Fracas at the Mansion (Feb Sucks)

This is an entry into Literotica's Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024 writing contest.

February is upon us, and we have a 29th this year. What does that remind us of? That's right, the belated Valentine's Day party saga of the Carlisles. Did you also forget their last name? For the ones tempted to roll their eyes and say, "Oh no, not another Febsux story!" good news: you're forewarned, and Literotica has several thousand other stories to read. Go, enjoy!

Once more, a tip of the hat to GeorgeAnderson for his February Sucks story (https://www.literotica.com/s/February-sucks) and blanket permission to add on to it. As most people know, this is arguably the most "added to" story on the entire site, probably because of the provocative trigger - the blatant disrespect by the wife. Oh, and the reconciliation ending, too.

Some commenters on several of these add-ons scoff that no wife would do that, which made me go back to the original, and the author's explanation of what triggered it. You can find my summary in a previous story (https://literotica.com/s/february-sucks-lindas-welcome). No sense repeating it, but read it if you think no woman would ever do that. GA documented some will. Why? Those hubris-filled ladies didn't say. But... expect to have any comment questioning that a woman would do that to bite the dust.

So, here's another way the provocative story could have played out. It inevitably will contain ideas from the myriad other endings, so no claim of originality. A tip of the hat to those authors, too. But hopefully the way they are combined here makes for something original, and enjoyable. And finally, a reminder: this is fiction, where anything can and does happen.

This story starts after Jim leaves the hotel.

Adrenaline, sparked by anger, kicked in. Valentine's Day? What Valentine's Day? On my way to the car I called my brother. "Dude, 911 emergency. Call mom and dad. Tell them to track down Marc LaValliere's address and rush there. The asshole kidnapped Linda and he's about to rape her. Have them call her parents. No questions. I've just called the police, and I have to call others."

I hung up and called Channel 6 News. "Marc LaValliere has gotten drunk at Morrison's, kidnapped a married woman and is raping her as we speak. Channel 8 is already on their way. Get your chopper up there if you can." I repeated that to the two other local TV channels, and the Times-Observer. OK, I embellished a little. They do that all the time, so they shouldn't mind.

When I reached Mrs. Porter, I carried the two kids to my car and called my dad. "Did you find the address?"

"Yes, and we're on our way. 2798 Maple. I also alerted Debbie Jameson." Debbie was their neighbor across the street, and an Assistant DA. Feisty little thing.

"Good. I just picked up the kids and I'm headed over there. You guys can take them home until the dust on this shitshow ends. Have Debbie get search warrants for the asshole's home and for Morrison's bar. They will find date rape drugs in both locations, and possibly other drugs as well. Apparently, this isn't the first time he's pulled this stunt, and every time it's been at Morrison's."

My phone rang, with a number I didn't recognize. "Jim speaking."

"This is Sheriff McCaulay. Did you say Marc LaValliere was raping your wife?"

"Yes, sir. He slipped her date rape drugs at Morrison's bar, forced her into his car and took off. I tried to stop him, but two of his team members, Barry McClure and Tim Jackson, stopped me, threatening physical violence. I asked Debbie Jameson, an Assistant DA, to get you search warrants for drugs at both his house and the bar. But my biggest concern is rescuing my wife before he physically assaults her."

Later I learned that the first police cruiser arrived at Asshole's castle in less than ten minutes. It was surrounded by a ten foot wall and protected by massive steel gates. Celebrities adore their privacy. They hit the buzzer at the entrance without letting up. After five long minutes a male voice answered. "Fuck off, don't you know what time it is?"

"Police! Open up immediately."

"Unless you have a warrant, go back to your favorite donut shop, and call my lawyer."

By then, one of the cops had scaled the wall with a rope. Holding up a megaphone, he shouted, "Open up! Police! Open up immediately!"

Even though in this high-rent district residences were far apart, the sound obviously traveled. Lights came on in neighboring houses. Curious neighbors arrived in robes and sweat suits, along with TV crew vans and more cruisers. The street looked like a postgame traffic jam at the stadium.

One of the TV crews' van had a cherry-picker type of crane on the roof, and it rose. On it, a bright spotlight turned on and illuminated the driveway and front door. On the little platform, a cameraman and reporter filmed a 'Breaking News' report of 'alleged rape by a drug-fueled NFL star.' Trust the media to sensationalize it up.

I finally showed up and, with our two kids in tow to hand them to my parents, made my way to the gate.

"Get away," growled the officer with the most braids on his uniform, against the verbal barrage of demands to open the gate behind him. A TV camera followed me.

"Hell no. It's my wife in there. Why aren't you protecting her?"

The officer looked at the camera and at me. "Get those kids out of here."

At that moment Asshole must have realized waiting any longer to open the gate would only make things harder for him. As the gates swung open, little Emma broke free and ran full-speed to the front door.

It took the surprised cops and news crews several seconds to recover from their shock. We all scrambled after her.

"Mommy! Mommy!" she screamed at the top of her voice as she kept running to the front door. "Mommy! Where are you?"

"Emma! Emma, come back!" I shouted as I followed her. One of the cops held Tommy back to keep the distractions to a minimum.

The megaphone-toting cop bellowed over the din, "Mr. LaValliere, come out with your hands above your head. Now!"

The front door opened and Asshole stepped out. The bright lights and chaos left him looking dazed and confused. All he wore was a pair of boxers, doubtless to flaunt his perfect abs and sixpack.

"Mommy! Where are you?" Emma screeched and ducked around Asshole. "Mommy! Mommy!"

Linda appeared at the front door, obviously refastening the blue dress. "Emma! What are you doing here?"

