A Willing Cuckold Pt. 04: Conclusion

My first stop was the bank. I had almost $50,000 I had saved to buy a new luxury car for Julie in a special account. I closed it, taking twenty thousand in cash and the rest in a cashier's check, thinking I'd later endorse it to Jaime to thank him for all of his help. My next stop was the office. I arrived just as all of the bigwigs were headed out for lunch. I walked into the CFO's office and sat gingerly at his computer. I knew that he kept his password on a post-it under the keyboard. Using that, I transferred the money from my account to a numbered account in Switzerland. Three minutes later I moved it to Brazil, a bank in Rio de Janeiro, and five after that to a bank in the Cayman Islands. Finally, I moved the money to a bank in Mexico City. Once I was done I went downstairs to see my friend Jaime.

"I'm ready to go, Jaime. I want to give you this." I showed him the check.

"Save it, John. You can get Tio Pepe to cash it for you, but I will take your car if you insist." That was a great idea. It was completely paid for and I had the title in my glove box. I know that was stupid, but I always locked the car, even in my driveway. I went into the garage and returned five minutes later. Jaime was on his cell when I returned. I signed the title and made out a simple bill of sale, exchanging a year old Lexus for $300 even though no money would change hands.

"That was Tio Pepe on the phone, John. He has made arrangements for your transportation in a long haul truck. This way you can lie down the entire way. The truck will leave the depot at four this afternoon. Let's get some lunch and then I'll drop you near the depot."

I let Jaime drive his new car to the fanciest restaurant in town. We had just ordered cocktails when he looked at me. I'd never seen Jaime so serious. "I'm going to miss you, John. You're the best person in the entire firm. Truth is I think I'll quit, too. I just can't see me working there with all those assholes." I had no answer and, truthfully, I couldn't disagree either. Most of the firm were exactly as Jaime had described them—totally self-absorbed assholes.

We had a wonderful meal then I went into the men's room where I changed my clothes, donning my polo and sweater over jeans and sneakers, and putting my suit into the sack. We dropped it into a collection bin for the Salvation Army on the way to the depot. Jaime showed me where to stand with the instruction that the driver would stop for me out of sight of the transport company's prying eyes. I went to shake his hand, but he pulled me into a hug. "Buena suerte, mi amigo. Good luck, my friend." Then my best friend in all the world turned and drove away.

I had to stand there for almost a half hour when I saw a big rig turn the corner. It glided to a stop and the door opened. I climbed in saying, "Thanks...I'm ..."

He stopped me immediately. "I don't want to know who you are. I don't want to know anything about you. I understand you're injured so why don't you climb into the berth, Mac. That's what I plan on calling you...Mac. That okay?"

"Perfect, bud. You won't mind if I treat to a few meals, will you?"

"Hell no; now get up there where you won't be seen. Go to sleep if you want to. I've got a long night ahead of me." He shifted into gear just as I lay down on the berth. It was more comfortable than I had thought. I fell to sleep almost immediately wondering what Julie would think when she returned home from work that afternoon. I was smiling when I closed my eyes.

>>>>>>

Julie was grinning ear to ear when she strode into the house at 5:30. "John, you fucking idiot...where are you? Get your ass out here and kiss my feet. Where the hell are you? Mike? Mike?" By then she had reached the kitchen where she saw the open cock cage and John's wedding ring lying on the top of a pile of papers. She picked up the letter cautiously and began to read. Her face went pale and her smile turned into a frown as she did.

Julie,

I'm sure you realize by now that I have gone. I loved you more than anything right up until the past ten days when you betrayed everything I believed in. I knew that you were deserving of more pleasure than I could give you with my small cock even though I tried to see to your pleasure every time we made love. That's why I suggested you find someone with a bigger dick. We discussed this several times once you agreed and you knew this was to be only the one time. Instead you pushed me away and took up with someone you knew nothing about just because his dick was bigger than mine.

I might have been able to live with that if you'd continued to make love with me, even if it had only been once or twice a week. Instead, you demeaned me in every perverted way you could think of. Worse, you tried to make me into some kind of slave. That was when I realized that any love you might have felt for me was dead. It was also the time that my love for you died, as well.

