Marital Lease

After agreeing to everything Denise did her best to fuck me unconscious for the rest of the night. Since she didn't have a shoot on Friday, I took the day off and we spent most of the weekend trying to see how many orgasms we could have. By Sunday night -- with our sex parts red, raw, and/or aching, she proclaimed that the aripiprazole was out of her system.

One unusual thing did happen Sunday afternoon. After an exceptionally athletic and rewarding doggy fuck Denise was taking a bath with recuperative salts trying to restore her tits and pussy to good working order so that she could ride me cowgirl for the umpteenth time that weekend, she asked me to return a necklace that was in the bathroom into the locked jewelry drawer in her dresser.

"I don't know where the key is, Hon," I said, taking the necklace from her. She had never opened her jewelry drawer in my presence, and never told me where the key for it was.

"It's the blue aluminum one on my keychain in my purse on the kitchen table," she cooed, obviously still in a state of sexual euphoria and enjoying the warm conditioned bath water at the same time.

A got the key, opened up the drawer, and put the necklace in it. Just out of curiosity I poked around in the drawer trying to find her two prized possessions, her mother's engagement ring, and a broach from her grandmother. I couldn't find them, but as I rummaged around by accident I came across a false bottom. When I pried the false bottom open there were her two prized possessions -- as well as another ring that I had never seen before. I smiled to myself, left the drawer exactly as I had found it, and returned her keys to her purse.

**************

Things went along smoothly with Denise for the next four months. She really was trying hard to make me happy -- including saving her best efforts for the bedroom. I was in a state of constant sexual bliss -- which probably lulled me into a false sense of security and trust. However, about once every couple of weeks I checked the hidden cameras in the two bedrooms and replaced the batteries -- I still had at least some blood in my brain even though most of the time that I was home the vast majority of my blood was in my cock.

I had a rare business trip on a Tuesday and Wednesday night roughly eighteen weeks after Denise and I had reconciled. When I returned on Thursday night she tried to fuck me to death, and didn't even complain when as I was fucking her I put my thumb in her ass. Normally any ass play at all was completely forbidden.

When Denise went out with some of her friends to a baby shower on Sunday afternoon, and I finished working out, I showered and then checked the two cameras. The one in the master bedroom showed nothing; the one in the guest room was another story. Denise had a different visitor Tuesday and Wednesday night, both of which stayed the night, while I was out of town.

Not only did I find out that she cheated, but the conversations with her fuck buddies after she had talked to me on the phone each night revealed more information. The information yielded included the following, much of which seemed contradictory:

-- Her prescription for aripiprazole was a fake. She did get medicine for her depression after her mother died but it was not aripiprazole because she had been warned against it. She was able to get a two or three pill prescription from her doctor the Monday before we met to talk about her cheating, but never took any.

-- She loved me but had the need to experiment and the rush that she got from doing something naughty.

-- Since she had been caught once she knew that she couldn't get caught again therefore she was using the guest room and only if I was out of town or during the morning after she had confirmed that I was at work and then just for a "quickie."

-- She was sure she would get away with it since I was "gullible" and didn't want to believe that she would cheat again, and had bought her aripiprazole story completely.

-- She would be sure never to turn me down for sex, or have any indication in her behavior, dress, or anything else, that she was having sex with others, and would always require a condom for her fuck buddies.

I was surprised that my rage did not manifest itself outwardly. It was a cold, inner, rage. Of course I would be divorcing her -- and would get her kicked out of the apartment; but to make sure that it was done right I wanted a court order.

When Denise got home Sunday night I tried my best to act like nothing happened; she was suspicious when I turned down sex, but I think that she might have believed that I was coming down with something. "Maybe you should sleep in the guest room in case I have something contagious," I told her. She didn't like it, but she went along.

