Disblief, Anger, Shock

This is fiction. The facts have some basis in reality but are modified to fit this story.

A happy marriage went badly wrong. He wanted revenge which uncovered the true reason. With help he brought the edifice down. His friends learned more so he was persuaded to support her. Can they ever recover or even be better? (No BTB)

Life as we all know can be quite bloody awful at times. Shite would be an understatement! What I never realised was that even when you thought it couldn't get any worse, it does. How do I know this? Read on.

My name is Michael. I'm a twenty-eight-year-old painter and decorator. Not the most glamorous of the trades and one lots of people think they can do just as well. I'm fortunate that my father was a skilled painter and decorator himself so showed me the tricks of the trade early. I'm told I'm one of the best in the area. My reputation is such, I do have requests from further afield so I do travel on occasion. Especially as much of my work is corporate and they often have multiple places of business.

My home life had started off great, a highly sexed, if not very adventurous wife, but once she started her new job it had become fairly dull and predictable to be honest. More recently it had been highly argumentative. We stopped doing most things together. I now had great concerns for our marriage.

I'll let you know what we did before the rot set in. You may understand why I hoped things would improve.

My wife Dorothy is lovely, not a classical beauty. A face full of mischief with eyes which can reach into your soul. I was sure they could cast spells. Before I recognised it, I was fucking her senseless. I'd have no clue how that happened. When you add that her body is awesome, you can understand why many of my friends wondered about her sanity when she became my girlfriend, let alone married me. She's 5'6", slim with long brunette hair which reaches below her mid back. She'd often tease me with her hair covering her naked breasts. Her breasts are WOW! WOW!! They are a stunning 36E with large ruby coloured nipples. Those nipples grew as she was aroused and often poked out of her hair. Her areolas are about two inches wide and a rosé which darkens considerably as she gets aroused.

She has a slim 24-inch waist, a flat stomach leading to an enticing pussy. Mostly her pussy lips are bare but she will have a landing strip or be trimmed on her mons. Her pussy lips are as rosé as her areolas and boy, do they love being licked and fucked. She's almost drowned me on many occasions. Her pussy is incredibly tight. I have to plead with her not to wank my cock too much once he's embedded in her as otherwise I cum far too quickly. Sometimes, she listens but other times she smiles before she rides me so hard I have to cum and cum. She's the only lover I've had that has the power to keep me hard after I've cum. Her bum is a trim 34-inches, firm, soft, alluring. I can't choose between missionary, lying on her breasts after cumming or doggy as I grope those breasts with my cock in that inferno. Anal isn't a subject for discussion nor unfortunately roleplay or even fulfilling even minor fantasies.

Dorothy loves to tie me up and edge me before fucking herself, using me as human dildo. I'm no adonis but muscular with a seven-and-a-half-inch thick cock. I can normally manage twice, on occasion three fucks at one prolonged session, especially if she blows me. Her eyes never leave mine as she does. It's only a few times a year at best. I get my own back by tying her up and doing the same. Her language when she demands she is fucked and I ignore her is choice! These would be at the weekend. It was once, maybe twice at best, three or four nights during the week. Or had been!

In the last nine months our sex life has gone from bloody good to okay to non-existent. It wasn't only our sex life but our whole life. We seldom did anything together and even having friends over or joining them for a drink or meal was too much trouble latterly. I have tried to get Dorothy to sit and discuss what was happening. We've had a few deep discussions where I made it clear I wasn't happy. I was convinced it was caused by her work. She'd move nine months ago to a new firm in the town. She's an administrative assistant. Her role seems to have changed as in the last five months she'd be away overnight every few weeks. I wasn't happy which led to us rowing frequently, something we had never done.

It was six weeks before the shit hit the proverbial fan, as we discussed our marriage, our words going around in circles, I finally shouted out what my deepest darkest thought was, "Are you fucking someone else?"

This led to the fight to end all fights. The verbal abuse from her would have shocked both a miner and a docker. She was so angry she tried to hit me. When I wouldn't back down, she ran to our bedroom and slammed the door. The whole house shook. I'm sure half the cul-de-sac now knew we were in serious trouble.

