Badass

I was so deep inside her that I could feel the head of my cock grind against her cervix periodically. It was painful each time it happened, like someone jabbing the head of my cock with a piece of hard plastic. It wasn't all that unpleasant, but it helped me avoid ejaculating, allowing me to stay hard for a long time. Natalie road me through three powerful orgasms then collapsed next to me.

She kissed me and whispered, "Please make love to me."

I kissed her back, rolled on top of her, and made slow, tender, passionate love to my loving wife. She had another orgasm just before I came inside her. As we both came down from our orgasmic bliss, she curled up against me, her cheek against my chest, and said, "You're such a fucking badass."

Chapter 2

I smiled as I realized that part one of my plan seemed to be working. That was the first time Natalie had ever called me badass. Now, I needed to drive it home.

I left work early the next day but didn't tell Natalie. My first stop was at the Indian Motorcycle dealer in McKinney. An hour and $38,000 later, I was the proud owner of an Indian Roadmaster Elite. It was a hot motorcycle with a big bitch seat in the back, perfect for Natalie to ride with me.

My second stop was to the Krav Maga center close to my house. I wasn't sure what Krav Maga was, but it sounded badass. I signed up, and they ran me through a thirty-minute introductory class. It turned out it was some kind of martial arts training. Perfect. That could come in handy.

Finally, my last stop was at Natalie's office. It was getting close to quitting time, so I parked the bike in an empty spot near her car and waited for her to come out. It didn't take long. After about fifteen minutes, I saw her exit the building and walk toward her car. I cranked up the motorcycle and intercepted her, nearly running into her.

Natalie jumped back, surprised an stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Mark, what the hell are you doing? Why are you here and why are you on a motorcycle?"

"Hi, honey," I said with a shit-eating grin. "Like my new bike?"

"Your new bike?" She asked, stressing the word "your."

"Yep," I said, "just picked her up today."

"Have you lost your mind?" Natalie asked, apparently angry. "You bought a motorcycle?"

"Yeah, hop on," I said. "You can ride bitch."

"What did you call me?" she asked, growing angrier.

"No, that's what it's called when your ride in the back seat," I explained. "You know, you're my bitch. Hop on."

"I am NOT riding on that thing," Natalie declared. "Where's your car?"

"It's at the dealership," I said. "You'll have to take me later to pick it up."

"Take it back," Natalie said. "Then I don't have to."

"Take it back?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes!" she snapped. "How much did it cost?"

I mumbled in response.

"What?" Natalie snapped. "What did you say?"

"Thirty-eight thousand," I repeated, more clearly.

"Dollars??" Natalie asked in shock.

"Yeah," I said.

"Take it the fuck back!" She shouted. "How dare you spend forty-thousand dollars on something without talking to me about it first!"

"I can't just take it back," I responded. I didn't know if that were true or not.

"Take it back, or don't come home!" Natalie snapped. "I can't believe you did something so irresponsible." She continued to berate me as she got in her car and slammed the door.

I stood there, staring as she drove away, dazed in a bitter world of lost manhood. I couldn't believe her attitude. She liked hearing about Carl's motorcycle. She talked about how cool it was and how much she wanted to ride on it with him. When I get one, she acts like it's the end of modern civilization.

And on top of that, Natalie had just done something she had never done before in all the years I've known her. She had given me an ultimatum. "Take it back, or don't come home!" she had said.

Well, alright. If that's what Natalie wanted me to do, then I would do it. I climbed back on the Indian and cranked her up, then headed to a nearby motel and checked in. I didn't have a bag or any clothes. I just didn't want to go home. I'd be damned if I was going to do what she demanded.

I ran to Burger King and grabbed a whopper and fries, then went to my room to sulk. About an hour and a half passed in silence, then my phone rang.

"Yes?" I asked as I answered it.

"Where are you?" Natalie asked.

"Doing what you said," I responded. "You told me to take the motorcycle back or not to come home. So, I'm not coming home.

"You're what?" She asked, sounding surprised by my behavior and my attitude.

"I'm not coming home," I repeated, slowly, over-articulating each word as if I were speaking to an imbecile.

"Because of a stupid motorcycle?" she asked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"No, because of you," I replied and disconnected.

The phone rang again, and I answered it angrily. "What?" I snapped.

