tagLoving WivesA "Jewel" of a Wife

A "Jewel" of a Wife

byimhapless©

How my wife Arlene and I met, and our backgrounds, are not particularly important for this story. Nor are detailed physical descriptions. Probably all of the background necessary to get a good idea of the relevant information can be summarized in a few paragraphs.

At the most relevant time of this story, I, Austen Weston, and my wife Arlene, were both 33. We had been married eleven years and had two daughters, Justine, 8, and Cybil, 6. Arlene and I are both slightly better looking, taller, smarter, and fitter than average, but no geniuses, actors, or models. Our libidos are also slightly higher than normal and we have enjoyed a very good sex life, even though not earth-shattering. Arlene was a corporate attorney, specializing in negotiating contracts although also knowledgeable about trust, wills, and estates. I was and still am the vice president in charge of purchasing, including IT equipment, of a small public company.

My sister, Jen, her husband, Bill, and their twin fraternal twin daughters, Kate and Beth, 7, live about four miles away by roads, one mile as the crow flies because there is a large park and forest preserve that you have to go around to get there. Our kids and their cousins are best of friends, and in the same school. Although I didn't really know Bill before he started dating Jen (and married her six months later), he has become my best friend.

One idiosyncrasy that Arlene exhibited was her approach to finances and saving money. She insisted on "investing" in jewelry and art. "Gold and platinum jewelry and artwork are investments that you can enjoy while they appreciate," was her common refrain. While I put a little away in the stock market, most of our savings was invested in jewelry – for both her and me – and artwork in the form of paintings and a few sculptures.

We also encouraged relatives to give our kids gifts of jewelry and art, and also gave them that type of gift as their "big" present on birthdays and Christmas, of course also with toys, games, books, and/or clothing.

Because of the significant value of our jewelry and art holdings we had a sophisticated security system. That included electrically powered sensors for each of our approximately twelve most valuable paintings and two most valuable sculptures. Also, we had a safe in the floor of the bedroom, and each of us had a locked desk. Arlene had the only key to her desk, I had the only key to mine, and Arlene had a key to the safe with the only other one in our bank safety deposit box.

To insure that power to our sensors and security system never went down, we had a backup generator and also a battery backup – double redundancy!

Bill has sort of taken a page from our book, but in a slightly different direction. He had high resolution cameras covering the only three entrances to his house, and a security system, though it was less sophisticated than ours.

Another idiosyncrasy that Arlene had, probably because of her semi-specialty of wills, trusts, and estates, was specifically adding expensive jewelry and artwork to our wills shortly after we purchase a piece. All male jewelry gets added to my will with the beneficiary alternating between our daughters Justine and Cybil (should Arlene predecease me), and vice-versa with Arlene for female jewelry. For pieces of artwork we alternated between Arlene and I who bequeathed them in our wills, again alternating between Justine and Cybil. This had the effect of designating some of our assets as mine, and some as hers, since you can't bequeath something you don't own outright.

Life was going along swimmingly, as far as I was concerned, until one Thursday night. When I got home from work Arlene was there, but the kids weren't. We were having a candlelight dinner, and Arlene had a skimpy outfit on and gave me a passionate kiss when I came through the door.

"Where are Justine and Cybil?" I innocently asked.

"Jen and Bill were nice enough to take them tonight, and to school tomorrow. You should have seen how excited they were when I told them they were having a sleepover at Kate and Beth's house," Arlene replied with a diabolical smile.

"Whatever will we do without them?" I said playfully, pulling Arlene close to me and giving her a passionate kiss."

"We'll think of something," she replied, squeezing my crotch.

After a tasty, flirtatious, and light dinner, we put on some CDs and danced. We mostly practiced the steps of slow dances we were learning in a weekend dance class, in our house, with our shoes off, for a good hour. Once Arlene started humping me on the "dance floor," that was the end of that. I carried her upstairs, she stripped me seductively, I stripped her unceremoniously, and we fell into bed.

While Arlene had never indicated an aversion to sucking cock, to the best of my recollection she had never initiated oral, always waiting for me to eat her first, or for me to almost push my cock in her face. Not that night. She started out sucking me like my cock was the last ice cream cone on earth, while manipulating my balls.

