Dig a Pony

I thank Randi for dreaming up this invitational, for inviting me, for editing my story, and for prodding and poking me to get it finished and posted. Readers have no idea how much time and effort she puts into these little literary events.

I was checking my Facebook homepage one evening after dinner when I received a PM from Bill Jackson, a neighbor who lived a few houses down on our street. He asked if I had heard that Tyler Robinson had been shot to death earlier in the day!

I live in a quiet gated community where the biggest problem we ever have is someone sneaking through the gate before it closes all the way. Shootings simply don't happen. I immediately asked Bill if he had heard any particulars to the story.

It seems that Tyler's wife, Nancy, had returned home from her job as a math teacher at the local high school to discover her husband's bloody body lying on the kitchen floor. The door had been locked, and there was no sign of forced entry.

I lived on Poplar Street, and Tyler's house was two streets over on Pine. He and Nancy had been a regular couple in our social circle. My wife, Marge, and I were friendly with several other couples that lived in our little community. We usually had a gathering about once a month at one of our homes. The last one had been just over a week ago at Jeff and Elizabeth Baker's home. Tyler had been very much alive that night. After learning everything my neighbor Bill could tell me, I decided to tell my wife about the situation.

"Marge!" I called to my wife as she sat in the living room watching TV. "Did you hear that Nancy Robinson found Tyler dead in their kitchen?"

"No!" replied my wife as she quickly made her way to my side. "What happened?"

"Nancy came home and found him shot to death. Bill says that the Robinsons don't even own a gun. The doors were locked when Nancy got home, and there was no sign of forced entry. Maybe it was a robbery gone bad," I mused.

"Was anything missing?" asked Marge. "If things are gone, that would indicate that they were probably being robbed when Tyler surprised the thieves."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I agreed. "I guess it pays to watch all those crime shows. Bill hasn't heard any details yet. The police are still at the scene."

"We need to always be sure the doors are locked," worried Marge. "There's no reason to think the same thing couldn't happen to us."

"I'll check to be sure my shotgun is close at hand. I'll stash some ammo around the house, since it's a double-barrel and only holds two shells."

"That shotgun is kind of awkward," observed Marge. "Wouldn't it make more sense to get a handgun of some sort?"

"I don't have the time or inclination to practice enough to become accurate with a handgun. With my trusty 12 gauge, all I need is to point it in the right general direction," I reasoned. "There's nothing more terrifying than to find one's self on the wrong end of a shotgun."

"I sure hope you never have to use it," responded Marge with a shudder.

It took almost a week for any reliable information on Tyler's death to filter back to the community. The cops were staying tight lipped about the entire situation.

It somehow became known that police did not believe robbery was a motive in Tyler's death. That fact became more evident once it appeared that everyone in our group was to be thoroughly questioned by the lead detective on the case. He was reputed to have solved several tough cases over the years, although he didn't appear that formidable when I met him for the first time.

I was putting my lawn mower away on a Saturday afternoon when a somewhat overweight guy in a shiny suit walked across my lawn and stepped into my garage.

"Are you Daniel Page? I'd like to ask you a few questions," began the cheap suit as he held up a badge. "I'm Detective Cook, with the Millville Police Department. What can you tell me about Tyler Robinson?"

"For starters, he's deader than last year's dandelions," I replied as I reached in and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator I kept in my garage. "I'd offer you one, but I know that you're a professional and would never drink on the job."

Cook's eyes went to my Bud Light and remained there for several seconds. I began to wonder if there was a picture of a naked woman on it from the way he stared.

"Yeah, I could use one," conceded the detective as he snatched the bottle from my hand. "It's quite a coincidence that Tyler Robinson had five bottles of Bud Light in his refrigerator the afternoon he was shot, don't you think?"

"Yeah, especially considering that he drank Bud Light and usually kept a few cases in the house. That is weird," I responded smoothly before taking a long pull on my beer.

"Okay, Mr. Bud Light, where were you when Tyler Robinson met his untimely end?" demanded Cook in a rather unfriendly manner for a guy drinking one of my beers.

"What time did he die?" I shot back.