"Are you serious?" Natalie asked me, a tinge of fear in her voice. "You aren't coming home?"

"I believe that was the ultimatum you gave me," I said. "I don't handle ultimatums very well. When you decide having me at home is more important than me having a motorcycle, call me. Until then, don't bother."

I disconnected my phone and turned it off. I was determined to give Natalie a good and healthy dose of her own medicine. Let's see how she feels in a couple of days.

I spent the next few minutes setting up my laptop and accessing my surveillance software. It didn't take me long to find Natalie already chatting away with Carl. She was already bitching me out and seeking comfort from her boyfriend.

Now was time for part two of my plan.

I picked up the burner phone that I'd acquired a couple of days back and dialed a number. "Carl," answered.

"Hello," he said. His voice was kind of high-pitched and nasal. He didn't sound much like a badass.

"Is this Arnold Peebles?" I asked, trying to sound as authoritarian as possible.

"Who's asking?" he answered.

"My name is Dash Riprock," I lied. "I'm a private investigator, Mr. Peebles. Is Mrs. Gertrude Peebles your wife?"

"W-what? What do you want?" he asked. I could tell he was already nervous.

"I'll assume that's a yes," I replied. "Your wife is the daughter of Anthony Scalisi, president of Flexible Plastics, where you work, isn't that right Mr. Peebles?"

"Why are you calling me?" he asked, the fear sinking in. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"So, how would your wife and her father feel if they knew about your affair, Mr. Peebles?"

"Affair? I'm not having an affair? You've got this all wrong!" He was trying to shout while speaking in a whisper. He didn't want someone to overhear our conversation.

"So, you don't use the handle CaviarIsAGarnish on websites focused on hooking up with married women?"

Silence.

"Mr. Peebles," I said menacingly, "we know everything. No need to deny it."

"I swear, I only fucked the bitch once," he replied.

It was my turn to be surprised. I didn't know Natalie had already fucked the son of a bitch.

"But, it's over, I swear it! I haven't spoken to her in months," he said.

I was growing increasingly confused. The asshole was in a chat with Natalie when I called him.

"Mr. Peebles, my client is a very powerful and angry man," I explained. "He's not looking just to divorce his cheating wife; he's looking to destroy that man with whom she is cheating."

"I swear I haven't spoken to Denise since the last time we hooked up in May. You have to believe me! She got mad that I came so fast and my dick was so small. She called me a loser and never wanted to see me again!"

I nearly let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm not calling you about Denise, you stupid fuck!" I shouted.

"Oh, this is about Angie?"

"No!"

"Margaret?"

"No!"

"Lakeesha?"

Jesus! How many women was this guy catfishing?

"Natalie?"

"Bingo," I said.

"Wait? Natalie's husband is a wimp!" Carl said. "She told me."

"You got it all wrong, Arnold," I said with a snarl. "Her husband is a made man. He has connections with your father-in-law that go back to Sicily if you get my meaning."

"Wait? What?" he asked, "Are you saying my wife's dad is in the Mafia?"

"Arnold, Arnold," I said, doing my best acting job, "Don't let Don Scalisi hear you use such a word. "

"Of course! I'm s-sorry," he stammered.

"So, my client knows that so far you have not touched his wife," I began. "For this, you will be allowed to keep your penis." I let the words sink in before I continued.

"But, my client is very unhappy with you, Arnold," I went on. "He is not happy that you would try to seduce the mother of his children. For this, there must be some atonement. So, you will be allowed to choose which of your fingers we will cut off."

"No! Please! I need my fingers. I didn't know she was his wife. I didn't mean any disrespect."

"Arnold, Arnold," I said softly, "if it were up to me, I would be happy to relay your deepest regrets to my client, but he knows that you are still talking to his wife. Be happy, Arnold, the last man who tried to seduce his wife is now a woman."

"Please, what can I do?" he pleaded.

"My client would need certain assurances that you are sincere," I explained. "First, you are to contact his wife and send her a picture of the real you, including your pathetic little dick. You will tell her the truth and then never, ever have contact with her again. Do this, and we will not send Don Scalisi the information about you and these other women. If you fail to do it, then we will be forced to burn you. You would not like that, would you, Arnold?"

"No, no, I wouldn't! I'll do it; I don't like that bitch anyway," he said.

"You have one hour, Arnold," I said. "If we do not see your true confession in that time, you will not like the result. Capiche?"

