The Road to Hell

Thanks to everyone who read my first story, and especially those who offered constructive criticism. This one just came to me. As before, some things in this story are unrealistic, so don't bother reading if you can't suspend disbelief. I warn those of you who like the "burn the bitch" mentality to stop reading now. Likewise, those who get off on unfaithful wives sleeping around, probably won't like this one either. One reader said my last story worked fine as a "Sunday School Lesson", but had no place on an erotic story site. That guy probably shouldn't read this one either. So, to the seven people on the planet I haven't ruled out yet, enjoy!

Thanks to Mikothebaby for editing and suggestions.

The Road to Hell

by

TheEndBegins

Every parent's worst nightmare is that something horrible will happen to their child. This nightmare became reality for my wife and I when we discovered our 14-year old daughter had been diagnosed with leukemia. Cancer's a bitch, even to fully grown adults, but to deal with it at such a young age is especially horrific. The doctors told us that they could fight it with drugs, chemo and radiation therapy, but it would mean she was staying full-time in the hospital until she was well, and it would be terribly expensive. Also, there was no guarantee it would be effective. I always wondered why doctors mention the cost of treatment to parents of sick children. Are there really parents out there who would say "Gee, little Billy could die without the operation, but I kind of had my eye on that beach condo. Guess we'd better go tell him goodbye"? Any parent worth a damn would move heaven and earth to save their child. Which is really what this story is all about.

My wife Sarah and I had been together since high school. She was head cheerleader, I was a semi-decent baseball player. Not the big-man-on-campus, but not a loser either. But for some reason, she only had eyes for me. Nowadays, she's the phrase "MILF" personified. Blonde, curvy, stacked, she turns heads and pops tents anywhere she goes. She's extremely friendly, smart, and the most caring woman I know. I've always considered myself the most fortunate man on earth that she chose to marry me. Early in our marriage, we were blessed with Emily, the light of our life, and we spoiled her the best we could. She was every bit the sweetheart her mother was. Unfortunately, Sarah had complications following the delivery, and we could not have more kids. Sarah was depressed for a while, but was grateful that we at least had Emily. After all that, you could imagine how devastated we were to learn Emily had cancer.

Naturally, we pulled out all the stops to make sure Em had the best medical care possible. But medical care is expensive, at least it is here. More than once, I joked to Sarah that after Em comes home, we're moving to Canada so we never have this problem again. But we pinched pennies and cut corners any which way we could. We stopped eating out entirely, cut off cable service, and I worked overtime every bit I could. I work at a padding factory. We make those little mats you see in high school gymnasiums that say "Home of the Tigers" or other such bullshit, among other things. I'm sure you find it shocking that there are still manufacturing jobs in the US. Take a minute to get over your surprise, and read on.

One day, a couple of months into this nightmare, Sarah told me she'd been asked by her boss to help out hosting potential clients her marketing firm was trying to sign. This meant some night and weekend hours, which further meant overtime pay and possibly bonuses if these clients were signed. Naturally, this would be extremely helpful. So she went off to schmooze with the stuffed suits and I continued pumping out school spirit in cheap plastic form. This went on for a while, until one evening, my boss asked the people on our shift to stay late. Apparently, a local college needed a rush order, and the boss offered not only overtime pay, but to buy dinner at a local steakhouse for us as well. Of course I took him up on it. I called Sarah to let her know I would be home late, and she let me know she would also be working that evening. I hung up, went back to work, and around 10:00 that evening, we went to the restaurant to celebrate the end of a long-ass day.

After getting our drinks ordered, I felt nature call, so I went to the john. I sat down in the stall, and I heard a couple of people walk in, who sounded like they'd had a bit too much to drink.

"Man, that Shelly was a total wildcat in the sack. I can't believe how into it she was."

"I know what you mean. Sarah was fantastic. I've never had a better blowjob in my life. I'm ready to sign that damn contract already. "

"I know what you mean. They're definitely getting our business. But let's see what they offer tomorrow. I'd like to tap Sarah myself. I've always had a thing for blonde MILFs. Then, we can give Parker the good news."

"I like the way you think, Steve."

