Winning The Lottery 3

I got the idea while reading FrancisMacomber's story Winning the Lottery, published all the way back in 2013. In that story, the cheated-on husband holds a winning lottery ticket, while his cheating wife and her lover scheme to ruin his good name and make off with as much of the lottery winnings as possible. I won't spoil how the husband solves the problem; even though it surprised me a bit, he ended up better off in the end. This story isn't intended to be a rehash of that story with a different plot twist. It was simply the story that gave me the idea. Some elements will be common--as indeed they are common elements in this subgenre of LW--cheating wife who was already being a shrew, scumbag boyfriend, aggrieved husband who busts his ass for seemingly nothing.

This is my first story for this website. I'm sure I'll get better as I go along. One thing I'm already almost certain of, I can't write a believable sex scene, so don't expect a stroke story. Any sex, even of the adulterous kind, involves fully consenting characters 18 and older. One thing I can also promise, no hero in any of my stories is ever a willing cuckold. Once discovered, infidelity is

always

a deal breaker in my little universe--the only variables are: how long the hero waits until taking action, and the degree of burning dispensed to the cheating parties (if any).

As inspired by a couple of other authors on this site:

Yes, this story is way too long but somehow, I missed a bunch of key details and didn't finish the damn story.

Yes, this story sucks. I understand that; that's why I don't write professionally. If you are truly unsatisfied, please contact Literotica to arrange for a refund.

Spelling and grammar checks are done entirely through Microsoft Word and my own education. Any that happen to creep in, please sue Bill Gates. Or my college, but you'll find Bill Gates has deeper pockets.

Yes, swearing does happen in my stories. It's basically a porn site, let's not get hung up on a few "naughty" words. Characters may also partake in drinking and drug use, legal or otherwise.

Yes, I do have a tendency toward, if not completely breaking the fourth wall, at least nudging it.

Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed; after all, I can't improve without taking helpful suggestions onboard. Any comments from the usual "Anonymous" brigade which are not constructive and only serve to spew hate will be deleted forthwith. I hold to a policy online: if I wouldn't say it to someone's face, I will not put it into an online comment. I have no patience for keyboard warriors. In short--constructive criticism is fine, abuse is not.

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I was scheduled to work all day but at the last minute my afternoon appointment called to cancel. Her kid took sick, and she had to take him to the hospital. Of course, I understood, but inside I was upset--I really could have used that job. Nothing I could do about it, though, and besides it didn't make sense to rage at her for something that wasn't her fault, either. She was one of my better customers, so this was just a temporary setback.

On the way home I noticed I needed fuel in my work truck. I didn't have much money on me, but this at least I could put on my business account. Thank goodness for small miracles. I was also going to have to take the truck in for a brake job, but that was going to be harder to do. Not that the business couldn't afford it, but that was time out of service, and I needed every damn job I could get.

While my truck was fueling, I walked into the convenience store and up to the counter. The cashier looked up and said, "And how are you on this fine Monday?"

Trying to make light of the situation, I said, "Eh, not too bad, I got an unexpected half day today so maybe I'll get some work done around my house!" It was true I could get some work done around my house, but I was still stewing about not having a job this afternoon.

"What'll it be?"

I was hungry and this Valero had unusually good deli sandwiches. "Let me get the turkey club. And you know what? I've been on such a lucky streak lately, how about five tickets to tonight's Lotto America drawing? And give me the All-Star bonus."

She printed the ticket and handed that and the sandwich to me "Fifteen dollars, please."

I handed her the last $20 from my wallet and she handed me my five bucks in change. The change and the ticket went straight into my wallet. Shit, I thought, for ten bucks, maybe my luck would come in. The jackpot tonight was only $10 million, a good sight less than the competing Powerball and Mega Millions lotteries, but equally the odds were better--still terrible odds overall, but at least slightly better. Heck, even the second prize, considering the All-Star multiplier, wouldn't be terrible.