Then Arlene started sucking my balls while fingering my ass, both of which she had never done before.

I was groaning like a wooden ship being pulled out of the water, and saw flashes in my eyes. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore she virtually jumped in the air and landed her soaking wet cunt on my stimulated upright cock.

As Arlene grabbed my chest hair and continuously moaned "Fuck," she was bouncing up and down on me like she was on a bungee cord. It didn't take long before she was screaming and I was squealing as our bodies were wracked by mammoth orgasms, and she collapsed on top of me.

We lay there, with my dick still up her pussy, as we both ground our pelvises together ever so slowly. Every thirty seconds or so one or both of our bodies were "tortured" by an aftershock.

When I finally went flaccid, Arlene rolled off of me and started planting kisses all over my face and neck. "Did you like?" she rhetorically asked.

"Does the Pope poop in the woods?" I replied, out of it enough to mix my metaphors and getting a chuckle from the sex Goddess who had taken over my wife's body.

We soon fell asleep; but Arlene was not done. She woke me in the middle of the night by sucking on my cock again, and soon I was blasting another full load of cum into her sweet pussy as her ankles were supported by my shoulders and I massaged her tits.

You're probably wondering why, just before I described the best sexual encounter in my experience, I said "Life was going along swimmingly, as far as I was concerned, until one Thursday night." That's because I knew Arlene and thought "Shit; what does this mean; more over-the-top sex in the future, or does she want something."

It is with the latter thought that I fell asleep for the second time.

The next morning, Friday, Arlene was all lovey-dovey and I allowed myself to believe that the only thing the fantastic sex we had meant was that our sex life had turned a corner from very good to excellent, and more phenomenal sex was in store.

My happy-go-lucky attitude, and big shit-eating grin, both mentioned by a number of my colleagues at work on Friday, changed in the early afternoon when the phone rang.

"Austen, it's Arlene," my secretary said over the intercom.

"Hi, sex Goddess," I opened the conversation.

"Hi, yourself, Eros," Arlene laughed.

"Hey, I'm not Greek," I laughed back.

"No, but you sure are the God of lust and sex," she giggled.

We continued trading compliments, which devolved into small talk, then the purpose of her call.

"Say, Darling," came over the line from her beautiful lips, the preface of a disaster to come. "Some of the people from the office are going out for some food and drink tonight as part of a team building exercise suggested by the morale consultant I told you about that our corporation recently hired. Are you OK with picking up the kids from day care, and getting dinner tonight?"

"Aren't you even coming home?" I blurted out with pure disappointment in my voice.

"Sure, I'll need to change. But I won't have time to pick them up and fix dinner. We're supposed to meet at the restaurant at 6:30. Oh please be a dear, I don't want to be the only one in our group not to go," she purred.

Miffed, I asked "Why such short notice?"

"I think that was part of the exercise – sacrifice for the team. You know that I'd much rather be with you and the kids, but I feel I should do this," she continued, purring even more.

What was I supposed to say at that point? After the best sex of my life she knew damn well that I couldn't be a jerk and say "Hell No!" I resigned myself to the inevitable.

"Sure honey. We will get to give you a kiss goodbye, won't we?" I ask sweetly.

"As long as you don't try to drag me to bed, Eros," she giggled.

We said our goodbyes. I sat stunned at my desk. She had never "gone out with the 'guys'" from work before; as far as I knew she didn't really like most of them, and I don't remember her ever inviting any of her co-workers to our house; nor did I remember her ever telling me about a "team building consultant." This smelled like three-day-old mackerel!

My sunny disposition and shit-eating grin disappeared.

I picked the kids up, made them their favorite meal of macaroni and cheese (although I did make them eat a salad too), and we saw Arlene off. We couldn't really kiss her, "Don't mess up my makeup or wrinkle my dress," she tittered as she gave us all light pecks on the cheek.

"That dress doesn't look like team-building garb," I mumbled to myself, "unless the exercise is to get fucked."

When Arlene came home that night, I noticed the clock. 1:02 a. m. Hardly dinner and a few drinks. I pretended to be asleep to avoid a confrontation. She crawled into bed with – as far as I could tell and confirmed the next morning – with some average negligee on and spooned me.