The man you know as Michael Brown is in reality Michael Bologna, a convicted felon who is wanted in Illinois, Kentucky, and Missouri for grand theft. He likes to seduce stupid married women then steals their jewelry and disappears. He also likes to tear down the husbands and destroy whatever relationship remained between the husband and wife. Nice guy

I was at police headquarters this morning and brought the police here to arrest him. I'm sure he'd love a visit from you. Unfortunately, the County Jail doesn't allow conjugal visits. Too bad!

I earned more than 85% of our total earnings so that's what I've taken with me. I suggest you start to pay close attention to your expenses. You don't earn enough to pay for the house, your car, and the utilities let alone food and other expenses so I suggest you try to sell the house and move into an apartment that you can afford.

Don't try to find me. You won't be able to. I'll be under the radar so it would just be a waste of your money. Even if you found me I'd never come back to you. Why would I want to? You've destroyed us. You can get a divorce for abandonment after a year if you want. Me? I just don't give a shit!

John

Julie sank into the chair and began to cry.

I woke up as we pulled into a truck stop. "Where are we?"

"Kansas...just west of Topeka. You hungry? I'm going to eat and get a room. You might want to do the same. Got enough cash?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, you'd better bring it with you. Crooks break into these cabs all the time." I grabbed my backpack and climbed down. My legs were a bit unsteady when they hit the ground. I treated to dinner and then we retired to tiny rooms with single beds and basic bathrooms. It was clean and quiet—all that I needed.

Eight hours later my room phone rang—my driver telling me it was time for breakfast which I also bought and then we were on the road again. It was boring. That's the plain and simple truth. We got onto I-40 and stayed there hour after hour, stopping one more time, until we reached Barstow, California—the end of the line for me. "You're getting off here, Mac. Someone will come by to pick you up in a few minutes. Good luck to you." I exited, voiced my thanks and he drove down the highway.

I was there less than fifteen minutes when a mid-sized sedan pulled to a stop next to me. The driver was obviously Mexican. He opened the door and greeted me in Spanish—"Welcome to California, John." I got into the car. My injuries had partially healed by now so I was able to sit fairly comfortably. Several hours later we pulled into a long driveway in the hills just outside Los Angeles. I went into the house to meet Tio Pepe.

He was a short man like many Mexicans with Mayan heritage. Standing to greet me he had a big smile, his white teeth framed by dark skin and totally white hair and moustache. He asked for my driver's license as well as all of my credit cards. I watched as he shredded them then I handed over my cell phone. I had turned it off when I left Jaime so it couldn't be traced. He took my passport, telling me that I would need it in order to cross the border.

I had been there less than an hour when I was examined by a physician who described how he would modify my appearance—reshape my ears and eyes, broaden my nose and flatten my chin. "A simple procedure," he said. I had it the following day right there in the house. My face was almost completely bandaged when Tio Pepe walked into my room. Without speaking he inserted a DVD into the player. "Do you know this movie, John?"

"The Magnificent Seven? Who doesn't? It's a classic with an incredible cast—Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen, James Coburn, Charles Bronson, Eli Wallach. They don't make 'em like that any more."

"Do you know that many Irish have immigrated to Mexico over the past 150 years? That is how the Charles Bronson role had the name Bernardo O'Reilly. I thought about that as a name for you, but Bernardo is not often used now. Using it would only draw unwanted attention to you. Instead, your name will be Diego Luis Reilly. Now...I have a business proposition for you. You have been an analyst for a brokerage firm and you have made plenty of money doing it. I would like you to do the same for our syndicate. You will never touch any of our money. I doubt you'd be willing to do that under any circumstances. All we ask is for your recommendations for stocks and bonds for our investments.

"A few of our enterprises are illegal, but most are completely legitimate and, like any businessmen, we want our money to earn as much as possible. In return we will pay you $100,000 a year—a fortune in Mexico-and we'll give you a beautiful villa overlooking the Pacific in Punta de Mita with a housekeeper/cook to see after your every need. All you need to do is the same job you've been doing all along."