With that, they left. I sat there, with my pants around my ankles and my heart even lower. Sarah had a co-worker named Shelly, a divorcee who was caught cheating on her husband with his best friend. And his other best friend. At the same time. Furthermore, her boss was named Alan Parker. No way was this a coincidence. Sarah was acting as the office whore to win contracts. I lost my appetite, thanked my boss and headed home in a daze. My daughter was dying, my wife was cheating on me, and I just lost my appetite when there was a free steak dinner for me. What a lousy day this turned out to be.

I got home, showered, and changed for bed. I tried, but couldn't sleep. Sarah arrived home a little past midnight, showered, and got into bed. She leaned over to kiss me goodnight, and I couldn't help myself. "I hoped you used mouthwash. I know what you've been using that for tonight."

Even in the darkened room, I could see her face pale. Then her eyes fell. "I'm so sorry, honey" she said. "I'm only doing it for the bonus money. Parker offers $5,000 a weekend if we win the contract. You know how far that would go for Emily's hospital bills? I know it's awful and I hate doing it, but we need that money."

I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get away from her. So I got up, grabbed my pillow, and went to sleep on the couch in the living room, with Sarah crying for me to come back. As I lay my head down and tried to fall asleep, several thoughts kept running through my mind. Why had she chosen this way to make money? Was this the first time? Was there any future for us as a family? And last, but certainly not least, was she really doing this for the money, or was that just an excuse for her to justify her slutty desires? Needless to say, sleep was not great that night.

I woke early and started fixing breakfast. Sarah came down, looking even worse than I did. She grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table opposite me. She looked up at me with hollow eyes and in a raspy voice asked if we could talk.

"What do we need to talk about? You've been cheating on me, whoring out your body for your boss. I don't see how talking about it is going to make things better."

She didn't back down. "I know I've done something horrible, but I promise, it's only for Emily's sake. You and she mean the world to me, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for the two of you."

"Except keep your legs closed," I bitterly responded.

Sarah flinched at that, but then continued on. "We need the money to pay her hospital bills. If I knew another way to get that kind of money without robbing a bank, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I hate doing this, and now hate it even more because it's coming between us, but please believe I love you with every fiber of my being, and when it's over I swear on my parents' grave I will do every single thing in my power to make it up to you, but for now it has to be this way."

"I can't accept that, and I won't accept an adulterous wife. Do you already know what you want in the settlement? You'd better start thinking about it."

That statement brought out the deer-in-headlights look, and she jumped up from the table. "Settlement? Divorce? No, please, honey, we can't divorce."

"Give me one good reason not to."

"Fine," she responded, "Here's two. One, I love you completely. Two, a divorce will not only cause Emily pain, it will eat up thousands of dollars that could be better spent on her chemotherapy."

Damn. She may be a cheating slut, but she does have a good point. Lawyers, court costs, trying to sell the house in this market and finding a new place to live, divorce costs a pretty penny. And now, even though my pride wanted to get away from the woman that had cuckolded me, my macho side conceded that practicality was the way to go here. I'd just have to live with the horns on my head until my daughter was healthy enough to come home, or until the cancer finally won.

So began several months of a cold war of sorts between us. I tried to avoid her at all costs at home, only making conversation when absolutely necessary. She, on the other hand, went out of her way to welcome me home, fixed my meals, did the laundry, everything she could to show she cared about me, but gave me my space. She never failed to say "I love you" when she saw me. She even moved out of our bedroom and began sleeping on the couch, saying she hurt our marriage, and she's the one who deserves to leave our bed. I didn't argue with her on that.

The one exception to the frosty relationship at home was when we visited Em in the hospital. We always put on a brave, happy face when we went, and acted like we were still a happy couple. Emily was weak from the treatment, and we didn't see a need to give her more to be upset about. We'd deal with the divorce when she came home.

Meanwhile, I decided to get a head start on that front. I couldn't spend my money, but research was free. I asked divorced people at work about lawyers they recommended, and what to do to avoid getting taken to the cleaners. My boss, divorced himself, said the only way to be really sure was to get evidence of her cheating. He loaned me several items he used in his divorce, including phone taps, a hidden recorder, a tracking bug to be put on her car, and a couple of hidden cameras that could be hidden around the house. The next time Sarah had to "host" my boss and I installed all this stuff, and I could start collecting the evidence I needed.