There was no sex Saturday night, but I did get some conventional, for us, sex Sunday and Tuesday nights.

I liked it less and less as the next two Thursday and Friday nights I got the same treatment. Well, it wasn't that I didn't like the fantastic sex Thursday night when it seemed that her aim was to fuck me senseless in positions or manners (including her virgin, as far as I knew, ass); rather it was what it meant. More "team building" on Friday night. After the second Friday night outing she got home at 1:22 a. m, the third 1:51.

The fourth Friday night, I had had it, despite the fact that she possibly outdid herself Thursday night as far as giving me physical (though not emotional) pleasure was concerned by riding me reverse cowgirl while massaging my balls, and then giving me the best blowjob of my life in the middle of the night.

As Arlene was getting dressed Friday, into a slinky outfit I had never seen before, I was direct. "Arlene, I really don't like this going out on Friday night shit."

"Now, dear, I've already explained the necessity to you several times," she said while smoothing her dress over her hips while looking intently into the mirror.

"I'm sorry, but I can't believe that you get home at eleven thirty," the time she lied that she had gotten home the previous three times, "from dinner and a few drinks. I'm very suspicious, and it's killing me."

"Now, Austen," she said sternly, "you have no right not to trust me. We've been married for eleven years, for God's sake, and have two kids. What do you think that I'm doing, whoring?"

"I don't know, but what I do know is that everything about this smells," I replied.

The conversation got more tense as it went on. Finally after she gave the kids an obligatory kiss on the cheek I said as she walked out the door, "I'm asking you, no I'm begging you, for the sake of our marriage, not to go."

"Austen," she said exasperated. "I can't cancel now, I'd be the laughing stock of the company. We'll talk tomorrow and I'll allay all of your fears, or even tonight if you wait up."

"So you think I'll just put up with this?" I asked in a surly voice.

"Darling, you know if we break up that I'll get the kids, the house, and child support; you don't want to destroy your life over ungrounded suspicions, do you?" she asked with a belligerent look on her face.

"You're the one destroying the marriage," I snapped.

With an exasperated look she said "We'll talk tonight even if I have to wake you up."

"We can't talk tonight because I won't be here when you get back in the wee hours in the morning," I barked. "The kids and I are spending the night at Jen and Bill's; have a nice life," I snapped as I closed the door. I didn't slam it, but it wasn't gentle either.

Through the one-way mirror in our front door I could see Arlene, with a perplexed look on her face, start to reach for the door knob; but then she shrugged her shoulders and walked out to her car parked in the driveway.

As soon as Arlene's car was out of sight I yelled to the girls "Let's go to Aunt Jen's house to stay tonight while mommy is at her meeting."

They were ready in about two minutes flat, and we got into my car, parked on the street. I had already arranged our sleepover with Jen and Bill, and they knew that there was something up; Jen because of woman's intuition, Bill because I had a very vague and basic discussion with him. He's a smart guy and could fill in the blanks quite well.

After the girls were asleep – or at least quiet – at eleven o'clock I went out to my car to retrieve a bottle of pills and I returned to the house at 11:02 p. m. The car was parked where the front door security camera, which recorded time and date, would have an excellent view of it.

About 3:30 in the morning my cell phone rang waking me up. "Hello," I groggily replied, looking at the alarm clock next to my bed in the guest room, which read 3:29.

"Austen, where are you?" a frantic voice screamed into my ear. "Must be Arlene," I thought to myself.

"I'm at Jen's house, like I told you. Why in the fuck are you calling me at 3:30?" I responded in an irritated voice.

"Austen, we've been robbed," Arlene cried. "All of our valuable art and jewelry has been stolen."

Turning on my iPhone's recording app I had her repeat it then asked "Why didn't you call me as soon as you found out?"

"I did," she hysterically cried, "I just got in fifteen minutes ago. The house is completely dark and I had to find my way around with a flashlight."

"What the fuck are you doing getting home from a team bonding experience at three fucking fifteen in the morning? Exactly how were you bonding, you on top or him?" I snarled, trying to be as vindictive as possible.

"Well, uh, time, uh, just kinda got away from me; we can talk about that later, you've got to come home!" Her emotional train was now completely off the rails.