Truck now full of fuel, I drove toward home, slowly. I told myself the slow speed was to guard against any kids who might be out playing. In truth, I really wasn't looking forward to going home, but I simply had nowhere else to go.

I pulled up and parked outside my garage, took a few deep breaths, and decided to sit for a bit and eat my sandwich. My mind drifted off a bit, thinking about how things got to this point, a 30-year-old man with no money, a ramshackle house, and a wife for whom nothing was ever good enough for.

I should actually introduce myself, shouldn't I? My name is William O'Neill, and as you might surmise from that last name, I'm Irish by heritage--100% Irish, in fact. I was born in a hospital, and subsequently raised on a farm near the small city of South Northlake Hills, in the state of--you know what? Much like

The Simpsons,

South Northlake Hills is one of those cities that could be in just about any state. All I can state for certainty is that it is not in

your

state, whichever state that is. And it is definitely not in California. Except for a four-year stint in the Navy, I still live in my hometown to this day.

My parents owned a smallish farm just outside of town. There, I learned how to work the land, how to take care of animals, how to maintain and repair mechanical equipment, and how to make most home repairs, including plumbing and electrical. We didn't have a lot of luxuries growing up; my parents' extra money tended to get rolled back into the farm. We always had food on the table, though, and good clean clothes.

When I graduated high school, for lack of better ideas I joined the Navy and was posted to San Diego. It was while I was there that I met Kristy Nicholls. She was (I suspect still is, and always will be) physically gorgeous. Way out of my league gorgeous. 5'-7", well built, not fat but curvy in the right places, shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, and the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen. The kind of eyes that seemed to bore directly to my very core.

As I said, way out of my league. I'm not wholly unfortunate looking myself, but nobody will ever mistake me for an Adonis. I'm about 5'-11" (never quite made that mythical 6' mark), and right about 180 pounds of lean muscle developed from years of farm work, Navy life, and my current job. I also feature a head of carrot-orange hair, further proof of my Irish heritage. In fact, it was my Australian best friend Mick who, because of my hair, dubbed me "Bluey". Apparently, it's a thing in Australia that anyone with red hair is automatically named Bluey. I was lukewarm on being called Bill or Billy, and William seemed a bit formal (Willie was right out), so Bluey stuck and was what most everyone called me.

Anyway, when I met Kristy, she was initially hesitant to date me. She had been dating a guy named Chad for a couple years, but she finally realized the relationship was highly toxic and got out. There was an attraction, but she said she was a little unsure of jumping back in so soon. We parted that day with her having my number, though she wouldn't give me hers. The idea was she would call me if she wanted to get back together. I hoped she would call me, but I didn't hold out a lot of hope.

As it happened, it was over a month after we first met that she contacted me again, right about the time I was giving up hope of ever seeing her again. Not having any other particular irons in the fire, as it were, we met up again and we began dating more regularly. After a few dates we agreed we were exclusive. Six months after, we were madly in love.

A couple months before my enlistment was up (I had already decided I was one-and-done), Kristy and I had "the talk". In this case, it involved our plans once I was discharged. I wanted to move back home. That was what I knew, where my family was, and where I thought I'd have the best chance at building some sort of life and career. I had a lot of fun in San Diego, but I was never going to be able to afford living there. Besides, California didn't appeal to me, in general. Call me provincial, but I like the simple life.

Kristy, on the other hand, knew nothing but San Diego. As far as she knew, I was from where rednecks reigned supreme. I decided education was the best way to go. I explained that, while we weren't on an ocean, we did have a good lake with parks and beaches. I played up the more variable climate--I've always said the easiest job in the world is being the TV weatherperson in San Diego. She seemed particularly intrigued when I described a certain form of frozen water, and the kind of fun that could be had when it snowed. I showed her that my hometown had just about all the amenities San Diego had.

In the end, she was convinced, and I moved back to South Northlake Hills with Kristy in tow. We lived with my parents in their big farmhouse for a bit. I was a bit unsure at first. I knew I'd have a place to come back to, of course, but I was coming in with a plus-one.