"I can't reveal that information!" snapped Cook before chugging the last of his beer.

"Then I can't answer your question!" I snarled in return even as I marveled at Cook's beer drinking talent.

"You don't know where you were March 4th at three PM?" sneered Cook as he reached into my refrigerator and pulled out another Bud Light. "Maybe I should take you down to the station and question you under the heat lamp we have just for guys like you."

"I was attending a meeting with seven coworkers when Tyler bought the ranch," I answered with a slight grin at Cook's obvious gaffe.

"I knew the threat of being interrogated at the station would help refresh your memory," smirked the detective as he plopped his ass down on my work bench.

"Do you own a handgun like the one used to kill him?" was his next question.

"With what kind of gun was he shot?" I asked before I took another pull on my cold beer.

"That information is not being divulged yet," answered the cop as he emptied yet another bottle and released a loud belch.

"In that case, the answer is a firm 'no'. I don't own a gun like the one used to kill poor Tyler," I stated firmly.

"Aha!" chuckled Cook as he reached for the gun in the holster near his armpit. "Only the killer knows what caliber gun was used to spread Robinson's brains across the microwave! That makes you my prime suspect."

"Do you know what caliber the gun was?" I asked Cook as he clutched his gun tightly in his left hand as he grabbed yet another Bud with his right.

"Of course I do!" replied Cook with some mirth as he twisted the cap off and threw it in the general direction of the trash can. "I'm thinking about arresting you for murder. Care to say anything that might help convince me of your innocence?"

"You told me that the only person that knew the caliber of the murder weapon was the murderer. Then you told me that you, in fact, do know the caliber of the aforementioned gun. I should make a citizen's arrest and take you in. They'd go easier on you if you confessed right now."

"For one thing, I don't even own a .38! For another, I was at the station surfing porn at the time of the shooting. I can prove it because I was written up for it! Last, but not least, all of the cops know about the .38. I was talking about people outside of the department when I said no one knew the caliber of the murder weapon. We're going to keep it that way for a week or two," concluded Cook.

"Okay, you convinced me," I admitted as I took another sip. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions."

"Don't worry about it," soothed Cook between gulps. "It was a reasonable assumption based on what you knew at the time."

"You do know that the spouse is always the first suspect," I pointed out.

"Of course! We grilled his wife pretty good. She has twenty kids in her 9th grade math class for an alibi," revealed Cook. "The only better suspect in a murder is the butler, of course. The butler always does it."

It was apparent that the detective was a talkative guy, if not overly bright. I reached into my fridge and pulled out another beer and offered it to him.

"It's too bad you couldn't find a motive for the murder," I mused as I handed him the cold brew. "It's usually money, sex, or power."

"We have a few leads," admitted Cook as he took a pull on his fresh brew. "We think Robinson was romantically involved with an unknown woman, or women."

"No shit?" I exclaimed. "I guess you found some strange perfume, or a stray pussy hair at the scene, or even some lipstick on his dick? His lover shot him in a jealous rage?"

"Hardly," chuckled Cook before he once again chugged his beer and tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin. "We found a very short clip on his laptop. I'll be looking for more clips in my spare time. It featured a married woman sucking a cock. Now we have to determine if the woman is someone he knew, and if the cock is his. The guy's face wasn't in the video."

"Seriously?" I asked as I handed Cook yet another beer. "Can't you just look at his pecker and see if it's the same one in the video? How hard is to identify the married cock sucking slut, and how can you even be sure she's married?"

"You'd think," laughed Cook before taking a long swig of his brew. "This bitch didn't leave any cock showing. I never saw Robinson's body but the guy in forensics said his dick was a pretty respectable size, so if it was him the slut was sucking off, she was pretty damn good. Very little of her face showed in the video because it was taken from the side and a distance away from them"

"You realize that just because a woman is an accomplished cock sucker, it doesn't necessarily follow that she's married. In fact, single women are more apt to develop that particular skill than married women," I suggested.

"Her big old wedding band was showing clear as day, along with an unusual ring on her pinkie finger. If we find the woman that wears that ring, we'll have our cock sucker," declared Cook as he once again tossed his empty into the bin. "All we need is to find a fellatrix with a dolphin pinkie ring and we'll have a suspect."

