have ruined him. Basically he would end up paying her to be a slut as well as leaving his kids and all his money in her care. I remember seeing him right after he had his first meeting with his lawyers. I've never see him so low. So mad. So trapped like a rat.
Anyway about a month later she just disappeared. No trace, nothing. My brother wasn't upset. Nor did her disappearance seem to be anything he was concerned about. Weird, right? In fact, thinking back on it he was smiling more, anyway, I'd ask where she was, he would say he didn't know. He just carried on. Then about two months later, she was back home. Like nothing happened. That was pretty weird too. And She become totally Susie Homemaker. It was like the slut had been wash right out of her. Like I said, was weird.
That was like 5 years ago. Since then I've never seen my brother so happy, so relaxed. He smiles all the time. The kids are doing well. I guess she will do anything to make him happy. Honestly, it was like a fuckin miracle. But, come to think about it, there is a Stepford Wives thing about her...". Theo' s voice tailed off.
Theo took a gulp of his beer and then continued. "Like I said, my brother never talked about it, except once, after I really got in his face. He said The Slut Wrangler had fixed her and that was all he would ever say."
"Can you give me your brother's number?"
"Sure, let me buy us another pitcher of beer, and we can call him together. And, damn Bob sorry about Missy."
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The Slut Wrangler was relaxing from his last job. The slut had been wrangled, broken, saddled branded and trained then returned to her husband. She wasn't scheduled for maintenance for a year, but the royalties should start rolling in soon. The husband had opened the app. The Slut Wrangle peeked at his bank balance, the $150,000 from the last job pushed his balance way past $25 million.
He sat back with a sigh. He had been wrangling sluts for a living for almost 10 years. It was like any job, it had its pluses and minuses.
There was a "ding" on his computer showing a new email had arrived.
He clicked on the email. It was from Bob. He had been expecting it. He only worked through referrals from husbands of sluts he had wrangled. That gave him time to research a client before he accepted a job. So he already had Bob's credit checked out before he had ok'ed Theo's brother giving Bob his email address. He knew what Bob could afford.
The Slut Wrangler smiled. Time to get back to work. He typed in a phone number and hit send. Yea, there were lots of pluses in his job. His smile grew bigger.
___________________
Bob was shocked that about 2 minutes after he had sent The Slut Wrangler an e-mail he had mail. It contained only a phone number.
Bob's heart rate went up. His hands got clammy as he reach for his phone.
Ring, click, "Bob?"
Bob's insides were churning. He knew this was one of those lifetime lasting moves. Win, loose or draw this was a step he would never get to walk back from.
"Yeeess."
"Meet me at 1265 SE Penetration Boulevard in 27 minutes."
Click
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It was a clear night, but the moon was only a sliver so the few stars that cut through the city's light pollution didn't illuminate much at 1265 SE Penetration Boulevard. It was an empty lot. There were 3 separate 4 story building on three sides of the lot, none of the buildings had windows facing into the lot.
Bob pulled up and parked. He looked around. It was a rundown section of town. The vacant lot had a large for sale sign facing the street. Bob's phone burped, Bob has a new message. It read, "Come to the back of the lot. Leave the phone."
Bob got out of his car. Looking around, he locked his car and headed across the street towards the dark back of the lot.
"Hello Bob" said a deep, somewhat soothing voice.
Bob stopped, he really couldn't see clearly the man who spoke.
