tagLoving WivesSusan's Sales Meeting

Susan's Sales Meeting

bychilleywilley©

She stood like a Naked Valkyrie Brandishing Her Trophy

Please note: Agatha Christie, as far as I know, despite her writings about murder was not herself a murderer, nor did she hope to inspire persons to commit murder. Like her stuff, this is fiction. These are not real people. Hopefully it's good entertainment.

I would like to thank Cabolover for editing this story. It is better for his efforts

*

I'm a general contractor specializing in building custom homes, and old house restoration. My reputation is for knowing craftsmanship and the people who can do fine work. I use to do a lot of it myself, but being boss pays better. Even if I don't so much do physical work on the job sites anymore, my home is different matter. I have a problem hiring people to work on my own house, so I end up doing nearly all of it myself. Anyway, my job of general contractor/design consultant is fun, rarely requires overnight travel, and has resulted in me having time to do most of the cooking at home, which I enjoy, and being there for my two daughters.

After struggling for some years in various capacities as a lower level peon in Internet advertising, Wifey took time off to raise our two children. It was tough for her not having many adult conversations during the day, but when the youngest started first grade, she started looking for work. It was spirit crushing, sending out resumes, and hardly ever getting even an acknowledgment. It took almost a year to find what she was looking for. She got a job with a small food company, Great Gherkins It's a 'Jewish' deli wholesale supply company, run by a couple of Scandinavians who are as close to being Jewish as I am a relative of Paris Hilton.

To say she loved her job would be an understatement. She apparently breathed new life into the company, and while she worked hard, she was changing the way they did business and happy as a clam at the same time. She was eager to get to work in the morning, and come home after a ten-hour day dead tired, but humming a tune. Her laughter filled my life. Promotions came, one after the other, and she began to travel quite a lot. We started with her emailing her full itinerary, the whole package so we knew where she was, hotel, car rental, etc. I made it a geography lesson with the girls, and taught them phone skills, calling the hotels and connecting with Mommy through the desk clerk.

On the second or third trip, I forget which; she came back from San Francisco with presents for the children. She was clearly exhausted, so after supper, I gave the girls their bath, and came down to interrupt her from her computer.

"Story time."

She heaved a sigh, and asked;

"Would you put them to bed and read them their story. I have to catch up on my e-mails. ."

"Of course. If they ask why Mommy isn't reading their story now that she's home, how do you want me to answer them?"

"What?"

"Shall I tell them 'Mommy can't snuggle with them while she reads their story because she has to take care of her e-mails? Maybe you could suggest some other way to put it?"

She looked stunned for a moment:

"Chris! Thank you for the dope slap! I apologize and I'm embarrassed that I needed one."

She called upstairs:

"Are you ready? Teeth brushed? Here I come!"

Childish giggles echoed down the stairs. Half an hour later she came down stairs, and I handed her a glass of wine.

"You feel guilty about leaving them?"

"Yes I do. It hurts a lot. How did you know?"

"Well, I guess I'd feel the same way, but in the future, and I am saying this with love and respect, don't bring home presents to assuage your guilt. You can't buy love, and I don't want to be the one who raises them and disciplines them all week, and have Santa Clause visit us on the weekends."

"Humph! I guess I have to learn how to travel, don't I?"

Yup. I can hold down the fort, as long as you come back to me. And while we're on the subject, I'd rather you do your company work on Saturday or Sunday during the day. Evenings are family time."

We worked it out. While I would rather have her home more, frankly we both enjoy it.

She gets away from the house and kids for a few days, and I get to spend time with my children. For example, this evening we had a grand time staying up past their bedtimes. They were filthy from playing all day and at bath time; there was a gentle summer rain. I joked:

"You guys are too dirty to put in the bathtub! I'll never get the tub clean"

"We have to have a bath, dad! What else could we do?"

"You should go outside in the rain and rinse off!"

"We can't go outside without our cloths on!"

"Of course not gooses, you need to wear your underpants!"

With a shout of glee, the three of us ran around outside into the rain, jumping and rolling in wet grass and mud puddles, with no one getting upset. We were laughing and having a good time, while the wife was in Miami sweating bullets in the heat.

