It's Better This Way

My parents' comments made me more determined. I intended to move my things out of the house that Thomas and I owned. When I got there, Thomas was waiting.

"Honey," he said – something he never called me, it was always 'Justine' – I have something to confess to you."

"What's that?" I coldly replied.

"I've strayed. I had a short fling with another woman. I don't really know why because as you know I love you so. But it was short and now it's over and the guilt was eating me up so I had to tell you," he said with big eyes and a soulful impression.

"Are you asking for forgiveness?" I sarcastically asked.

"Yes, darling," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hold my hand.

"If there is any chance of that, 'darling,' then you need to tell me who it is and how long it's been going on," I said with arms crossed.

"It's Allison Burke, you know, from the country club, and it's only been two weeks."

'What about Carol Neill?' I said to myself.

"She's the only one, and that really has been how long it was?" I asked with a much softer tone, trying to see if he would blatantly lie.

"Yes, absolutely," was the response that revealed his character.

While I was 90% sure I would be divorcing Thomas before our little talk, now I was 100% sure since there was a second woman he was porking and he had unabashedly lied.

I said nothing, went upstairs, and packed my most important possessions. While I was doing this Thomas was trying to reason with me, which pissed me off even more. Especially obnoxious was his comment as I walked out the door, "You know, darling, that this is a no fault divorce state and you'll be splitting your trust funds with me if you divorce me."

"Thanks for the legal advice, Tommy," I replied, getting a stone-faced reaction from him. He absolutely hated being called anything except "Thomas."

I lived in a hotel for a week while Jason continued his investigation. Tommy-boy called me every day. He tried to be nice. He even said that it would never happen again. I took his calls but simply told him "I have a lot to think over; if I do decide to divorce you, you'll be the first to know."

About a week after my "meeting" with Tommy-boy Jason had completed his investigation. His investigation was facilitated since I was able to provide Thomas' social security number and much additional financial data from our tax returns and from information that he kept locked in his desk at home, but with the key easily located.

Jason's investigation determined that Thomas likely did not have anything more than a token trust fund, and that his father was being investigated by the SEC. Likely his family's entire "fortune," which probably was built on a house of cards, would be at risk.

"This is a problem for you," Jason said, "because he could get close to half of your mega-million trust funds."

Seeing the forlorn look on my face, and knowing that I wished that I had listened to him instead of my father and gotten a prenup, Jason said with an evil smile, "But there is a way if you're game."

"What's that?" I said as I perked up.

"If there is physical spousal abuse, then under the laws of this state the abuser can take nothing that the abused brought into the marriage. Has he ever hit you?"

"He did push me down once, but claimed that it was an accident, and it may have been. I did have to go to the Emergency Room, though."

"Did any one witness this?"

I started to say "no" when he cut me off. "Perhaps your old nanny, Hanna, witnessed it?" he said more than asked.

I just slyly smiled and said "Maybe. I'll ask her about it."

"That still is not enough by itself, though. Does he have a temper?"

"Yes; if the right buttons are pushed he could go ballistic," I replied, thinking back about things in the past that others, and sometimes I, had done that bugged the hell out of him.

"Here's my plan," Jason chortled, as he left his desk chair and sat next to me.

The plan involved securing the assistance of four of the "little people," as my parents and Thomas would call them, from my past. Four people that would do anything for me: Hanna, Joe, Rita, and Sam.

I called Thomas and told him that I wanted to meet him in a local park where there was a rise that overlooked some picnic tables. He readily agreed. The meeting was on a school day while school was in session so there would likely be no one else in the picnic table area of the park.

Thomas arrived, all smiles, to the isolated table that I sat at, and didn't notice the P. I. with the telephoto lens movie camera up on the rise, or the two horsemen behind him.

"I'm so glad that you agreed to meet, honey, we can work this out," Thomas said as he sat down across from me.

"Are you really glad, Tommy-boy?" I grinned.

"Why are you calling me that, you know I hate it," was his miffed response.

"Shit, that's too bad Tommy-boy," I replied, still grinning.

While pretending to be happy, and occasionally laughing, for the camera, I lit into him with everything that I knew would incense him. Most comments were untrue but designed to be provocative.