I've never been in that bedroom since other than to collect my clothes.

We seldom spoke on the rare occasions we occupied the same space. Both of us were so angry at the other neither would back down. I knew where we were heading so I did everything I could to protect my assets. The house was mine prior to our marriage. There was no mortgage. My mother Yvonne had died from cancer when she was forty. After a few years, dad Harry decided to retire to southern Spain, to decorate in the heat and play the field. He'd gifted the house to me as I was an only child. He'd never remarry as he would never find someone else. He still loved and missed mum. I did as well. She'd have been so helpful to me now.

Fast forward six weeks. It was a Tuesday evening, I was working about three hours away at an hotel. It was part of a small chain which I had done a lot of work for over a few years. It was the low season and they wished three main rooms decorated in time for the main busy period. To reduce their costs, they provided me with a room and meals. The first room to be decorated was the ballroom, though I didn't think it was as grand as that. The ceiling was far too low, maybe twelve feet not fifty. It made it far easier to paint. It holds about three hundred people apparently. They must be stick thin. I arrived on the Sunday night. I spent all Monday till about 10pm working on it. That night, I finished around 7.30pm. It was finished. I was happy with the result. I'm kind of a perfectionist. I collected all my gear together so I could move to the next room the next day. It was to be the main dining room. The last would be the reception, main bar.

I was making my way to my room when I saw the back of a woman who looked extraordinarily like Dorothy in the arms of a man. His hand was grasping her bum. Dorothy wouldn't have allowed that. They were booking in. Both had overnight cases. One was like the pair we had. He was grinning and pulled her to him to kiss her. I briefly saw her face fully. Fucking hell, it was Dorothy! This appeared to be normal, to kiss him. Despite the shock, I recognised he must have been from her office. I wish I had my camera as her face when I shouted, "Is this the arsehole you're fucking Dorothy?" was a picture and a half.

Her eyes shot open. She turned towards me and the colour drained from her face. She looked like she was about to collapse. Arsehole looked at me. His face one big sneer! His suit probably cost the same if not more than my car. He had me on sartorial elegance as decorator's overalls are not a designer look.

I was striding purposefully towards them. I admit I was looking to smash the arsehole's face in but two security guys stopped me. Arsehole came up to me and yelled, "Fuck off little man. She's mine. You're nothing!"

I looked at Dorothy. Everyone nearby heard my anger, my revulsion at her, "You've traded down. I'll have all your things bagged for you. The divorce papers will be filed tomorrow."

Oh, I did want to say more, a lot fucking more, but when you're being held by two burly guys just looking to beat you to fuck and have around thirty others looking at you, you'd don't say anything which gives away what you will do to the arsehole. It could come back and haunt you!

I looked at him and he stepped back. My eyes told him, he and I would meet and he wouldn't like it. He took Dorothy away with him. She never spoke. She appeared to be in shock.

The manager of the hotel came up to me. "Michael, I'll have to ask you to leave. I can't have this behaviour towards our guests."

I spoke calmly, (which took some doing), "I'll collect all my stuff. The ballroom is finished. I'll send you the bill. Should I add extra as you allow prostitution on the premises?" That bit I may have said a bit loud! He wasn't happy but there again, I wasn't fucking happy either!

The security guys watched over me as I collected all my belongings. I placed everything in my van. I returned to the reception and paid my bill for drinks I'd had those two nights before.

I drove home. I didn't know how I felt apart from being utterly furious. With her, with myself for not doing something earlier. I knew the arsehole must be one of the top ones at the firm. Maybe she was his personal assistant and did everything he asked for, including fucking. She'd been full of her work to begin with but then she never mentioned it. Now I knew why. Why hadn't I twigged earlier?

I garaged my van and took my belongings into the house. First things first, I went to my computer and brought up my invoices. I made up the invoice for the hotel. I thought "fuck them!" Normally I costed jobs as materials at cost and my time. I seldom added travel time to those costs. This time, I costed the materials at retail cost, added the travelling time to my hourly costs, milage costs. I seldom used miscellaneous but again, "fuck them!" I looked out the receipt for my stay. It was only £22 but I added that.