About a month later, in the dog days of August, I noticed the joy seemed to have gone out of her work. I asked her about it, and whereas she usually told me endlessly long stories about work, she simply said the going is getting tough right now, some people were opposing her, but she had it under control and heads would roll. I felt sorry for anyone on her wrong side. Her sister once observed that even as a kid, anyone who was between Susan and what she wanted was in trouble. She was right. Susan will go after what she wants with single minded devotion, no holds barred. She would let nothing and I mean nothing get in her way. If she wanted it she was driven to get it!

This September there was a big deal sort of trip. She was going to her company's sales meeting over on the New Jersey shore, in Absecon, and her presentation was the key to the corporation's new marketing strategy. I figured the stress and tension about the program she was introducing was the reason for her tense behavior at home. The company had been sliding down the tubes for years, and the wife had studied the problem, laid out a plan to a few executives and they loved it...grabbed it like the life preserver it was. Trial implementation in one market area had resulted in a significant upturn in both sales and profits.

This presentation was hers and hers alone, and won her promotion to marketing VP even though some asshole was trying unsuccessfully to claim the credit. She'd been working on it for weeks and was justly proud of it. Great Gherkin is also, by necessity, a cheap company, so the sales meeting was at a vacation hotel in the off season, started at 2 PM Sunday, and ended Tuesday at 3 pm. These hours ensure the employees mostly travel on their own time. In fairness, as I said, the company's been doing poorly and needs to hold down costs. From what the wife says, extending her marketing program across the board and the departure of a couple of managers is their principle hope for turning the company around. She may be exaggerating a bit, but probably not much.

Absecon New Jersey is only a couple of hours away for us, so she was hitching a ride with a couple of her co workers. Most of the other people were flying in from all over. For once, the kids were spending the weekend at my in-law's house, and we had the prospect of a suitably romantic Saturday night. Sunday I was going to work on the room addition I'm putting on the house and then pick up my daughters just before bedtime Sunday evening.

It didn't happen. That night she had stomach cramps and diarrhea which ended the romance part before it began, she was up half the night and the next morning vomiting. She had been stressed to the max; the turnaround had put an enormous strain on her these last few weeks. She looked terrible that morning, but insisted it was just nerves and was going to the conference anyway. At 11 AM her ride pulled up in front and tooted their horn, I kissed her goodbye, carried her suitcase to the car, told the driver, Natalie, to drive carefully, and sent her on her way.

I put in a long day's labor skipping lunch in favor of an early supper. Knocked off work at about 4:30 took a shower to loosen myself up a little and made supper. I figured I would put in another hour or two until 8:30 PM, when by general neighborhood agreement, we minimize the noise, and more importantly I had to pick up the kids. The shower relaxed me and I dressed to do some more work, but made the mistake of sitting down with the Sunday paper and a glass of wine. My heart wasn't into work, so I sat at the computer checked e-mails; read a few stories like this one, before I noticed there was a flash drive in the USB port. I opened it out of curiosity, and to my surprise found the final version of my Wife's meeting presentation that she was giving tomorrow morning.

Shit! It had been saved about 10 minutes before she left this morning. I looked to see if she had left anything else, and saw nothing but a copy of the agenda, hotel directions and so forth. I tried to e-mail it to her work account, but the file was too big for their server. Another example of Great Gherkin's cost cutting business philosophy, or my inability to figure out how to compress it, whichever.

I called Wifey to see if she knew a way to compress it, but her cell was off, and she didn't answer her room phone, but then again, it was early. Generally, management starts right after supper by blowing smoke up the peasant's collective asses until 9 or so, when people are ready to sleep in their chairs, or walk out. Their reward for putting up with the bullshit is usually an open bar, munchies, and lightly organized activities.

If I left now, I'd get there about 10:00, and get back here at midnight, which left me a little short of sleep, but I'm not anal about that. I called the folks to see if they could stop by, pick up clothes for the girls and get them to school Monday morning. With an OK and their blessing, I put on a corduroy sport coat to dress up my boots, clean jeans, and work shirt. Sort of an LL Bean look, but modified to suit people who do real work.