I called him a dick-less and spineless shithead, I told him that sex with him had always been a chore for me and that I hoped that he satisfied his whores more than he did me. I shoved an affidavit from Hanna over to him in which she swore that she had witnessed him pushing me down and then calling me a bitch and slut with no remorse or attempt to help me up. I told him that I had had affairs with some real men, not limp-dicked wonders like him, including two black guys at the same time who had fucked me senseless. I told him that from my past sluttiness I had gotten STDs and that he now probably had them and had given them to his whores.

He got madder and madder, rose to his feet and told me to shut up. When he did that I asked "The last time you ate me out did you enjoy getting the cum some black homeless guy put in me a few hours before?" With that he snapped. He hit me across the face.

While pretending to plead with him for the camera I sucked it up and said "You're such a dick-less wimp that you slap like a sissy."

He swung at me with his fist. I was already moving out of the way and toward the ground before he swung so there was only a glancing blow on the top of my head. However, to the camera it would look like he punched me to the ground.

As soon as I hit the ground I heard a bugle. That caused Tommy-boy to interrupt the attack. Over the rise came Sam and Joe riding the horses that Rita had provided for them. Sam was blowing a bugle, and Joe had a sabre in his hand. Tommy boy didn't have a chance to get ten feet before they were on him and told him to sit down until the cops arrived or they'd skewer him.

The P. I. arrived on his motorcycle shortly after the horsemen. Without Tommy-boy seeing him, the P. I. put fake blood around my nose, forehead, and ears – lots of fake blood. Then as I pretended to be almost out of it he took a number of still photographs.

The P. I. showed his gun to Tommy-boy and told him to stay where he was, while the horsemen gleefully rode off back to the horse trailer over the rise. I talked to Sam and Joe later to thank them, and Rita for allowing them to do it. They told me that it was the most fun that they'd had in years, and that they were honored to in a small way return the kindness and respect that I had always shown them.

The cops arrived, saw me, talked to the P. I. who told them that he was filming because I was scared of my abusive husband, and took Thomas away in handcuffs. It didn't help his case that as the cops led him away he yelled at me "I'll get you, you fucking bitch." The P. I. made sure that that quote made it to the police report.

I went to a clinic where the doctor on the premises was a client of Jason's. She "treated" my wounds and wrote up a scathing report on the significance of my injuries.

After Tommy-boy's attorney was given a copy of the movie, still photos, police report, Hanna's affidavit, and the doctor's report, Thomas was happy to plead guilty to one count of spousal abuse, and to be sentenced to thirty days in jail, 100 hours of community service, and two years of probation.

After that the divorce was quick and easy. We split the proceeds from the house, we each left the marriage with the trust funds that we came into it with (his was around $25,000, mine was around $15,000,000), and there was no alimony either way.

I heard that Tommy-boy got fired, that his father was indicted by the SEC, and that his family had to give up their country club membership. I didn't give a shit, but my parents did. They comforted me, said that they suspected all along that he was a bad apple from a bad family, and pretended that they had supported me.

I never had anything but superficial conversations with my parents ever again. I was sick of their values, pretentiousness, and idiocy. I almost "divorced" them, too but kept a relationship only for the benefit of my grandparents, brother (who, though no gem, wasn't as bad as they were), and Aunt Claire.

The day after my divorce was final I went to see Jason a little before noon on a sunny day. His secretary, Mabel, was probably confused when I showed up with an air cleaner in my arms and wearing a raincoat. Jason had refused to charge for his services. I paid my bill for the disbursements, such as the P. I.'s services, process serving, photocopying, etc. I got a receipt that was not only dated but time stamped, and then went into Jason's office.

He was pleased to see me and stood up to greet me. "I've come to pay my bill," I said, exposing my naked body by opening up my raincoat."

"Oh shit, Justine," he moaned, wide-eyed. "I'd be disbarred if I had sex with a client."

"I know that, dip shit," I giggled as I closed up my raincoat and placed a letter on his desk firing him as my attorney as of 12:01 p.m. that day. "Endorse this, recognizing that you're no longer my attorney," I chuckled. He was in such a hurry that he knocked over his pen container reaching for one. He finally picked one up and scribbled his acknowledgement on the letter. I took it to Mabel to be date and time stamped.