I quickly stood and trotted over to the rose bushes and spewed out the beer I had just finished drinking. Cook helped himself to my last beer as I remained hunched over with my hands on my knees and a string of spit dangling from my chin.

"Thanks for your time. Maybe you should switch to nonalcoholic beer," advised Cook as he staggered toward his car while shaking his head. "Lightweights like you give beer drinking a bad name."

Marge came home from shopping about half an hour after Cook had left. I checked her hand immediately to determine if she was still wearing the dolphin ring that her grandfather had given her years ago. I had hoped against hope that she had given or loaned it to someone else, but no such luck. It appeared that my wife was the cock sucker Detective Cook sought!

I tried to behave normally while I struggled to consider the situation logically. Marge was the mother of our two kids. She was a great wife and mother. She had a good job and was well liked by everyone that met her. I always assumed that was because of her outgoing personality, not her oral skills, which I had to admit were more than satisfactory.

Was it Tyler's cock she was sucking in the video, or someone else's? Did it really matter? The fact that a woman with a dolphin ring was videoed sucking a cock and my wife wore such a ring was upsetting. I had never even suggested filming any of our bedroom activities. I had honestly never even considered it and I knew for certain that Marge would not agree to it even if I made the suggestion.

Was she the phantom cock sucker? If so, who owned the sucked cock? Was it Tyler's? If not, why would he have a clip of Marge slurping someone else's cock? How long would it take for the cops to determine that she wore the ring shown in the video? Would they arrest her for murder? Was my wife a cold blooded cock-sucking killer?

"Marge, why don't you give me that dolphin ring and I'll drop it off at the jewelers to have it cleaned?" I asked that evening after another one of her delicious dinners.

Marge looked at me like I had two heads for a few seconds before responding. "Thanks, but I clean it myself. It's not that valuable. I just wear it because Grandpa Roberts gave it to me on my twelfth birthday.

"How come you offered to do that? You've never done that before. I doubt if you even know where the jeweler that I use is located."

"I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me and the kids," I quickly responded. "I don't want you thinking that I take you for granted."

After looking to be sure the kids were in the living room, Marge gave me a grin. "How about showing me some of that appreciation later tonight? I'll show you mine if you show me yours!"

Shit! Now she expected me to make love to her. I wondered if I would even be able to get hard now that I knew she could be a murderous cock-sucker. Hell, maybe she liked to blow guys and then blow their heads off. That was one 'blowjob' I could do without.

The kids were still up when I announced that I was tired and headed for bed. It was my hope that I would either be asleep or able to fake it well enough that Marge would forego her sexual expectations. I quickly showered and brushed my teeth. The kids would never get ready for bed early on a Saturday night, so I felt pretty certain that I could fall asleep before Marge got them into bed.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Marge was sitting on the side of the bed waiting for me. She was naked and caressing her slit with her right hand while giving me the 'come hither' motion with her left.

Somehow, this had become our foreplay over the years. Marge would sit on the bed and suck my cock until I came. Then she's simply flop back with her legs spread wide in invitation. I would drop to my knees between her legs and munch on her little pussy until she had at least a couple of orgasms. By that time, my dick would have recovered and the games would begin.

I tried to think of a way out of the situation, but my traitorous cock refused to help me. He was quickly coming to life and once again took control of my body. He made me walk over to what appeared to be a very eager Marge. As I neared her, she leaned ahead and sucked my little soldier in to the hilt.

I tried to focus on the possibility that she had recently murdered a man after blowing him. Thinking about your wife like that should be enough to make any man lose an erection. My problem was how much I adored the woman feverishly servicing my throbbing organ. Her eyes sought mine as she smiled around my cock. Marge was a very attractive woman, but she was never more beautiful than when she looked at me while blowing me. I could see her love and desire, and it always affected me the same way. As I watched her hand with her wedding band and her dolphin pinkie ring slide up and down my member, I came long and hard.