As I looked at it, I saw a note containing a name and an address had been added. Dates for the last four months showing six visits, a room number. The receptionist had been present a few times I had visited in the past for jobs. We had spoken a lot.

I sent my invoice to the hotel.

I looked at Dorothy's company website and there he was. He was the Chief Financial Officer Mathew Dawson. Dorothy was one of three administrative assistants he had. I had met the other two and their husbands during the firm's summer dance. We had all gotten on well. Indeed, we had been out with them a number of times. I thought, that had stopped about the time she'd become so cold to me. Their husbands would be getting an update on their potential roles.

I went to the Sheriff Clerk's Office website and downloaded the divorce forms. I filled them in and printed them off. I named arsehole care of the firm as I didn't know his home address. I was concerned the one he used at the hotel was false.

Once I did that, I started placing all off Dorothy's belongings into her suitcases or bin bags. I wasn't packing tidily. When I came to her jewellery box, I removed some jewellery I had given her as it had belonged to my mum. They were both avid Opal fans. Both were born in early October.

Once I had finished I showered and went to my bed. I'd change back to the main bedroom tomorrow but I was too tired to change the bedding. It was close to 2am.

At 8.30am the Wednesday morning, I was at the Sheriff Court Clerk's office and lodged the divorce papers. I left £300 poorer.

I returned home. I had an unexpected break in my work so looked at replanning the next few weeks. I emailed my dad and told him what had happened. He replied saying catch a flight and have a break. It was tempting.

I called Dorothy's parents, Bob and Thelma and told them. I explained that as we had been close, I didn't want them to hear about it through third parties. They were astounded at what I said. I don't think they were best pleased with Dorothy.

As I looked for something to do, I saw the grass needed cut. I was doing that when a car came into the cul-de-sac. Three men got out and came up to me. My senses were saying this wouldn't be good.

I smiled politely, "Are you lost? We don't normally get many people this far off the main road."

The older one said menacingly, "Mr Dawson is not pleased you spoiled his night of passion with your wife. He said to tell you, "you won't divorce her. You'll get her back when he's finished with her.""

I laughed, "He's too late. The forms are in. He and the firm are named. I've an appointment with my solicitor to see if I can sue his arse off. I'm sure his wife will be happy."

My attitude didn't go down well. He walked away so that I couldn't hear the conversation with whoever he was phoning.

I was well aware I wouldn't come out of any confrontation with those three well. They wouldn't be unscathed as I garden in my old army ammunition boots I use for the tug-of-war team. All those metal tacks and metal edges would cause a great deal of pain to them. Each boot weighs about a kilo and a half!

When he finished the call, I could tell from his body language, Mr Dawson I presume, had told him to send me a lesson. He had caught the eye of the other two. One slowly moved behind me to grab me. I was happy for that. In my youth I'd done a few of years of karate before I discovered girls or really one girl. His shin would need plastic surgery. As for his foot, many bones would be broken.

As he grabbed me, I let myself go limp. As I fell down he relaxed the grip slightly. It was enough as I forcibly drove back up, the crown of my head catching his chin, knocking him back slightly, releasing his grip. Hopefully, it stunned him and caused his teeth to bite his tongue. It was all I needed as I brought my right foot up and drove my heel down his right shin, ripping the skin all the way down with the metal edge before my full weight drove the boot through his foot. We all heard the bones breaking. He was screaming.

I elbowed him in the gut and managed to get totally free as the other came at me directly. I quickly closed the gap making it more difficult for him to use his reach advantage. I could only deflect most of the punches. He did manage to hit me quite a few times. I managed to land a few blows on him. The older man took advantage to get at me from behind and tried to grab my arms to pin behind me. I was too strong so he began punching at my back. When he came closer, I used my elbows on him. The one in front staggered back from a punch I landed beautifully on his face. There was just enough room so I could give him a good kick in the balls. Steel capped boots meant he went down. He lost his breakfast. My Sensei would have been proud.