"You do realize that no one can see the future. I do make the occasional mistake."

"We do not expect perfection, but we do expect a professional effort." I rose and shook his hand. We had a deal. I only hoped I had not made one with the devil.

All told I stayed with Tio Pepe for an entire month. It had been two weeks after my surgery that I first saw my new face. It looked good and I could see a slight Mexican influence even though I retained my light brown hair and blue eyes in addition to my white skin. A few days later a photographer took my photo and the day before I left I received my Mexican passport and driver's license.

"These look just like the real thing," I told Tio when I first saw them.

"That is because they are. We have people in government who are more than willing to supplement their meager incomes to help us. Tomorrow you will be driven south to the border. You'll walk across around nine in the evening. The border guards pay little attention after sunset. A driver will await you on the other side. He will see you to Punta de Mita, partly by air and partly by car. I wish you the best of luck, my friend. I am reassured to see that my nephew has such excellent judgment in people." We shook hands and I returned to my room.

I bade good-bye to Tio Pepe early the following afternoon as I climbed into a car for the four-hour ride south toward the border. We ate dinner at a good seafood restaurant in Escondido and waited until nightfall. Then my driver drove us to the border crossing. I walked through using my original passport and completing an immigration form stating that I was entering the country for residential purposes. My contact was there waiting for me.

I was a bit concerned about being robbed and left for dead, but I really didn't have all that much with me. Tio Pepe had cashed my bank check and had opened an account for me at a local branch of a national bank. I would be able to move the money to Mexico at any time although I thought I might want to keep it where it was in case I ever returned to the States. I was taken to the nearest airport and given a flight on Aero Mexico to Guadalajara. From there I was driven to my new home.

I stood outside for several minutes, unable to process its splendor. It was big—I'd been told more than 5,000 square feet with four bedrooms and five full baths. The walls were thick reinforced concrete, covered in some areas with real stone in contrast with the red clay tiles of the roof, and the rooms were huge with the main living area overlooking the beautiful freeform pool and hot tub, the sloping lawn, and the private beach on the Pacific. I was just walking around the pool when I heard a voice behind me. "Excuse me, Senor, but this is private property."

I turned quickly then stood stock still as I saw the most beautiful young woman I'd ever encountered. Apparently, she was just as shocked because she held her hands to her face as she apologized. "Excuse me, Senor Diego. I did not realize it was you. They sent your picture...your face. I did not realize how tall you were until I saw you just now."

I couldn't take my eyes from this woman's face or body. She looked to be in her early twenties and was short, like many Mexicans—probably not more than five feet three inches. The ancestral Maya were a short people and a child's diet in Mexico is nothing like what we have in the States. Her skin was dark, showing her heritage, and her straight hair was the most lustrous deep black I'd ever seen. It hung halfway down her back. Her face was perfect in my opinion—oval in shape with clear brown eyes, a straight narrow nose, and flawless skin. She smiled and my heart melted. Her body was incredible—just perfect for her small frame. If I had to guess I'd say 32B-23-33 with a flat abdomen and a small, but nicely rounded ass.

We stared at each other for what seemed an uncomfortably long time before she spoke again. "I apologize again, Senor Diego. I am Gabriella...your housekeeper. It is my job to see that your every need is seen to."

"Thank you, but please just call me Diego. May I call you Gabriella?" She nodded with a slight smile as she led me into the house. She showed me from room to room. I was surprised to see a full array of clothing in my bedroom closets and dressers. Like the living area it overlooked the pool and the deep blue Pacific Ocean beyond.

I had stepped out onto its second floor balcony to look at the view, taking note of the large stone table and accompanying chairs. "Perhaps you would enjoy breakfast out here, Senor...I mean Diego."

"That would be wonderful. Would you join me?" I chuckled when I saw her blush, her head down in embarrassment. "Come on. Why don't you show me the rest of the house? Do you live here, as well?" She told me that she did and showed me her bedroom at the end of the hall. The furnishings were basic, but probably more than she'd had as a child.

Once back on the main floor she showed me to my study. There was a powerful new desktop with a high-speed internet connection. A laptop and printer, also top of the line, sat on a large desk. I checked the computers, pleased to find Microsoft Office installed. I'd used both Word and Excel virtually daily in my last job. Was that really a month ago?

