Burn the Bastard Pt. 01

Note to readers. If you are looking for a BTB then don't read more than the first part. This first part deals with discovery and punishment. Also, for those who like Reconciliation At All Costs then you might be discouraged as this tale deals with the discovery of cheating and how the protagonist metes out punishment before forgiveness.

I am trying to portray the emotion from the destruction of trust and faith and hopefully have provided some slight insight into those emotions. Since I have never been betrayed like this, it is mostly drawn from my own imagination and from the discussions of friends and relatives who have gone through this kind of horror.

I am posting this in four parts so it might be easier to read. I quit really trying to do chapters but do try to stop at a point where a reader might be tempted to watch for the next part.

By the way, a reader accused me of deleting his/her comments on a different story. I don't know what happened to that reader's comments but I do not and actually don't know how to delete comments. I do read them and fully understand I can't please everyone so I don't really try. Have a Good Day.

*****

My name is Mike Flanagan. I am of Irish descent, at least that is what my mom tells me. Dad never really tells any stories about our heritage. I am 100% American, born and raised well away from the Irish enclaves in Boston and New York. I am a little over six foot tall, dark brown hair and blue eyes and about 210 pounds.

I am not some kind of gym rat. No, I come by my physique naturally, as I am in construction. I lift heavy bags of concrete. I throw rolls of insulation up two flights of stairs. I haul sheetrock up and down stairs. I then mix the concrete, install the insulation, hang the sheetrock, put on the roofing, climb up and down ladders, crawl under the houses to do whatever is needed. I am now 33 years old and expect to get old and full of arthritis and complain about how hard my life was and how little the young generation does physically. (I am smiling as I hunt and peck at this keyboard.)

I have been married for eight years to June McClellan. How we met isn't really that important to this tale. Let us just say that we met at a party, liked each other, dated a bunch, had sex a bunch and fell in love and got married.

I graduated from a community college with an associate's degree in construction. I have a second such degree as an electrician. This makes me very popular on the building sites. I am a journeyman electrician so most of the electrical contractors will work with me to get the houses roughed in and they just show up and approve my work and do the final install. With the modern need for wiring smart houses it gets more and more complicated and expensive. Anywhere I can help out makes a huge difference on the bottom line.

June graduated from a liberal arts college a year after we got married with a degree in accounting. She works for a large regional company in their accounts receivable division.

Early on in our relationship the disparity of my blue collar job and her white collar job never seemed to be a big deal. I attended all of her social functions. I even showered and would get a haircut and wear my only suit so that I didn't embarrass my bride. Somewhere along the way her co-workers all got a poor impression of me. Maybe I liked my beer from a bottle a little too much or maybe I liked football a little too much and didn't appreciate the symphony or wine drinking (instead of beer). I don't know. I do know that after a while no one really wanted to stand and talk with me at her gatherings.

As I sit and think and type I also wonder if I wasn't sophisticated enough for her co-workers. The wives of a couple of the head honchos actually tried to seduce me at various parties and I shut them down immediately as I am a one-woman man. I don't believe in open marriages or swapping. I also don't use drugs. My occasional beer alters my outlook on life just fine, thank you.

I started out to describe June but got sidetracked as I tried to remember all the events that led up to why I am now sitting and struggling to type out this story. I will try to keep the storyline going.

June is about five foot five or six and has lustrous black hair, even darker than my own. Her skin is that beautiful alabaster white that used to be sought after by every woman of distinction. Of course that means that she hates her skin and is always trying to tan. Yes, she is Irish like me and we Irish don't really tan that well. Her eyes are brown and she has that hourglass form that drives me nuts. I don't know if she is a "C" cup or a "D" cup and I don't really care. I love to bury my face in her cleavage and work those magnificent breasts and perky nipples until she is almost ready to scream with the need for a good hard fucking.

Yes, we make love a lot but we also fuck a lot. We have been together long enough to know each other's moods and I can almost always tell when she wants to make hot animal love or soft, romantic love. Since I try to be the lover she needs and deserves I go with the flow and just be the lover she needs when she needs.