"I understand."

"And one more thing, Arnold," I said. "Do not tell his wife anything about our little conversation. This is between you and me. If you do, then you will have a problem with me, and I will give you a world of pain. One hour. Make it happen."

I hung up the phone and waited, watching Natalie's Skype window. Ten minutes later, Carl spilled his guts and dumped my wife. I grinned and went out for a nice steak dinner. I took my time and enjoyed every bite before returning to my room. As I got comfortable, I turned my phone back on.

It practically blew up with missed calls and texts. I ignored them, figuring there was no point in reading what Natalie wrote. Maybe later, I'd read them for giggles.

About ten minutes passed, and my phone rang. It was from Natalie. I debated with dragging this out for a day or two, but I was having too much fun. I answered.

"Yellow," I said. She hated it when I did that.

"If the motorcycle means that much to you, then keep it. Now, will you come home?" Natalie asked.

"Well, that takes care of the ultimatum," I said. "But, there's another issue you have to resolve before I come home."

"Another issue? What issue?" She asked.

"The other issue is getting me to forget that you've been cheating on me for months."

"I haven't cheated on you!" Natalie declared. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not talking about a what; I'm talking about a who," I told her. "Do you really think I'm such a wimpy, clueless cuckold not to know that you're having an affair."

"Affair?? I am not having an affair!" she shouted into the phone.

"Really? Then, what do you call it?" I asked. "What would Carl call it?"

Silence. Wow, that's twice in one day I was able to shut someone up completely.

"Nothing to say, now?" I asked. "Don't worry, Natalie, I won't stand in your way. You want your badass; you can have him. I'll have the lawyer serve you divorce papers tomorrow."

"Wait, divorce? You have it all wrong! Carl and I aren't having an affair, and anyway, it's over!"

"Yeah, you're right; it is over," I said. "Goodbye, Natalie."

I hung up again and turned the phone back off. Now, this was getting fun. I wanted Natalie to freak the fuck out and worry about what I did or didn't know, and whether or not I would divorce her. Let her feel some of the anguish I had been living with for all this time.

I reviewed the package of information that I had accumulated one last time, making sure that my wife's name and contact information was nowhere to be found. I added edited versions of the phonecalls with Arnold and sipped it all up nicely, sending one copy to Gertrude Peebles through her email, facebook, and other social media accounts. The second set I sent to her father, Anthony Scalisi. I didn't think he had any connections to organized crime, but Arnold didn't need to know that. Lastly, I sent it to Arnold himself with a note that read, "Stop fucking with married women."

Satisfied with what I'd accomplished so far, I called my friend Jimmy and gave him the green light. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up out from my house, then rang the doorbell. A very disheveled looking Natalie answered the door, all caught for me on our home security system.

Jimmy was dressed in his best suit and had his dad's briefcase in his hand. When Natalie answered, he asked her name, then fished a manilla envelope out of his case and handed it to her, uttering the immortal phrase that strikes terror in the hearts of cheaters everywhere, "You've been served."

Of course, the divorce papers were not legit. I hadn't filed, not yet anyway. I'd merely printed them off and made them look as real as I could. It didn't matter; Natalie took one look at them and collapsed to the floor of our foyer.

I jumped on my Indian and made the quick trip back to the house, revving up the engine loudly out front to get Natalie's attention. It worked. She came running out of the house, still in only her robe, looking like hell.

"Divorce?" she screamed, throwing the papers at me. "You want a divorce? Why! What have I done to deserve this?" By now, a couple of our nosiest neighbors had come out to watch the unfolding drama. I wasn't going to be their entertainment. I picked up the paperwork and told Natalie to come inside and stop humiliating us more than she already had. She looked around, noticed the spying eyes, and pulled her robe tight, then followed me inside.

As soon as the door closed, she was all over me again. "Why? We can work this out! Why do you want to leave me?"

"So you can be with your loverboy, Carl," I replied, looking harshly into her eyes. She flinched, blushed, and stammered.

"H-he was just a g-guy I was talking to online. We never did anything, I swear it!" She assured me.

I led her to the kitchen table and sat her down. "Let me make some coffee," I told her. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her gown.

"I'm sorry, honey, but nothing happened. I swear to you, it was harmless," Natalie began, speaking rapidly, "and anyway, I found out he was a total phony anyway, and it's over now."