My parents were cool: "If she's good enough for you, she's good enough for us." That was fine, but I still worried. I needn't have--Kristy absolutely loved my folks. In fact, Kristy started calling them Mom and Dad. Her own parents had tragically died just a couple years previously, so my parents became something of surrogate parents to her.

I married Kristy in a simple civil ceremony a few months after returning home, and I set about trying to find gainful employment and a halfway decent house. We also decided to wait for now and get ourselves set up financially, but sometime down the road we were going to want to have children. We were still young, early 20s, what's the hurry?

Not that we wouldn't get in plenty of practice, of course. Sex with this woman was absolutely amazing, and she always seemed to have her motor going for me. I'm certain she could literally suck the chrome off a ball hitch, though I thought better of trying that exact experiment. I certainly wasn't shy about reciprocating; she had the most amazing smell and flavor and I never failed to make sure she got hers, multiple times over. And her pussy seemed to fit my cock like a glove. We did it about any way, any position possible. The only thing we never did successfully was anal. While she seemed to enjoy a finger in her hole while I was pounding her doggy, the two times I tried putting my dick in there, it hurt her too much. Which was fine with me, I didn't feel like it was necessary for a fulfilling love life, and I certainly wasn't interested in hurting her.

After my time in the Navy, I wasn't too eager to work for someone else. Too many bosses taking credit for my hard work but shitting on me for every perceived fuck-up, even theirs. I knew I wanted to work for myself, be my own boss, therefore all the rewards and setbacks alike would be mine alone. What I would do, however, was still a mystery. Worst case, I could always get a job at the local machine shop. I have always had a talent for repairing mechanical equipment and machines, a skill which was honed to a fine point as a Machinist's Mate in the Navy. I knew going to college wasn't for me--I made it through high school just fine, but I never did have the patience to sit in a classroom all day.

Kristy, for her part, never seemed interested in finding a job. Not having anything beyond a high school education herself, and little real-world experience, there weren't many professional avenues open to her, though even a waitressing job or retail would have been fine with me. Kristy claimed she didn't have it in her to work in any form of customer service. At the time I didn't think much of it--maybe if we got in the family way a bit earlier than expected, she'd be in a good position to be a stay-at-home mom. So I convinced myself, anyway.

My best friend Mick hit me with an idea. Mick pointed out that, for whatever reason, in our area there was a decided shortage of tradesmen and landscapers. It was all over social media, lots of complaints and cries for help from people who couldn't get a plumber or electrician out in less than two months, two weeks if it was a screaming emergency (with commensurate emergency rates, of course!). If you didn't already have a yard service, forget it; and the ones who did often complained of cut corners and slipshod work. But what was the alternative, get their hands dirty? Not hardly!

So it was that Mick and I set up our business. It was a combination yard service and handyman business. Wintertime we did snow removal. With a solid business plan, written by Mick, I was able to convince a bank to lend us enough money to set us up with two work trucks and all the equipment we would need to handle yard work and home repairs. Everyone in town knew there was plenty of room for our sort of business, and apparently our loan officer was one who was desperate for help--indeed, he ended up one of our best customers.

We kept it simple and charged reasonable rates, and since Mick was single, he was available for emergency calls anytime, day or night. We pooled all revenues into one pot, paid all business expenses out of that, then split the remainder 50/50. Any cash tips we may have gotten, were the sole property of the recipient. It was for a practical reason; the minute it went into the company pot, it was reportable to the IRS. Technically, it was reportable anyway, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Besides, it tended to even out anyway. And it was a good way to at least have

some

money on hand, money Kristy didn't need to know about.

House hunting was an interesting time for us. Looking back, it should have been another red flag. I did have a decent amount of money saved from my time in the Navy so we would have at least a decent down payment. For all that, it was hard finding something in our price range. Because of my job, arranging financing was difficult. The business was already doing well, but banks considered the income too volatile, so they would only give me credit for a certain percentage. We thought about having the business purchase the house, but Mick and I wanted to keep our personal affairs separate from the business so far as possible.