That is, until the last few months. June has been coming home late some evenings citing an expanded work load. She has also started to go out "with the girls" at least once a week. She explained that she needed some "me" time just for her and her cohorts.

At the same time I have been extraordinarily busy this summer. The company I work for has more houses in progress than ever before with the local building boom. I am not a foreman but my skills are good enough that the boss wants me to be everywhere and so I am moving from site to site doing whatever is needed. Remember what I said at the beginning of this tale. One site might have me pouring concrete and working it until it is a piece of art, super smooth as glass with a bright finish. Another site might need my framing skills, another house might need me to level and square the cabinets and so on.

I sometimes get home after dark. Actually I almost always get home after dark six days a week. In the summer that means about ten o'clock. I am tired and hungry and usually just grab some fast food on the way home. June has always already dined either at home alone or out with the "girls" and is usually ready for bed or already in bed by the time I crawl in.

We still get together at least a couple of times a week. I might be exhausted but I love making love with my wife. She sometimes tries to fend me off by citing my tiredness but then she will get into it, especially if I go down on her. Her taste is like her, fresh and exciting, and I love it. I will spend fifteen or twenty minutes tonguing her juicy pussy, sucking on her prominent clit and even poking my tongue into her little starfish (her name for her tight little rectum.)

She will thrash and gyrate all over the bed as I drive her crazy. After a couple of hard and hopefully mind blowing orgasms she usually is begging me to slide my seven inch cock into her wet and warm pussy. I have good control and June usually has a couple of orgasms as my cock pounds her lovely hole.

Yes, we have a life together except for kids that is. We have discussed progeny but haven't decided if it is time yet. Thankfully with the recent events we haven't innocent lives to consider.

Like I was saying, recently things were a little different. June was a little moody but I put it down to the hours I was working. History tells me that the work will slow with the coming of winter and June knows it but seems to be very put out right now mid-summer.

A couple of times she attended company galas without me. As a matter of fact I didn't even know about the last one. I took off on Saturday a little early so I could spend some time with my wife and I got home just in time to see her ready to go out the door dressed to the nines. When I asked her about how she was dressed she just lightly said, "I'm sorry, Mike, but there is a company event that I have to attend. I am angling for a promotion and have to press the flesh with the higher ups. I will be home rather late tonight so don't stay up." She didn't even ask me if I would like to quickly clean up and change to accompany her.

A couple of minutes later she was gone and I was alone on a Saturday night.

While I was not sure if she was having an affair, I was sure that we were not communicating. Because we were not communicating we were drifting apart. Unless something changed and changed quickly I could foresee a lonely future for me. I don't mean sexually. Hell, anytime I went to a bar there were always girls or women that made it clear that my cock was in demand. No, I mean the fact that love might be harder to find a second time around.

I knew June would not lack for male attention but was that what she was looking for? Had she fallen out of love with me? I would have to find out and soon.

She came home very late, even for one of her company do's. It was about three a.m. before she graced our house with her presence again. She immediately stripped off her clothes and took a long shower before creeping into the bed. I was lying on my side, wide awake but didn't let her know that I had been watching her.

I finally fell asleep. June either fell asleep or passed out, I don't know which. Since I had made a little plan on confronting her I slept well. I woke well after sunrise on that Sunday morning.

I got up, showered and shaved and went for a long walk that lasted a few hours. When I returned home June was up and not looking any worse for wear. She had not seemed drunk or stoned when she got home last night, just tired from the late night and she now seemed well rested.

We had a quiet afternoon together but didn't do anymore than snuggle together before falling asleep that night.

On Monday I made arrangements to take the afternoon off. The boss wasn't pleased but after I explained why I needed to start keeping an eye on June he quickly agreed to help me out. He had found his own wife of two decades fucking the neighbor kid a couple of years ago and had fought a lot of demons during his healing. He didn't want anyone else to suffer like he had. If I could get to communicating with June now, instead of waiting until it might be too late, he was all for it.