Off into the dark and gloomy night I drove, to rescue a damsel in distress, a knight in shining armor/amour.

Driving in the dark is boring; the radio was no comfort because NPR was in the middle of a pledge drive. But a stiff wind was rising and about an hour into the drive it began blowing rainsqualls that shook the car and caused the vans I was passing to swerve out of their lane. It got worse as I got closer to the shore. The wind continued to pick up until I was gripping the wheel with both hands...I shut off the CD player because it was a distraction I couldn't afford. Towards the end I was down to 45 mph because the wind gusts were jerking the car over a foot or two before I could correct the steering. There were downed branches in the road, but only street flooding. Fortunately I was about the only idiot driving in this mess.

I pulled up in front of the hotel about 10:15. No rain at the moment, but the wind was remarkable, rattling a piece of flashing that had pulled loose on the port chere's roof. I went to the desk, told 'em I left the key and the little envelope in the room, who I was, an' flashed my ID. They gave me a key in another little envelope with the room number on it, no questions asked.

I headed for the stairs, actually a staircase right there in the lobby, leading up to a balcony overlooking the registration desk. I could see the number on her door right at the head of these rather formal stairs. Two of her coworkers came over to me as I started up. I recognized one of them as the one who drove the car.

Natalie gushed:

"Oh Chris, what are you doing here? Does Karen know your coming? Don't let the bosses see you. We're not supposed to have spouses with us, not good for group moral and all that."

"Karen saved her presentation on a thumb drive but left it home. I thought she'd need it for tomorrow morning, so I'm just dropping it off. I'd like to stay, but alas, I've got to get to work in the morning. I'm driving back tonight."

Holding out her hand, Natalie scrambled up the stairs ahead of me

"Here, let me take it to her... so she won't get into trouble...for having her husband here..., OK?"

The other woman, the one I didn't know, had her cell phone out and was madly text messaging. Why they do that shit is beyond me.

"Gee thanks, but it's no trouble, what the hell, I've come all this way, got the key, and her room is right up there at the head of the stairs. Might as well take credit for the efforts I've made on her behalf."

Something was odd about them, they seemed nervous or something...what the hell. I passed Natalie and went up the stairs two at a time, as I said, her door was right there, stuck the card in, green light and a soft click, and walked in.

Son of a bitch!

Some punter was screwing Wifey missionary style on the bed. I didn't stand around gawking, but my impression was it was pretty uninspired screwing. I walked quietly up to the fuckers (literally)... and with what little karate training I had gotten in six months of attending kid karate with my oldest daughter, it would be a bit of an awkward kick, but I took my time to line up the shot, the adrenalin was raging. I gave him one hell of a round house kick just above the balls with my boot. Didn't want to strike lower and risk messing up a woman. Sensei Burns would have been proud!

He screamed as the kick shoved him up and forward, onto her belly, so his dick was yanked out of Wifey's hole. She squealed at the pain in her crotch, or maybe because he slipped off his elbows and collapsed on top of her or maybe both. He was trying to curl up and hold his nuts, which he couldn't very well do because he was lying between her legs. I noticed he was hairy like a fucking animal. He might have been an athlete years ago...still looked good from a distance, but up close you can see his muscles have turned to shit.

I grabbed his ankles, and gave a hell of a jerk, dragging him down off the wife, pulling him hard across the bed. Dropped him face first onto the floor, where he fell with a bang and ground his nose into the rug.

His legs were apart on either side of me. I was gripping an ankle in each hand, making it easier for me to deliver a second kick right on his balls this time, getting another scream out him He tried to protect his balls with both hands, but that left his face unprotected, dragging across the rug. He was heavy, but not struggling much so...I managed to start moving at a pretty good clip when I heard the wife, and looked up to see she was standing naked on the bed, and had begun hollering:

THANK GOD! YOU FUCKING BASTARD COCKSUCKING ASSHOLE! MAY YOU DIE IN THE GUTTER AND ROT IN HELL! YOU SHIT EATING ASSHOLE MOTHERFUCKER SON OF A BITCH..."