I figured that if she could fake taking aripiprazole that I could fake something too until the divorce papers were filed, and I couldn't get in to see the shark that I wanted to hire until Wednesday morning, and then only because I pleaded with her paralegal. I made sure to have a good lunch on Monday-Thursday, and just before I came home each day took ipecac syrup, something not easy to obtain these days but on the Internet I found one drugstore about ten miles from my office that sold it and got a bottle Monday afternoon. I also had the previous Tuesday's and Wednesday's activities made into a forty minute long DVD, which was completed by the time that I saw Sandra Shark, J. D. (that's not her real last name, but what I called her) on Wednesday morning to get the divorce ball rolling.

Sandra was a very pleasant looking woman. She was surprisingly young, only a year or two older than I was, but obviously sharp. She had her hair in a bun and wore eyeglasses and a pants suit so you really couldn't see how attractive she was. But I was interested in her shark tendencies, not dating her.

The ipecac did the job -- about 20-30 minutes after I got home each night I was vomiting into the toilet. That actually seemed to concern Denise, and it sure kept her away from me until she could be served with the divorce papers on Friday morning, at the apartment since she didn't have a shoot until the afternoon. Even though my attorney told me that it wouldn't work despite the fact that I was the only one on our apartment lease, I had her include a demand to vacate within five days.

I got a call from Denise about 11:00 a. m. Friday morning. "Brian, what in the hell are these divorce papers?"

"I left a DVD on top of the Blu-ray; after you view it let me know if you have any other questions," I shot back. Then I hung up. I didn't hear from her the rest of the day, and when I got home that night it was clear that she had canceled her afternoon shoot and was a nervous wreck.

She was all apologies and bullshit; I cut it short. "There is nothing -- and I mean nothing -- that you can say or do to make me change my mind. Stay away from me until you vacate the premises." I ignored her while I made myself dinner until she got so frustrated and upset that she went into the guest bedroom and turned up the stereo.

Denise made perfunctory attempts to talk with me Saturday and Sunday, but I simply ignored her. One or the other of us was gone from the apartment most of the time both days so aside from when we were sleeping we only overlapped two or three hours each day. Denise also clearly got herself a baby shark on Monday, because by Tuesday my attorney was in court trying to justify the "eviction" portion of the divorce papers that had been filed. The judge wasn't buying the eviction, although he did order that she stay in the guest room, and that neither of us could bring someone into the apartment until all issues were resolved. Really bad, however, he ordered counselling despite my attorney arguing so vehemently against it that she almost got held in contempt.

Despite my attorney's instructions, I did not handle the counselling sessions well. All I would say at the sessions was that my wife was a "cheating cunt and that I would rather die than stay married to her." While that got the sessions canceled after the second one, it also gave Denise the equities as far as the judge was concerned, and he was buying all of her attempts to delay the proceedings and extract concessions from me.

Despite the fact that in negotiations through our attorneys I offered to give Denise 60%, and then 70%, of our assets, and even reasonable maintenance for a year, she was out to get everything. Also, she was making things very difficult for me around the apartment by walking around naked most of the time, while she snickered at my obvious hard-on. Although there was no way that I was staying married she was my best fuck ever, and it was difficult to stay away from her. However Sandra warned me that Denise would claim a reconciliation if I fucked her and the process would start over from scratch. After I got burned when I didn't listen to my attorney about the counselling sessions I was going to be sure to listen to her advice from then on.

I was also afraid to get pussy from someone aside from my wife while the divorce was pending because I was sure that that would steel Denise's resolve even more to fight everything to the bitter end. My life had become a four-month-long nightmare before she gave me a partial out.

One Friday night as I lay in bed trying to sleep I heard Denise boisterously come into the apartment, as well as two male voices. I immediately got dressed, including putting on my hiking boots, and went into the kitchen. Two guys were mauling her and she was giggling; they all obviously had been drinking but I don't think that the two guys were drunk although Denise may have been.

"Get the fuck out -- now," I yelled at the assholes at the top of my lungs, both of whom were about my size.

"Screw you wimp," one said with a snarl.

"Denise, darling," I continued, "you know that this is against the judge's order to have these cretins here."

"It's your word against mine," she snickered.