When I returned to Jason's office I closed his door, locked it, turned on the air cleaner at full blast so that the noise would keep anyone outside the door from hearing what was going on inside, and removed my raincoat. As I stood there naked he pushed the button on his intercom and said "Mabel, cancel my luncheon appointment," and then scurried out from behind his desk.

I put up my hand to stop him from approaching while I looked at my watch.

"My watch, synced with the Official U. S. Atomic Time Clock, now says that it is..." then I paused for two seconds, "12:02 p.m. Get your cock over here."

After Jason kissed and mauled me for a few minutes, while I was undoing his belt and zipper, I pushed him down on his couch. Staring into his eyes the entire time I pulled down his boxers and took his already erect cock into my mouth. After I had him moaning and panting I stood up, straddled him, and lowered my soaking wet pussy onto his upright cock.

I hadn't had a fuck since I found out about Thomas cheating because I had not cheated, and never would cheat, during marriage. Therefore I was so, so ready to fuck his brains out.

I rode Jason like I was on a bungee cord, feverishly bucking and twisting my pelvis, and squeezing his cock with my pc muscles. He did his best to massage my bouncing tits, but was only partially successful since I was a whirling dervish. When we simultaneously orgasmed it was virtually unsurpassed in intensity. Our nervous systems short-circuited as I collapsed on his heaving chest.

I don't know how long it took for me to recover, but his cock was still in me when I did. I slowly stood up, which caused him to pop out and which sent a spike up our spinal cords. I knelt down again, took his softening cock into my mouth, and licked it clean, eliciting numerous groans of pleasure.

Once he was spic-and-span I stood up with a big grin on my face and put my raincoat back on.

"How in the fuck am I supposed to work the rest of the day after that, Justine?" he mumbled through half-open eyes.

"You should have charged me money instead of making me feel indebted to you," I snickered.

"A mercy fuck, huh?" he chuckled.

"Something like that," I responded. "Considering the great job that you did I think that I owe you a few more despite how distasteful it will be for me," I giggled. "Here's the address of my apartment. Can I expect you about nine tonight?" I rhetorically asked. "Bring my air cleaner with you, will ya?"

He was still trying to pull his pants back up as I slithered out the door. 'WOW, I feel good!' I said to myself. 'I got rid of a cheating asshole without penalty, got revenge on him, and got a great fuck to boot. Nice!'

I fucked Jason six of the next seven nights. The morning after our last fuck I told him "Jason, my debt is paid. It was the best bill payment of my life; you really are a great fuck. Have you changed your views on marriage?"

"No; but I really want to keep seeing you. We have great fun together, don't we?" he replied, as he put his arms around my waist.

"Yes, we do. But I'm still looking for commitment, despite the disaster with Tommy-boy. Next time, though, I'll have you draft a prenup." I gave him a big kiss, a gentle squeeze of his balls, and ushered him out the door. He gave me a wistful wave goodbye.

Shortly after my divorce was final I got access to my trust funds and set up and ran a charity using horseback riding to help autistic kids connect with the world. I bought the horse farm that my family use to own, and hired Rita, Joe and Sam (at a 25% raise), and some professionals who dealt with autistic kids. It was very rewarding work.

One thing that was particularly amazing was how many of the kids, especially boys, seemed to connect with Sam and Joe even though they were obviously not psychologists. Sam and Joe really got a kick out of it too; both of them told me at one point or another that it was as much fun as riding to rescue me from Tommy-boy!

I was careful in seeking husband number two. After I had dated Jackson Brown for about three months, and considered him a viable option, I had the P. I. firm that helped with my divorce do an extensive background check. Although there were a few question marks the report came back that he was basically clean.

Jackson was also someone who was acceptable to my parents since he was on the skirt of their social circle. That was his major drawback, as far as I was concerned, since I would have preferred someone they didn't approve of. However, I did enjoy Jackson's company, he was very good in bed, and I felt that he truly loved me.