I didn't have any time to enjoy that as my ribs exploded. I managed to turn towards the last one. I saw he had a knuckleduster on his right fist. I moved away trying to keep him from me. I knew another blow there could kill me. I blocked most blows but some got through. I did catch him a few times but I couldn't use one side so he had a serious advantage. When I came near his two colleagues, if I could I aimed more kicks at them. I wanted to inflict as much pain on them as possible. I heard the sound of sirens in the background.

As two Police cars pulled up he dropped back from me. Four officers got out. My neighbour old Tom shouted, "They attacked Michael. I have it on my phone. I called you."

I pointed out the main guy, "If you check his pocket you'll find a knuckleduster he used to fuck my ribs. His boss is fucking my wife and isn't happy I'm naming him in the divorce. He called him for instructions while here. It will be on his phone."

I managed to get to my step before I had to sit down or I would have collapsed. As the adrenaline wore off I realised just how much I'd suffered. There wasn't a bit of me that wasn't screaming in pain. The pain in my ribs was the worst I've ever experienced. When I lifted my jersey and arm, I just managed to prevent myself shrieking. The bruising was already there. My side looked deformed.

I spent two days in hospital as they had to operate to reset the ribs due to the way they had been broken. Also in the ward were the two who I had managed to disable. One needed the bones in his feet pinned while he waited to see if he would need skin grafts. He screamed when they cleaned the wounds to try and get more fabric out of the deeper cuts. His elbow had been dislocated by one of my kicks. I overheard the doctors say he had a lot of bruising around his kidneys. I just smiled.

The other had traumatic injuries to his pubic bones, penis and balls. He wouldn't be fucking anyone soon. I heard the nurses speaking about whether or not his penis would ever function again. The doctors weren't positive it could ever recover. Tough shit! The sight of his arm in a sling and cast on his left leg to over his knee brought me joy. My kicks had hurt him as much as I'd been hurt. I did berate myself. I should have driven my boots through their faces!

Our injuries meant the other patients were highly curious. I let them know what had happened. I was told they would look out for me while I slept. Not that those two were in any position to do anything. We did spend time glaring at each other. One patient was a comedian with an unending supply of sexy tales. His storytelling caused a lot of erections and someone a heap of pain. I high fived him, very gently, as I left. Told him to carry on the good work!

When I returned home, I started to make more plans for the future. I wouldn't be able to work for a few months until the ribs healed. Not that I needed to bother as I started to receive calls cancelling work. I wasn't playing a nice guy when they did. I asked them if this was because of Dawson and his firm. Their silence showed he was exerting his influence. When they asked for recommendations for someone to replace me I answered, "Ask Dawson!"

On a personal note, Dorothy had uplifted her belongings while I was hospitalised. There was no contact with her at all which suited me. My tug-of-war pals had heard on the grapevine and I found one or two came over every day to check on me. They made sure I had them on speed dial if Dawson's thugs ever called. They had their boots handy. One, Colin was especially handy, but I'll explain his possible role later. I may be making assumptions.

I called the Police twice to see about giving a statement regarding the assault on me. They weren't keen. I went to the station and spoke with the desk sergeant. When he was evasive, I asked if Dawson owned them as well. That didn't go down well.

I chased up the Sheriff Clerk's office to find out that I had withdrawn the divorce application. I went there to find it was withdrawn while I was in hospital so who withdrew it. Me! I was mad, "I was assaulted on the directions of my wife's lover. I was in hospital. Is there CCTV we can view to see who misrepresented themselves and who noted it."

Surprise, surprise, I couldn't view it. I was only told it had been withdrawn three hours after I was in hospital.

The Sheriff Clerk and I had words. I disagreed massively. This was not being swept under the counter. I wasn't withdrawing my divorce petition. I wanted my divorce!

My parting words to her were, "Does Dawson own everybody in this town? Get the bloody divorce served today or else I'll go to the national media and ask them to investigate the corruption here!"

I was mad. Bloody mad. One word of advice don't take deep breaths and scream when you have broken ribs. It's fucking, fucking painful!

I was sure Dawson would be looking to finish this so I started to take more interest in the coming and goings at places I used. I may be paranoid but I was sure I was being tailed.

Still, I heard no word about my divorce being served despite numerous calls.