That left Kristy and I with two options: buy a much small starter house, or a larger house of the fixer-upper variety. Looking back, we should have gone with option three, renting for a while, but Kristy considered that throwing money away--she just

had

to have a place we could call our own. Kristy wanted the larger house; I was fine with the smaller--I wasn't that interested in spending my free time making house repairs after breaking my ass all day at work. We could always sell and upgrade when the time came.

We had a few arguments during the process. She couldn't seem to understand why I couldn't just dig deeper into my pockets and get her the house she absolutely wanted. I didn't understand how someone who was contributing the sum total of zero had much to say on the matter. Nor could I make her understand that there was literally

nothing else

I could dig deeper for. Again, should have been a red flag, but we were still at that part of the relationship where the makeup sex was absolutely mind-blowing.

In the end, we compromised and got the larger house. It was an older four-bedroom, three-bathroom house in a solidly lower-middle class part of town called Elysian Fields. I'm not sure what it was like 150 years ago when this area was settled and the city grew up, but anymore there was nothing Elysian about it, and almost nothing Fields. Unless you counted the Fields family who lived four houses down, but I don't believe that's what the city founders had in mind. Not the slums, exactly, but you could see them from our living room.

The house featured a nice little shop, though, with its own electric service, and the property (almost an acre), given time and work, had potential. The house itself needed a fair amount of updating; wiring was beginning to short out in a few places, the kitchen was well-dated, and the bathrooms had seen a certain amount of water damage down the years. Nothing that I couldn't handle, given time and money. But, if it made the Princess happy (or at least got her off my back), then at least I could imagine the potential the house and property did have.

And so we settled into our lives. It didn't take long for word-of-mouth to build and soon Mick and I had almost more work than we could handle. Occasionally we would work together, but most often we would split up and do our own jobs. In fact, we thought about bringing on extra help, but decided we didn't want to deal with the tax and payroll hassle of having full-time employees. We did, during the busier summer months, bring on one or two high school kids. It was a good way for them to earn a bit of pocket money, and along the way they got to learn a few skills. Overall, we actually did quite well for ourselves, to the point that I should have been living quite comfortably, with enough money to fund my own home upgrades.

It took a while, but I began to notice a couple things. First, no matter how much I worked and how much our business brought in, I never seemed to have any extra money. Every time I thought I had a few bucks banked, something would happen around the house requiring an expensive repair. Or the Princess would see a designer purse or wholly impractical pair of shoes that she just

had

to have. One time a hot little Cadillac XTS caught her eye, and she wouldn't stop yammering on me until I finally broke down and bought it for her.

Second, the Princess's attitude toward me underwent a subtle shift. So subtle, in fact, that it didn't register with me until about six years in. Where, initially, her overall attitude (house hunting time mostly excepted) was loving and we couldn't seem to get enough of each other in bed, now her little "pet names" for me were taking on an insulting tone. Our sex life, while diminishing over time (naturally, I thought), came to a near grinding-halt; when we did do it, she made it feel almost like a pity fuck.

Third, she would not stop grinding on me to earn more money. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Princess? I'm already taking on as much work as I dare to, I barely have time to get this house--this house that

you

just

had

to have--fixed up to something decent. Meanwhile, you seem to have a closet full of designer clothing I've never actually seen you wear, boxes full of high-end jewelry, the bathroom looks like an advertisement for high-dollar salon products. If you think we need more money so badly, try a job! Then you can buy all the expensive merch your little heart desires and maybe I might have a few bucks left over to actually finish this fucking house!" I was nearly screaming by the end.

Big fuck mistake. That got me cut off sex for almost a year. Which, if I'm honest, wasn't as bothersome as I thought it may have been. At that point thoughts of the "what ifs" of dumping the bitch began swirling in my head. Trouble was, I still loved her, just I was finding it harder to like her. Let's face it, I'm generally the sort of guy for whom hope springs eternal. Also, I didn't generally believe in divorce. I was raised that marriage was for life, forsaking all others, and my parents were the perfect exemplars of that.