Opening the desk drawer I found the list Tio Pepe had told me about. It was a list of companies for me to investigate. I knew then that I'd have to earn the syndicate's trust. Nobody in their right mind would invest in some of these firms. Three were in bankruptcy and two hadn't declared a dividend in almost twenty years. Several others had no real product. So far, during their infant years, they'd proved to be money pits—just deep holes into which one poured an infinite supply of money in the futile hope that some of it would be regurgitated back. Of the list of twenty only six were worth exploring.

I booted the desktop, typed in the password and immediately changed it, then opened Word to prepare a brief report, commenting that I knew about a number of the companies listed from my prior employment then I explained why I would not invest in them. I worked until 7:30 when Gabriella told me that dinner would be served in fifteen minutes. I closed the program and went to wash my hands and face. She held my chair for me; I thought that was both unnecessary and ridiculous. However, the food she served was excellent—a thick steak from Argentina, roasted potatoes, and sautéed vegetables. There was a small loaf of homemade maize bread and butter. I was halfway through when I asked what she would eat and when.

"I am only allowed to eat after my work is completed. There are basic Mexican foods in the kitchen for me."

"Whose decision was this?"

"The man who hired me; I do not know his name."

"Starting tomorrow you will eat with me—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I hate dining alone. I will clear it with the man who sent me here. I'm sure it will be okay. Now, please sit and tell me about yourself."

She did. Gabriella was the child of devout Catholics. She was the youngest of six children and it was her parents' fondest hope that she become a Sister of the Poor, dedicating her life to the Lord's service. She had attended a church school through eighth grade when she was seduced and essentially raped by the parish priest and had become pregnant. Her family was shamed and, absurdly, she was blamed. Gabriella told me that she had been sent away to a distant aunt, never to return to her parents' village. She had miscarried in her sixth month and sought employment as a maid in a large hotel near her aunt's home. She found the work boring, but it paid reasonably well. Then one day she met a young man named Jaime. I knew it was my friend. They spoke and the following day another man appeared at her aunt's home, gave the aunt some money, and drove her here to the house I now occupied. She had worked here for several weeks before my arrival earlier today.

I was understandably exhausted from my long arduous day, not having really slept in more than thirty hours. I excused myself and walked upstairs to my room. My clothes fell to the floor as I entered the attached bathroom for a long hot shower. Once out and dry I realized that I had no idea what clothes I had and I was too tired to look tonight. I went to bed naked.

I was almost asleep when I heard the knob turn and the door open. I sat up suddenly, concerned about this intrusion. "It is only me, Diego." Gabriella sat on the edge of the bed and spoke quietly. "Your friend, Jaime, told me a great deal about you. He told me that your wife mistreated you and beat you with a...stick?"

"Close enough," I replied, "It's called a cane."

"Well... he told me that you had many marks on your body. I have here an unguent—a cream from a local doctor—that will help. He is a very good doctor. I will put it on you and rub it in. You do not have to be bashful. Seeing to your needs is my job."

I thought for a moment then turned over and let the blanket fall to my ankles. Even in the moonlight Gabriella could see the welts, scars, and scabs that ran from my shoulders to my knees. There was barely a square inch that was not discolored. In many places the welts had caused raised areas that even I could feel. I heard her gasp as she had her first look at my body.

Gabriella's hands warmed the cream then she tried to apply it, but her clothing was clearly in the way. She stood to the side of the bed and dropped her garments to the floor. After straddling my body she began again. The sensation of her hands on my back was heavenly as she rubbed the medicine into my sore skin and muscles. She was done in about ten minutes. "Let's wait a few minutes until it is absorbed and then I can rub some into your front."

I couldn't suppress a giggle. "I think that might be a bit embarrassing. You have an incredible effect on me."

"That is good. Your friend told me that your wife abused you because your penis was small. I think I would like and enjoy that. When the priest raped me he ripped my vagina and caused me to bleed badly. I know about the membrane, but this was worse. I am very small and tight there. Do not be