"Mommy! We came to save you from this bad man." With her little fists she beat on the muscular thighs of the evil giant towering above her. One of the blows she rained upon him inadvertently caught him in the nuts and he folded double. Then, with an irritated look, he backhanded her in the face and she flew backward into the wall.

That move galvanized all the onlookers, who drove and rushed through the open gate. The crane mounted TV camera caught it all.

Linda's dad, ex-military, reached Asshole and hit him with a karate chop at the back of his neck. "Hitting a defenseless minor? What kind of scum are you?"

"Fuck off, old man," LaValliere moaned back.

Panting from the exertion, I arrived at the front door. Exploding my indignant anger, I kicked Asshole's knee as hard as I could. He folded and buckled. Then I turned to Linda. "Get the fuck out of here. Now! Get in the ambulance."

"Why? There's nothing wrong with me."

"Yes, there is. He drugged you with a date rape drug and you are gonna get tested. You are the victim in a date rape."

As she took a breath and opened her mouth to reply, I cut her off. "Or you are a filthy slut of a mother who, on national TV, told her little daughter to fuck off and die. Choose now and choose quick."

Fear and insight followed each other in a millisecond on Linda's face as she scanned the growing audience of cameras and people. She took Emma's hand and walked to the ambulance, which had arrived in the meantime. "Thank you for saving me, Emma."

Epilogue

The cops took Marc LaValliere to the station and booked him on charges of kidnapping, rape, assault on a minor, and drug trafficking. They shooed everyone from the property, strung yellow tape around the whole perimeter and posted a guard, mainly to make sure nobody snuck in to remove the drugs on site.

Debbie, my parents' ADA neighbor, woke a judge, made him look at the breaking news footage on local TV and got search warrants for the cops to search both the bar and Asshole's home. To no one's surprise, they found various date rape drugs at both locations, including cocaine and ecstasy.

The national media had a field day, not unlike the brouhaha caused by Tiger Woods and his infamous late-night accident. The footage of LaValliere slapping little Emma was played endlessly, and probably payed a big role in the jury finding him guilty on all charges.

Morrison's was shut down.

The two teammates were arrested as accomplices, and received suspended sentences.

Channel 6 was especially aggressive in their ongoing coverage, complete with an 800 number at the bottom of the screen for other wives and husbands to come forward with similar tales. They gave eleven other names to my lawyer, who, after filing my lawsuits, put together several class action suits against Asshole, his teammates, the team, Morrison's owners and the NFL.

Linda played the innocent victim for a while, claiming that Asshole must have bribed the barmaid to put something in her drink. The barmaid, of course, was nowhere to be found.

I divorced her immediately. The heartless and speedy way in which she abandoned me left me no choice. She'd looked me in the eye saying she needed to go to the bathroom, when she full well knew her journey was not to the bathroom, but to Asshole's bed for a cheating night of unforgettable sex.

She got the unforgettable part all right, although maybe not exactly the way she'd lusted for.

--

The wheel of justice, they say, grinds slowly but surely, so when the legal dust settled after a few years, I had some money in the bank, courtesy of all the villains contributing to the ruining of my marriage, and assorted other pain and suffering.

Marc LaValliere was dropped from the team after his jail sentence was handed down. By the time he got out of jail, he couldn't pass any team's physical, mainly because he could hardly walk. Even though his sentence wasn't that long, it seems jailbirds watch television a lot, and the image of him slapping little Emma inspired them to take special care of his legs, hands, and gonads. Fortunately for him, after all the lawsuits were settled, he still had enough for a walker.

I lacked for no female attention, what with my notoriety for standing up to the bad guy and my newly fattened bank balance. However, my only interest was healing my children and raising them as well as I could. With the luxury of my nest egg, I took a new job where I only needed to work half-time, allowing me to devote all my attention to being the best dad Emma and Tommy could have.

Linda disappeared from view after a short while. The lie of being a victim haunted her. She knew the truth, but the truth in this case did not set her free.

One random Friday, as I dropped off the kids at her parents' house, she came out. Standing a few feet away from me, she looked at me with tears in her eyes. "Jim, I am so, so sorry for hurting you like I did. You are the best man I have ever met, in every way, and yet I tossed you aside like yesterday's newspaper. You did not deserve that, and I have no excuse. I just wanted you to know I see how shitty and abominably I behaved. With no reason. I am truly, truly sorry."

It was the first time she'd acknowledged her wrongdoing with no excuse, particularly the "it was only one night" piece of crap she hung on to like forever, and it caught me by surprise.

"Thank you, I guess. Honestly, I never thought you would see that. I have no idea what made you throw me aside like last week's trash when all I did was love you to the maximum of my ability. It hurt. Still hurts. I'll never celebrate Valentine's Day again. As I'm sure you know, I've not dated hardly at all, despite having more invitations that I can shake a stick at. I just don't trust any woman. It took me a year of counseling to accept a date invitation and believe the woman will even show up at the time we agreed. I've never had sex with anyone, because all I keep seeing is you figuring I'm not good enough, as your big-dick athlete man-whore pounds you into one orgasm after another."

"Oh, Jim--"

I held up my hand. "Don't lie. Anything you say will be a lie. You wouldn't have stood me up unless you thought your Asshole fuckbuddy would give you a night of incredible frame-the-moment sex, the likes of which a mere mortal like me could never match. Actions speak louder than words. If you thought I was good enough in bed you would have shrugged him off and come back to me. So, please, don't insult my intelligence and set back the little bit of friendship we've rebuilt." I took a breath. "All I'm saying is thank you for your apology. Goodbye."

Hands to her face, her shoulders bobbed up and down as she turned and went back into her parents' house.