A couple of weeks after I turned my home into J. Edgar Hoover's dream house, we got some great news! Emily was in remission, and would soon be able to come home, cancer-free! Never mind the divorce, I was just ecstatic that my daughter would live! I was so happy I even forgot about the cheating, and my wife and I hugged and danced around the house in celebration. When we calmed down, I remembered why we had been so distant lately, and my mood came down a bit. Sarah asked if we could start working on putting "us" back together, now that Emily would live. I told her I didn't think we could. I couldn't live with what she was doing, that I couldn't take the place of her myriad of mover and shaker lovers, that it would be better for us to separate, as we both wanted different things out of life now.

"That's a bunch of bullshit!" She vehemently responded. "I want the same thing I always did, for the two of us to grow old, together, and see our daughter live a long and happy life. You're right that you can't take the place of the men I've slept with. You're a much better man, on every conceivable level, that all of them are combined. You're kind, considerate, hard-working, and selfless. And you're a much better lover than any of those empty suits. I haven't had an orgasm since the last time you and I did it. I have to fantasize about you to get wet enough for them to fuck me without it hurting. And I don't give two shits about the money. Every penny of what I got from them went to St. Andrew's hospital, and as soon as our daughter is sleeping upstairs in her own bedroom again I will never go back to work there, nor will I even look at another man. Please, honey, we've been given a second chance with our daughter, give us a second chance too. I promise, you will never regret it if you do."

I figured she'd try this again, and I sighed. The news of Emily's recovery, and the months Sarah and I had coexisted had mellowed out my initial anger, but I still couldn't see us putting it back together. I told her that, as well. She slumped her shoulders, turned, and walked away, tears streaming down her face. It hurt. Even throughout all she did, I had to admit deep down, I still loved her, but I just couldn't get over her cheating.

About a month later, we took Emily home, along with a clean bill of health. That night, for propriety's sake, Sarah moved back into the master bedroom with me. Sarah tried once again to talk me into reconciling, saying she had her next, and final bonus check coming, and since the hospital bills were already paid, she wanted to use it for marriage counseling for the two of us. She swore that if I went to counseling with her and still wanted the divorce, she would not contest any settlement I proposed. Still, I refused, and for something different, Sarah didn't start crying. She instead looked angry and determined. I guess she figured on fighting the divorce, trying to take me for whatever she could, just like my friends at work told me their ex-wives had done to them. Turns out, I was wrong on that one. Completely wrong.

I came home from work the next day to see Sarah already there, with a sad, depressed look on her face. She looked up at me with teary eyes, and handed me a grocery bag full of DVDs, and an envelope. I asked what they were, and she stunned me yet again with her actions.

"The envelope is the money from my last bonus. The disks are video recordings of the parties where I hosted. You can clearly see me having intercourse with other men, as well as the men talking about how they will gladly sign with our company for that type of 'entertainment.' In that bag, you have enough money to pay for the divorce, as well as enough evidence to win any settlement you want against me, even enough evidence to put me in jail for prostitution, not to mention enough to win a civil suit against my former employer. I really hope you'll use the money to find a counselor for us, so we can be a family again, but if a divorce will make you happy, I want you to have it. I love you enough to let you go if you don't want me anymore." She was out and out sobbing at this point, but continued on. "But first you should talk to Emily. I told her what I had done, and why we are splitting up. She's really upset, and she needs her daddy right now." And with that, she turned and fled the room, still crying her heart out.

I was gobsmacked (Author's note: I always wanted an opportunity to use that word. Thanks, Sarah!). I thought I wanted to be free of her, and was securing evidence to ensure that freedom, and she just handed it to me. And enough to put her in prison? I've heard of people trying to be magnanimous in divorce settlements, but this was way past that point. I was planning on taking her down, and not only had she willingly put her head on the metaphorical chopping block, she handed me the ax as well. She might have actually meant what she was saying about hating her job, and only doing it for the money. Just then it hit me. The recorder! It was still inside her purse! If she was being honest, it would provide the truth. I went to her purse, removed the recorder, and pocketed it. Before I could listen, I needed to console my daughter.