I went by June's office but she wasn't in and, no, no one seemed to know where she was at. I suppose I could have spent my time driving by every motel and hotel in the area looking for her car but I decided to go home and wait for her. We would then deal with whatever was going on in our marriage.

When I got home I found June's car in the driveway. At least now I knew where she was. I entered the house expecting to see my wife in either the kitchen or living room but both rooms were empty. I headed down the hallway to our bedroom. Maybe she was still worn out from the late Saturday night and getting a nap in.

I had to go by the spare bedrooms on my way to the master suite at the end of the hallway. Both of the spare bedrooms are kept ready for relatives and family who might be traveling through. Some weeks we would have multiple guests but recently no one had darkened our front step.

The bedrooms were empty but I could hear some noise from the master bedroom. My sense of dread was getting worse. I had heard of many marriages that had ended on the rocks when a spouse came home early and caught the offending spouse in the throes of illicit sex.

I will admit I paused a long time before pushing the mostly closed, but not latched, door open. I tried to tell myself that June had the television in the bedroom on and the volume turned up. I tried to tell myself that she was talking on the phone very loudly. I could have stood there and lied to myself for an extended period of time but that's not my way of dealing with conflict or strife.

The thought that I should not open the door also went through my mind. I could always lie to myself and make excuses and remain in the dark about how June actually felt about me and our marriage but like a poor foundation, if you ignore it the whole building is damaged. I couldn't ignore it.

My own sense of self worth also wouldn't let me slink away with my tail between my legs and lick my wounds in private like a wounded animal. No, I was the king of this castle and any interloper was going to pay the price for stealing or damaging something of mine.

Yeah, modern women (feminists) will go on about how their bodies are their own and not their husband's property but these same women seem to think their significant other's thoughts, actions, and bodies are their property. It is really a two way street. Trust and faithfulness were the bed that love, the roadway, was built on. Respect came in there somewhere. Loss of trust, faith or respect and you get sinkholes that swallow cars and no one trusts the road anymore.

I sincerely thought about getting a gun out but my pistol was in the bedside drawer and I really didn't want to wield a shotgun or rifle in the house. No, I was going to have to strike fast and furious.

I will let you know that I am not some Ninja martial artist. I am also not former SpecOps or even a contractor for the government. I have never boxed or even really got into a street fight, even in high school. I did play football and wrestled. I didn't go to the state championships in wrestling but every opponent knew he was in a dogfight when matched up with me. I didn't get pinned very often and many times only lost by a point or two.

I told you this background to kind of explain what I did as I entered the bedroom. I pushed the door open an inch or so. I could see June on her back in the middle of our king sized bed with her feet up by her ears as her lover plowed her gash. I suppose I should call it a cunt now instead of all of the nicer names we usually used to describe her vagina. It was now adulterated and not worthy of respect.

Her lover was blonde and seemed well built. He was bending her legs back against her chest as he shoved his cock into her cunt. At least I thought he was in her cunt. I was to be proved wrong. They were both grunting with each slam of his cock into her. Of course she was also interspersing comments like, "You are so large." And "I love your cock." I also heard her say, "You are so much bigger and better than my worthless husband." And then the "Fuck me" comments came as she came close to a monstrous orgasm.

He was also making stupid comments like, "I bet your asshole husband can't fuck you like this." And "My cock is so much bigger than your worthless husband's isn't it?"

My anger was growing. I seldom ever completely lose control as I have a terrible and nasty temper and my junior high days were stormy at best. My dad finally just grabbed me one day and hugged me and held me until I got control. Nothing else had worked to help me grow a little, not spankings, yelling, grounding, or even the stupid 'time out' did anything. But my dad, who almost never even publicly gave my mom a squeeze, held me and told me how much he loved me and how hurt he was when I was so upset at the world.