"Jesus fucking Christ; OK; I'll be there as soon as I can; let me get dressed," I grumbled.

I went to the bathroom, got dressed, went out to the car, and drove the ten or twelve minutes it takes to get there by car. Arlene's makeup was smeared all over her face, having been dissolved by copious amounts of tears, when she met me at the front door, flashlight in hand.

She started to approach me with her arms open and say something but I held her off with my outstretched arm and harshly cut her off. "Did you check the circuit breaker team builder?"

"No, I don't know where that is," she cried.

"Get out of my fucking way," I shouted, quickly moving past her while shining a flashlight of my own. As I passed her I asked "Did you call 911?"

"No..." she sheepishly responded.

"Well what the hell are you waiting for?" I snapped.

I saw her getting her cell phone out of her purse as I blasted past her.

I went to the basement and found the main circuit breaker in the "Off" position. I also found the backup generator switch "Off," and the battery backup disconnected. The phone line, to which the security system was connected to the outside world, was unplugged.

I turned the switches "On" and reconnected the battery and phone line. Everything was working perfectly, because alarms indicating the theft of multiple pieces of art were ringing. I turned the security system off by punching in the code at the console by the front door. I answered the phone call from the security company, gave the password, and told them that it was a false alarm.

I started reviewing everything on the first and second floors as Arlene was dissolved into a puddle of tears on the couch in the living room. "Greet the cops at the door when they get here, and get your head out of your ass," I yelled at her with a real edge to my voice.

Sure enough, not only was all of Arlene's and my jewelry and art taken (except for one really heavy granite sculpture), but so were the kids' valuable possessions. Even the secure safe in the floor of the master bedroom was open – and empty.

When the cops arrived I gave them my statement first while a female police officer was trying to get Arlene to calm down. I told one male officer about my wife's call to me, what she told me over the phone, and what was missing. I produced a list from my study of all of our valuables. Meanwhile two other male cops were sweeping the house in case someone was still there – I hadn't even thought of that.

Finally Arlene calmed down enough to give her statement to the female cop. While she was doing that I pulled the cop I had been talking with aside and whispered "I really think you should check out my wife for this theft. She's the only one with the key to the safe that was open – except one in our safety deposit box which I'm sure you can confirm is still there – and she and I have been having marital problems. I wouldn't be surprised if you found something incriminating on her computer or in her locked desk."

The cop looked at me funny, but wrote it down.

"What kind of problems?" he asked.

"I believe that she's been fucking some other guy the last four Friday nights. I get a private detective's report tomorrow. When I told her our marriage was in trouble if she went out tonight, I guess that was yesterday, Friday, she did it anyway. I think that she wants to ditch me, and doesn't want to split our wealth when she takes off," I said as earnestly as possible.

"She would really do that, with two kids?" he asked.

"She'd assume that she could take the kids with her," I replied. "She almost admitted it last night – I have it recorded on my iPhone," I groaned.

"You say that you're getting the P. I.'s report tomorrow, Sunday?" he asked.

"No, sorry, I keep thinking of this as Friday because I'm not normally awakened at 3:30 a. m. I get the report around noon, today, Saturday," I replied.

"Can you bring me a copy at the station when you get it?" he asked.

"I certainly will; I'll probably be by about one, one-thirty," I replied.

"Great. Ask for Officer Smithson. I'll bring a robbery detective up to speed."

After the cops left I went back to Jen's house without even talking to Arlene. I didn't even bother to answer her as she called out "Where are you going?" as I went out the door.

After a nice breakfast at Jen's house, where I brought her and Bill up to speed, I brought the kids home about 10:00 a.m. I told them that a bunch of our stuff was temporarily missing, but I was "sure" that we'd get it back. They were sad and crying when they went to their rooms and found some of their favorite stuff missing.

Arlene, still looking like hell, and I did our best to comfort the kids. "I have some errands to run," I told them, "but will be back by about 2:00 or 2:30 at the latest. Want to go to the park then?" I asked, smiling as widely as possible.

That turned their tears to smiles. I got hugs from them, and as I was getting ready to leave Arlene came up to me and asked "Where are you going?"

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