I went up to her room, and heard her crying. Knocking gently, I entered the room and sat on the bed with her, where she was face down, still sobbing. She turned to me, and with the most hopeless look I had ever seen said, "It's all my fault. If I hadn't gotten sick, mom would never have done those things, and you would still be happy together. I'm so sorry, Daddy." And then the crying resumed.

"Honey, it's not your fault. You mom made the choice, she knew what she was doing, and she knew the risks. She is responsible for her own actions. You can't be blamed because she did something bad. "

What she said next changed my whole perspective of the situation. "Would she have made that same choice if I hadn't been sick?"

Talk about a sucker-punch. I had to admit, I doubted that she would. For the first time since I came home from the steakhouse, I thought maybe my wife really did love me and only wanted the means to save Emily's life. But the recorder held the last bit of evidence. I kissed my daughter goodnight, told her I'd talk to her in the morning, and left her to get some sleep. I went down to the basement to listen to the recording. It was illuminating, to say the least.

"Hello, Sarah" said Mr. Parker, Sarah's boss/pimp. "How are you today?"

"Fantastic, Alan. Emily's home from the hospital, and the doctors say she'll make a full recovery. She'll need full-time assistance for a while, so I'm going to have to resign my position here, immediately."

"That's a rather sudden and rash decision, Sarah. You're a valuable asset here. I understand that your daughter takes precedence, but at least stay on as a hostess on weekends. You've been a great help here in securing the new clients. I know you enjoy the money, not to mention the 'fringe' benefits."

"You assume too much. Every cent of that money went to the hospital, and the 'fringe' benefits were more like 'cringe' benefits to me. I hated every second of it. Not one single man I fucked in the past year came anywhere close to satisfying me. Including you, I'm sorry to say. "

"But-but-but, you said I was great! You said you loved it, and you wished your husband was as good as I am!"

"I told you what you wanted to hear, and what you needed to hear to keep me in those parties and keep the bonus checks coming. You were a useful pawn to me, but now I've gotten what I wanted, and you're no longer of any use to me. So, we're done."

"That's what you think, you little slut. Did you know that I recorded all those little parties? If you don't keep working for us, I might have to show your family. What do you think about that, you whore?"

"I'd say you're a day late and a dollar short, needle dick. I found those cameras before the very first party I hosted. I set up the hotel rooms, you moron! Of course I knew about them. What YOU don't know is that I changed the routing address the recordings went to, to my own personal laptop. You haven't watched any of the videos, otherwise you would have caught it by now. Furthermore, I've got recordings of your phone conversations with those new clients, admitting your role in setting up these parties. You don't have shit on me, moron, but I've got your balls in a vice, and if you give me any shit, I'll happily burn your little empire to the ground. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

A few seconds of silence, as both Alan Parker and I were stunned at the revelation. Finally, Parker spoke up again. "What do you want?"

"Two things. One, you leave me and my family alone from here on out. Secondly, if I need a new job and they call you for a recommendation, you will give me the most glowing review possible. If you blackball me, I'll bury you. That good enough for you, pencil-prick?"

"Fine. Now leave, and don't come back, you cunt."

"Gladly." Then the tape stopped. I was stunned. The woman I heard on the tape was cold, calculating, and played the player like a damn fiddle. Quite the contrast from the pleading, remorseful woman I had lived with for the last year. I thought about everything she had done since this happened with that thought in mind. She could have lied about the cheating, hidden it better. As smart as she clearly was, and ruthless as she could apparently be, she had been nothing but open and honest with me, begging and pleading, finally offering me what I thought I wanted most, a divorce completely on my terms, even revenge if I wanted it. It could only mean one thing: She was working an angle with her boss. She was not working one with me. She really wanted me to forgive her, and wanted to continue our marriage. Because she loved me. I turned around and saw her on the stairs, eyes open, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She clearly had heard some, if not all, of the tape.