Highway to Heaven

What the fuck...."Husband? Your muthafucking husband?" I asked, looking from him to her. I went slap-the-fuck off. "Bitch you trying to get me fucking killed? You're married...and married to a fucking gun-toting fucking policeman," I shouted, opening the car door.

Keith --her husband, the police officer-- jumped back and drew his weapon.

I pushed open the door and shoved her ass up off my dick, out of my lap, out of the car, and flat on her ass in the middle of the street.

Keith's reaction was one of a concerned husband. All I could say is that he took it better than I would have. For that, I'm thankful. He didn't shoot me. He holstered his gun and bent down to pick up his naked, cum-draining-out-of-her-pussy, cheating ass wife.

I reached over to the passenger side floorboard, picked up her bag and shoes, then tossed them out on both their asses. I was cussing while I was tossing her and her shit out too. I was fucking hot. "Bitch, you fucked up in the head. You trying to get me fucking killed? Suppose your husband started fucking shooting?" I shouted as I closed my door. I looked him dead in the eyes. "Man you need to handcuff her ass to the bed when you go to work. She could have caused you to shoot my ass and I didn't even know she was married," I said as I shifted the car into drive.

The light was green, so I drove off. I ducked, bobbing and weaving as I drove away. I kept my eyes glued to the rear view mirror the entire time, looking back to see if he was going to shoot or come after my ass. He wasn't paying my ass any attention. He was too busy helping his wife's cheating ass up out the street.

His partner wasn't checking for me either. He was too busy taking off his jacket to cover her up.

Shit! I stepped on it. I was gone.

One week of refusing to answer her phone calls. One week of listening to her messages while she was on her trip. One week of not being able to sleep. One week of paying extra attention to every police car that I saw. One week of not knowing if her husband was going to come after me.

One week of wondering. One week of stress. One week of missing that snapping pussy. Then I decided to answer her call after she left a message that she was back in town. I decided to hear her out.

She explained that it was by sheer luck --I wouldn't have used the word luck, though-- that Keith happened to come off at that exit at that time. He hadn't been following us. He didn't know that she was in my car. It was just our bad luck. Plain and simple.

Fifteen minutes later, she was at my door. A minute after that, I was right where I belonged; back up in that nice, sweet, snapping pussy.

If her husband could forgive her good-pussy-having-ass, who am I to not extend her the same courtesy?

My motto is: "What don't kill you, makes you braver...and HARDER."