My adrenalin level was given an additional shot from her cursing! For god's sake the cheating cunt was coming after ME!!!...Calling me every name in the book!!!! What the hell did she expect? She jumped off the bed and in two leaping strides reached us and began attacking her lover with a vengeance, kicking and stomping with more vigor than effectiveness at his head and shoulders. It was a moving target for her as I was still pulling him across the rug to the door as fast as I could, so it didn't look like she was doing much damage. Of course it wasn't me she was kicking, either.

I had to stop to get the door open, and as his hands were clutching his balls, his head became a prime target of the wife's kicks. She hit the side of his face two or three times with the heel of her foot. He ducked and brought his arms up to shield himself, but made the mistake of momentarily leaving one of his hands on the floor, whereupon she stamped her heel on it with a CRUNCH...of broken bones, and a shriek from Asshole. As I held the door with my shoulder, he started struggling again, so I gave a heave and paused to give his balls another kick. He let out a groan and went quiet. I gave him a hell of a jerk to get him moving again, but he got hung up on the edge of the door, scraping the hell out of his side. Meanwhile, the wife was making a god awful racket hollering and cursing right behind us.

He was just a dead weight now, not struggling at all so I could lean into my task without worrying that he would wiggle out of my grip. Across the hall to the head of the stairs, I paused because I was below him. I pivoted him around in preparation for kicking him down the stairs. The wife continued to spew invectives at him, stomping on whatever targets of opportunity he offered. She was fully visible to everyone in the lobby now, and I realized there were a lot of them down there gathered at the bottom of the stairs. They were certainly getting an eyeful. If she noticed them, she didn't give any sign of it.

When I dropped his feet at the edge of the stairs, he obligingly curled into a defensive ball to protect his nuts from me and his head from her. This made it easier to get him rolling down the stairs.

I gave his ribs a good kick-shove to get him started down the stairs, as my naked wife pushed past me pursuing her attack. He tumbled over and over at a good clip. He was still conscious because he was flailing about trying unsuccessfully to stop his roll, groaning with the odd cry when something tender was struck. He came to a stop on the landing half way down sprawled on his back.

His face was a mess, blood on his nose, mouth and the side of his head. Wifey ran down the steps two at a time after him, oblivious to the pain in her jouncing breasts, and was on him before he stopped, driving her heels into his face, neck and shoulders.

He was still clutching his balls. Blood was dribbling from parts of his face and head, and gushing from his nose. His body had a long bloody abrasion down the side, and some of the fingers on the one hand were at a funny angle. The two women onlookers who saw me go up the stairs were now fifteen or so, with more people streaming out of the bar to see what was causing the commotion.

Priceless!

What they saw were two naked people, one beating the shit out of the other. I'd like to see ESPN try to do a spectacle better than this one! One onlooker was slack jawed in shock; another gave me the thumbs up. People were cheering her on, while the rest were fiddling with their cell phones, taking pictures or just gawking.

She bent down, gouged his eye socket, drawing more blood, grabbed his hair and yanked! His head jerked up and fell right back down with a thud. Jesus and Mary... if she didn't scalp the poor bastard right there on the stairs! She stood like a naked Valkyrie brandishing her trophy, pausing in triumph, and then threw it into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs; most of whom had witnessed Asshole's and the wife's decent! The crowd screamed and jumped back as though a piece of road kill had been hurled at them. The asshole had a rug glued or woven to his head!

Cell phones recorded every minute of their fame, such as it was. It would be on U tube in a few minutes.

The commotion was bringing more and more people into the lobby, and I could see the wife frozen in place, now realizing she was standing naked with tits, pussy and ass hanging out in front of a crowd of people that for the most part she knew quite well. I headed to her rescue as her fury was spent. She was obviously paralyzed with shock. I reached her and put my arm firmly around her waist, gently turning her around and murmured:

"Your arm goes around me, Love! We will climb these stairs together...come on... slowly, head high full of dignity and pride. Head up, now, that's good! That's good! Know that you are my strong and noble wife, mother of my children! The door's just ahead. Don't rush, here we are...give me a second; I've got the key right here."

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bychilleywilley© 49 comments/ 43180 views/ 7 favorites

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