The second marriage occurred only after Jackson signed an iron clad prenup that Jason drafted, and it was a small event at my Aunt Claire's house. Only immediate family and a few friends on each side attended. I was thirty five at the time, he was thirty four; I kept my maiden last name, Morgenthau.

Jackson and I had been married about five years when almost out of the blue some strange shit started happening. Each instance of weirdness happened when Jackson was out of town, specifically in Philadelphia. In each case I didn't mention it to him when he got back; the first one because I forgot, and the last two on purpose.

One day I went to get in my car when I noticed some fluid underneath it; actually, quite a bit of fluid. I called AAA to have it towed to a garage where I was informed that it looked like the connections for the hydraulic fluid for the brakes had come loose.

"Is that unusual?" I asked the experienced mechanic.

"Very unusual; in fact, normally this can only be done intentionally," he replied.

"What would have happened if I had driven the car?" I continued, probably pale at that point.

"If you tried to stop quickly going over 50 mph you wouldn't have been able to and would have crashed," he grimly replied.

A month later I woke up in the middle of the night because a fire engine stormed by house with siren blaring. I felt groggy when I went to the bathroom. I checked the carbon monoxide detector and it wasn't registering a problem, but because I felt so weird I opened up a window and stuck my head out. I felt OK in a few minutes then went and spent the night in a hotel. I had the fire department check out my bedroom the next day.

"There are indications of elevated CO levels in your bedroom, but not the rest of the house," the fireman told me.

"It that possible?" I skeptically asked.

"I've never seen it before, but it's possible if there was a source of CO in your bedroom. I didn't find one, though," he answered.

"Why didn't the carbon monoxide alarm go off?"

"From my inspection it seems that there's a wire loose in it, also something unusual."

Six weeks later I had a headache, something that always occurred at the beginning of my very predictable menstrual cycle. I went to take some ibuprofen, my pain killer of choice. The pills in the bottle in the medicine cabinet looked a little funny, and felt very slightly sticky. Had the brake fluid and carbon monoxide instances not occurred I probably would have taken them. Instead, I put them in a plastic bag, washed my hands, and took some aspirin instead. The next day I brought the pills to a lab.

While the pills were in the lab for testing, the next week I met with a potential donor, from Philadelphia, to my autism charity. I'm not sure how it came up but I found out that he was an executive of the company in Philadelphia that Jackson had visited in the last week. I innocently asked "Have you ever met Jackson Brown?"

"Yes," he said, "I met him and his wife just last week."

'Holy shit, not again,' flashed through my mind. Obviously I hadn't been with Jackson in Philly. Maintaining as much composure as possible I pumped him for information.

"I've never met his wife, what's her name?"

"Mary Brown. A very attractive woman," he replied.

"Really; what more can you tell me about her, I'm curious."

"Well she's tall, with heels on she was taller than I am and I'm almost exactly six feet tall. She had shoulder length blond hair, and she loved talking about football. She said that she once had been a professional cheerleader."

I immediately knew who he was talking about, Mary Ann Deloitte. She was someone that we knew from the tennis club that we belonged to. She was single, maybe divorced, probably three or four years older than I was and with a bad reputation. No one seemed to know what she did for a living. Jackson and I had interacted with her several times and while Jackson certainly paid attention to her I didn't think it odd. Because of her striking appearance all of the men at the club paid attention to her except for one guy who absolutely loathed her.

Thankfully the donor never caught on who I was. I asked him not to mention me to Jackson if he talked with him since I didn't want Jackson to think that I was prying into his life. He agreed, and wrote me a check for $10,000 for the charity.

I immediately called the guy who loathed Mary Ann Deloitte. He was reluctant to talk until I told him that I suspected that she was having an affair with my husband, and that some strange things had been happening to me. He then opened up and told me to check out the criminal record of Mary Ann Dobson – not Deloitte.

I wasn't very good at hiding my emotions and there was no way in hell I was going to fuck Jackson on the basis of what I knew so far, so I made some excuse about Aunt Claire being sick and how I needed to spend a few days with her. I called her to back up my story, which she was happy to do.

I got no resistance from Jackson when I told him about spending some time at Aunt Claire's house. That led me to believe that he'd be fucking Mary Ann in our house.