Now I was seeing red. I must have some berserker blood in me. You know the old legend of the fighters who would totally lose control and wreak mayhem on their enemies and completely ignore even mortal wounds and keep fighting until the last drop of blood was shed by them or their enemies.

I was feeling that now. I slammed the door completely open and burst into the room. I aimed for a point just behind the blonde asshole's ear and punched him with every ounce of energy I could muster. Almost every ounce of my 200 plus pounds went into that blow. I had also heard that you should punch through what you are hitting. I was aiming for the spot on the wall about six feet beyond the fuck head's skull. I wanted him to feel me and the wall.

Did I say that I hammer nails for a living? You have to have good hand/eye skills to accurately pound a nail. I hit the dumb bastard right where I aimed. He let out a groan as he lost consciousness and almost flew off and out of my estranged wife's body. He didn't quite make it to the wall but he stretched out and went limp from the hit.

I don't think June really liked his dismount. She let out a shriek of pain as his cock was abruptly ripped from her asshole, a place she had never allowed me in eight years of marriage and two years of dating. Her legs were also twisted as he suddenly moved sideways. She immediately curled into a fetal position from the pain and was moaning incoherently. I don't think she even realized what had happened. She went from the peak of orgasm to extreme pain in a single moment. Damn, I was better than I thought.

I had only marginally thought about having to deal with my bitch wife after hitting her boyfriend but both were out of commission.

The redness left my sight as I stood gasping for air and control. Now what do I do? I remember standing there for some time but in reality it must have only been a few moments as nothing had changed as my plan coalesced. I wasn't done getting retribution on the man who had fucked my life up. I might burn June somehow but he wasn't getting away with anything.

He was out. I checked and he was breathing steadily and regularly. I remember a paramedic friend who had told me to always watch for irregular respirations on any unconscious person as it was an indication of how the brain was functioning or not functioning. Fuckface also had a good steady pulse so I turned my attention to my wife.

June was still curled on her side moaning in pain and not really paying attention to me or her lover yet. I had to take advantage of her inability to fight back or I would be in a world of hurt.

When we bought our bedroom set she had insisted on a traditional style vanity with a large round mirror that had a small rectangular topped padded stool to go with it. The mirror was also lighted, unlike its antique counterpart, so she could and did sit there to put on her makeup and primp her hair before we would go out. That let me use the bathroom as we only had one sink in that vanity.

I grabbed the stool and a couple of the ties that she insisted on giving me every Christmas and birthday. Come on, who gives a tie to someone who never wears a suit? It was also an indication of what she thought of me. June gave out another moan as I picked her up and planted her on the stool in a straddling position. I quickly used the ties to bind her hands to the stool and then her legs to the stool legs so she couldn't stand up or move.

I don't think her sore rectum, excuse me, ass, was in any shape to handle her sitting on it but so what. I really didn't care right now. I had just assaulted a man she invited into our house and tied her to a chair. I was probably going to jail so fuck the bitch if her asshole hurt.

She was starting to understand that something was radically wrong in her bedroom. Her eyes cleared and she finally saw that her loving husband was standing in front of her nudity while still dressed. She tried to cover herself. I remember laughing at the sight of my wife of eight years suddenly being embarrassed to be seen naked by her loving husband. She was frustrated when she couldn't move her hands.

She tried to bluster. "Mike, what is going on? What are you doing home so early? Why am I tied to my stool?" I didn't answer as I was looking at Blondie and wondering what to do with him before he regained consciousness. I remember giving her a look that made her shut the fuck up for a few moments. She seemed to shrink a little.

I reached down and grabbed Blondie and pulled him back onto the bed. He was a big boy, maybe even close to my size but I lift heavy things routinely. I wasn't very nice as I dragged him back onto the bed. I folded the large body pillow that June insisted on having between us every fucking night and put it under his belly as I rolled him. I extended his arms above his head and secured them to the headboard with a couple of more of the silk ties my loving wife had given me. Finally they had a use other than being hung on a tie holder, another gift from my wife.