"So it's over because he is a phony," I replied. "So, if he were legit, you'd still be planning to fuck him?"

'No! Of course, not!" she shouted. "I was never going to fuck him! I swear it. It was just harmless flirting on the internet. I got carried away, but I was never seriously considering cheating with him!"

"Look, I think that this was the best thing that could have happened," I said.

"What do you mean?" Natalie asked, staring at me in complete confusion.

"You having an affair is the catalyst we needed, I needed, to end this charade we call marriage and get divorced."

She looked shocked.

"Charade? What are you saying?" she asked, tears flowing again. "I love you! I love our marriage! I don't want a divorce!"

"Yeah, well, I do," I told her. "I'm just tired of the same old bullshit. I'm bored. You bore me. I need excitement. I gave up who I am for you and let you turn me into some wimpy-assed, domesticated gelding. You took my balls, and I want them back.

"You're a lousy lay," I continued, "and I'm tired of putting up with mediocre sex. I want to get properly laid by a woman into sex, who wants to be fucked well, fucked hard, and fucked long. I want it all, and dammit, I deserve it. I want blowjobs when I want them. I want to bend you over the kitchen sink and pound your pussy, blow my load and walk away. I want a woman who wants me to do that!

"I'm tired of restrictions, rules, and being politically correct. I want daring, exciting, and fun. I am getting old, and I need to live now while I still can. You're killing me. You're making me old before my time. I need a woman who acts young and full of life, not a frumpy, middle-aged house frau."

"I can try!" Natalie cried out, "I want the same things! That's why I started talking to Carl. I felt I was stuck, getting old and that I'd never know what it was like to be free and have fun again."

"Well, now you're free," I told her.

"But, don't you see?" she asked, "I never wanted those things with Carl or anyone else. I wanted them with you, but I didn't think you wanted the same thing."

"You gave up on me!" I snapped.

"You're giving up on us!" Natalie snapped back.

"You wanted to cheat on me!" I fired back.

"No! Never! I just got caught up in the idea of it all, not actually doing it!"

"I don't know if I believe you," I said, speaking more calmly. I sat down across from Natalie, pushing a cup of coffee in front of her. "What's worse is I don't know that I can ever trust you again."

She buried her face in her hands and cried. I let her. I figured she needed to get it out. After several minutes she raised her eyes to mine, "Please, don't do this. I'll do anything. I'll go to counseling. I'll go to Church. I'll do anything you want. I'll be your sex slave. I'll be the bitch on your motorcycle. Just tell me what I can do to fix this. Please."

She was ready.

I pushed my chair back and spread my legs.

"For starters, take off that fucking robe, get over here on your knees and suck my cock."

"Are you serious?" she asked, staring at me with hope in her eyes.

"Don't make me tell you again," I said.

She stood, dropping the robe, revealing her naked body underneath, then quickly stepped in front of me and knelt. She began unbuckling my pants and then pulled my cock out, stroking it as she stared up at me. Her face was still wet with tears as she leaned down and took me into her mouth.

"Who is your badass?" I asked her.

She pulled her mouth off my cock and smiled, "You are! You're my badass."

I grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and pushed her down, forcing my cock into her throat. Natalie let out a slow moan telling me how much she liked it.

"Don't ever forget it!" I snarled as she went to work on my cock.

Chapter 3

We did get couples coaching. It helped us work through a lot of the issues that led Natalie to go online to meet Carl in the first place. Our communication improved significantly, and we found that we like it when we tell each other what we want and how we feel.

I still don't fully trust her. That will take longer to come back. She knows I monitor her emails and chats. Maybe I will stop doing it soon, but I won't tell her if I do. It's been six months, and we seem to be doing well.

We are trying to have more fun and lead more exciting lives, and our sex is through the roof. We've become more spontaneous and daring. On weekends, Natalie likes to let her hair down, put on a pair of Daisy Dukes and a nearly transparent tank top, and ride bitch on my bike.

Who knows where the future will take us?

Oh, by the way, I checked in on Carl last week. It turns out that maybe his father-in-law was more connected than I had imagined, or perhaps it was another unhappy husband. Somebody took a baseball bat to Carl's balls. Come to think of it, my bat has been missing for a while.

Come on, you don't really think it was me, do you? To do that, I really would have to be a badass.