Actually, it wasn't, since I had long ago moved one of the HD cameras from the guest bedroom to the kitchen, and it was recording both audio and video."

I took two steps toward the assholes and said "If you're not out in thirty seconds I'm going to throw you out."

"Oh yeah, big tough guy," one of the miscreants snarled, "Denise told us that you might react this way so we came prepared." At that point both guys moved Denise in back of them and took out a switchblade knife.

I smiled. As anyone who is skilled in martial arts knows, unless your protagonist has a gun if they have a weapon you actually have an advantage because he will be concentrating on the weapon alone while you have your hands, feet, and head all available. Also, since these two had been drinking it may have helped their courage, but it wouldn't help their reflexes.

I took two steps forward and the first of the guys came toward me. I kicked him in one shin and then the other with my hiking boot, and after he cried out and lunged with the knife I grabbed his wrist, stepped over his arm and broke it at the elbow. His banshee scream didn't help the confidence of the second guy, but apparently he still had some provided by the liquor he had consumed because he came at me and slashed -- missing me -- three times before I hit him in the throat, kicked the knife out of his hand, got him in a rear naked choke hold, and rendered him unconscious in less than a minute.

With one guy unconscious and the other still writhing on the floor in pain I calmly dialed 9-1-1. Wide-eyed Denise stumbled over the two prone bodies and went into the guest room.

When the cops came I gave my statement, showed them the video of the incident, and showed them the order from the judge saying that neither Denise nor I could bring anyone into the apartment while the divorce was pending. The cops got both jerks on their feet, put the knives in evidence bags, and brought them to jail. I tried to get them to arrest Denise too, based upon the comment "Denise told us that you might react this way so we came prepared." However, the cops didn't consider that sufficient to arrest her too, especially since when they interviewed her she said that she knew nothing about the knives.

Denise looked shell-shocked as she sat at the kitchen table after the cops left. "Who are you?" she genuinely asked me, obviously still unaware of my martial arts training.

Suddenly I hit on an idea. I almost wanted to scream "Eureka" I was instantly so enamored with it.

For the first time since I filed the divorce papers I actually had a face-to-face conversation with her (after I made sure that the camera was off), not through attorneys.

"You're not a stupid woman, Denise. You have to know by now that there is nothing that will make me stop the divorce, and real soon I'm going to get really nasty."

Her eyes were as big as baseballs.

"I'll make this one-time offer. I'll give you all of our present assets except for what was in my retirement account and $3,000 cash, and will pay you $1,500 a month maintenance for two years. You can stay in this apartment until the lease expires in two months and I will pay the rent. I will vacate next week. The only things that I will take with me are what are in my dresser, my footwear, what is in suit bags in my closet, and my laptop computer. You can have everything else."

She looked interested but not convinced, so I continued.

"To make sure that everything is on the up-and-up, you and your attorney can witness an employee of my attorney videotape everything that is in the drawers of my dresser, and you can inspect them. After the inspection, the drawers will be sealed with tape, which you can inspect is still intact at my new apartment. Once you inspect the tape you will sign the divorce papers."

She looked convinced but hadn't said yet yes.

"This offer lasts for two minutes. If you accept I will turn on the camera that filmed you with your buddies and we can state our agreement on the record and shake hands on it, and get it formalized with our attorneys tomorrow even though it's Saturday. If you don't accept I'm going to become the most belligerent asshole in the world and will insure that all of our money is spent on lawyers so that neither of us will have anything left."

She got a diabolical smile on her face. "OK; I agree," she giggled.

I turned on the camera, repeated everything I had said, we both said "Agreed" while looking at the lens, and we shook hands.

The next morning we insisted that our attorneys meet us at her attorney's office. They both grumbled, but to get rid of us since we both had become pains-in-the-ass they agreed to meet at noon. Denise and I actually drove there together, although we didn't talk much in the car. A formal agreement was signed in front of a notary within an hour. After that I actually treated Denise to lunch -- which gave her the idea that I might give in to the sexual hints that she had been throwing out the last four months. When I dropped her off at the apartment and went to a ballgame, I could tell that she was pissed.