After we had finished our love making and Marge was sleeping with her head on my shoulder, I lay awake considering the situation. I was certain that Marge was not capable of murder, but she sure as hell was able to deliver an incredible blowjob. Was it possible that she had given one to Tyler? If so, could she have also been involved in his demise somehow?

My thoughts kept came coming back to motive. Why would Marge have anything to do with Tyler? Why was he murdered? The only time Marge had any contact with Tyler was when our social group got together. I couldn't recall the two of them ever being alone with each other, or even being very friendly.

I decided to stop letting a few words from an inebriated detective alter my relationship with my wife. Marge was a great mother and an even better wife. I had no reason to doubt her, except for the ramblings of that asshole detective.

It was two days later that I came home to find Marge home already. She sat at the kitchen table drying her red, teary eyes. She jumped up and rushed to hug me almost before I had the door closed.

"Dan! I don't remember having sex with Tyler and I certainly didn't kill him! You have to believe me," was all she managed before breaking down completely in my arms.

I held her for a couple of minutes as I waited for her to calm down. When her sobbing finally ended, I asked what I felt were reasonable questions.

"How many times did he fuck you? Where and when did it happen?"

"I don't know!" wailed Marge as she once again broke down.

My blood was beginning to boil. She was the cheater, so why did I have to be patient? Why was she crying when I was the victim? Then I had an even more unsettling thought.

If Marge and Tyler had been fucking around, I would become a likely suspect! The husband always does it. I watched enough old Perry Mason courtroom dramas to know that, especially since no one in the entire community had a fucking butler. If it isn't the butler, it's the husband.

"Marge, you need to get your shit together right fucking now!" I snarled as yet more implications of her infidelity occurred to me. "How can you not know when you fucked that bastard, or how many times? I'll settle for a ball park figure."

"I never had sex with him that I can remember, but Detective Cook told me he had videos of me giving Tyler oral sex. He was even able identify my dolphin ring in the video. I must have been drugged or hypnotized because I have no recollection of any of it."

"Has it ever occurred to you that there could be more than one dolphin ring in existence?" I demanded. "Cook isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He could be wrong."

"He told me that he could make out the birthmark on my left breast in the video! How many women have a dolphin ring and a birthmark that's shaped like a very small apple below their left nipple?" managed Marge before sobbing loudly.

"Can I assume that you didn't confess to killing your lover when Cook grilled you today?" I demanded angrily. "Your ass, your dolphin ring and your apple tit would be in jail if he had dragged a confession out of you. Goddamn it, Marge! Now we're both suspects in a murder investigation because you had to have some strange cock!"

"Why would you be a suspect? You didn't know about Tyler and me. Hell! I didn't even know about Tyler and me! You had no reason to kill him since you didn't know he was slipping me the salami," reasoned Marge.

"You can't be that dumb," I snapped at Marge as I filed away her 'salami' comment. "The cops don't know what I knew, when I knew it, or how I'd react once I became aware of it. As far as they know, I found out about your affair and drove over to Tyler's and shot him dead."

"You killed Tyler because we were having an affair?" gasped Marge. "We need to find a good lawyer. You can plead temporary insanity!"

My response was cut short by the ringing of the doorbell. Marge was closer, so she stepped over and opened the door.

"Marge, I think Bill might have killed Tyler because he was fucking me in the ass!" exclaimed Sue Jackson before she realized I was standing by the refrigerator.

"He fucked you in the ass? Wow!" marveled an obviously impressed Marge. "Don't worry about Bill. Dan just told me that he shot Tyler because he found out that I was sucking his cock."

"Holy cow!" gasped Sue. "I hope you sucked him off before he fucked my ass!"

"So do I, now that you mention it," agreed Marge. "If he had me blow him after he fucked your ass, I would have killed him myself!"

"Dan, you shot Tyler? You must have been pretty upset that Marge was blowing him. Did you, by any chance, know he was fucking my ass? Did he tell you, or maybe show you any videos?" asked Sue.

"I never said that I shot Tyler!" I roared at the two excited women, but with no noticeable effect. "I didn't know Marge was blowing him and I certainly never knew he was fucking your ass. How long has that been going on?"