My attorney thought that I was nuts to agree to what I had agreed to. Sandra didn't know one critical fact, however. I had removed Denise's three most precious belongings from the false bottom of the locked drawer in her dresser and put them in a box with a butt plug in my dresser. Despite Denise's obviously high libido and desire to have sex with many different guys, as I earlier indicated she wanted nothing to do with ass play. I put a number of other recently purchased sex toys, along with some athletic items, in the drawer with the butt plug box in my dresser before the contents were filmed.

My attorney's videotaper told me that Denise had lots of snide comments as she gingerly rummaged through the drawer in my dresser with the sex toys, and even snarled "How gross," when she held up the butt plug box. She didn't open it up. She carefully went through all of the drawers, all caught on videotape, and inspected the tape seals carefully and even -- at her attorney's suggestion -- put her initials and some snide comments on each piece of tape.

Immediately after videotaping I had movers move my stuff, which except for the dresser wasn't much, to my new apartment. Denise showed up that night to inspect and break the seals -- also on videotape. I could sense her lingering around until after the videographer and her attorney's paralegal left.

"Say, Brian; now that it's all over but the shouting, why don't we play a little 'hide the salami;' I know that you've got to be horny," she said while running her finger over my chest.

"I am horny -- but sorry, Denise, I'm going to decline. I'm not taking a chance on having sex with anyone until I have the divorce decree in hand."

"You're no fun," she snickered, and then stomped out.

What I told her wasn't true, however. I had arranged for a high-priced escort that very night, who I fucked a record five times before she left my apartment at ten the next morning.

The divorce was final five weeks after my move to my new apartment. It was only one week later that Denise realized that the two rings and broach that were her prized, sentimental, and most expensive, possessions were missing. I apparently got a call that same day.

"Brian; I can't find my mother's engagement ring, the broach from my grandmother, and another expensive ring, my three most prized possessions. They didn't get mixed up with your stuff by accident, did they?"

"No; they got mixed up with my stuff on purpose," I deadpanned.

"What the fuck!" she screamed.

Denise screamed epithets while I nonchalantly replied for the next ten minutes. She declared that she was coming over immediately, and I agreed.

When Denise got to my apartment twenty minutes later, steam was coming out of her ears. She was smartly dressed -- obviously she intended to go out wearing one of the pieces of jewelry -- but her face was red with anger.

"What the fuck are you trying to pull..." she got out before I loudly, but calmly, said "Either calm down and we can discuss this or you can get the hell out and I'll sell what used to be your jewelry."

Although obviously seething she calmed down and sat at my newly purchased kitchen table.

I took the three pieces of jewelry out of my pocket -- but did not let her handle them -- so that she could see them, and then put them back in. I then took out a copy of our written agreement and a DVD containing the filming of her inspection of the drawers of my dresser, including a portion just before she came into the room which showed the videographer putting the three pieces of jewelry into the butt plug box, and an affidavit from the videographer.

After inspecting everything she screamed "You tricked me, you asshole."

"Yes, and you took me to the cleaners even though you were the one who cheated, so I have no guilt whatsoever associated with what I did."

She started crying. "Those things mean more to me than anything else in the world," she sobbed.

"I know," I said in a comforting voice, taking one of her hands into mine. "That's why I'm going to let you get them back."

She stopped crying within about thirty seconds -- then with a skeptical, but hopeful, look asked "How?"

"You'll give me ½ of our joint assets, not the essentially 100% that you got in the divorce, and you'll agree that I can stop maintenance payments in two months," I replied, squeezing her hand.

She again looked skeptical. "Is that all?"

"Almost," I said. "Because of the way that you cheated on me, and the mood that it put me in, I never was able to have a good-bye sex session with you. Therefore, at a mutually agreeable time within the next month, you and I will stay together from a Friday night until a Monday morning and you'll be my personal sex-slave. As long as it does not harm you, you'll do anything that I want."