Means, Motive, Opportunity

I think this story has something for most people except lovers of shallow sex, willing cuckolds or 'reconciliation at no cost' types. It will particularly appeal to people like me that have a strong sense of justice. Remember the second B, in BTB can have two meanings.

Like my other stories, I have taken a familiar idea and added what I think is a new twist. I haven't read all the stories here so if this isn't an original concept, I apologise in advance both to the author and for wasting reader's time.

Many thanks to SW_MO_Hermit for proofreading and suggestions on the ending. Also to RPBPhoto for legal advice to make it more realistic. Thanks also to Nancy my US cultural attaché. I felt three reviewers were necessary as it is a complicated story.

Once again set your review dictionary to English (Australian) rather than English (US) and hopefully most of the blue and red squiggles will disappear. No wives were harmed in the making of this story. Much.

+++++++++++++++++++++

From my seat in the dock I looked around the courtroom as the furore continued. After my shock began to dissipate, I realised with dread that the next 6-8 years of my life were going to be hell. And what about my kids? How can they have a normal life with one of their parents in prison for violent assault?

I looked around the court until I saw Sandra, my wife. She was standing there smiling at me. A grim smile maybe, but a smile none the less. I acknowledged the fact that her next 6-8 years were going to be unpleasant as well, with a small nod.

My eyes wandered the room looking for 'him', the guy that caused all this. He was hard to spot as the view to him was blocked by people standing in the front. Of course he couldn't stand yet. He would be in his wheelchair for at least a few months yet. I caught occasional glimpses of his crippled face through the throng. He looked shocked, even with one side of his face still paralysed.

It was my turn to smile.

So, he was shocked, she was smiling and I was numb. No one was going to be happy for a long, long time. How the fuck did it come to this?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

3 months, 2 weeks, 4 days and 18 hours ago

How I met Sandra, who we are or what we look like is totally irrelevant. We were just two ordinary people with decent morals and standards who had complete faith that society would look after decent people and punish the bad. In short, we could be you.

What is relevant is that Sandra and I'd been married for 14 years. During that time, I sired two kids. Rob was 12 and Sarah 10. They are my reason to be. Nothing in the world is more important to me than that they grow into physically and mentally healthy adults. That is my duty and my privilege.

Forty-five minutes ago I had thought that Sandra and I'd been totally in love with each other and would die together as wizened pensioners surrounded by hordes of great grandkids.

Forty-four minutes ago that belief took a serious dent.

Two minutes ago that belief was pissed into the wind. Shot. Destroyed. Murdered. Annihilated.

Knowing my violent temper and how it had got me in trouble in the past, I knew it was imperative that I get out of there and fast. I gathered the kids from where they were sitting on the bonnet of my wife's boss's car, outside room 215 of the motel, and hustled them back across the road to my car. Sandra made no move to get up from where she was slumped on the concrete pathway. Her boss, John Bertram, had slunk away already.

The aggrieved predator within me was barely resisting the urge to chase and kill when Sarah gripped my hand and squeezed it just moments before. The civilised human within me walked away without a glance backwards.

In a daze I took the kids home, fed them and got them to bed. All the while the image of Sandra and Bertram walking out of room 213 replayed in what currently passed for my brain. The dishevelled state of her makeup and hair absolutely precluding the chance they were there for a business meeting or any other innocent purpose.

If the kids said anything all evening then I didn't hear them.

It didn't even register with me that Sandra hadn't so much as rung us since we'd left her this afternoon. There was a knock at the door. The clock said 10.05. It was dark outside so it must have been the first night still.

The bewildered animal threw open the door ready to pounce.

And stopped. Where Sandra should have stood, vulnerable, remorseful and afraid, was her sister, Anne. My brain, hovering on the brink of insanity, sent no signals to my mouth to move. After taking in my slack-jawed countenance, Anne broke the silence.

"Sandra is in my car. Can she come in?"

It was bloody embarrassing. I could feel my mouth opening and closing but there were still no signals telling it what to say. With logic not happening, my brain resorted to instinct. What was my job? Easy. Feed, shelter, but above all else, protect my family. I realised, deep down in my unconscious that I must protect Sandra like I never had before. From me.

"No she can't Anne.......She's not safe here. Take her away. Far away." I knew in the battle between my instinct to protect and the animal urge to rend, kill and expunge the pain, there was no guaranteed winner.

Anne's next words destroyed my slowly returning rationality.

"God damn it Dave, she's been raped."

Her words just didn't register, so I could only repeat, "She's not safe here" and close the door in her face.

The clock said 3.13 when I finally came out of my torpor. Ironically I must have drunk enough whiskey to snap myself out of it. I examined all the possible excuses Sandra could use to explain being caught. Only one would not result in the end of her life as she knew it and that was rape.

Trouble was that I saw her walk out of room 213 with John-Fucking-Bertram; and she didn't look like a rape victim to me. So Sandra and Anne had cooked up a story. Well, I wasn't buying it. They could both go suck my sav.

I must have dozed after that, as the next thing I knew, bright sunlight was streaming in the window. My brain hurt. Well half a bottle of whiskey does that to a bloke. I glanced at the clock and saw it was 7.45. Shit the kids will be late for school.

I had them both out of bed and breakfast half made before Rob said, "Dad, it's Saturday." When that obviously didn't register, he went on with, "No school."

I slumped in one of the kitchen chairs.

"Dad, was mum having an affair with that man at the motel?"

"Yes, yes she was."

"What's going to happen Dad?"

I looked into the innocent, desperate eyes of my children. I badly needed to protect them, but I just didn't know what to say. I ended up saying nothing. After a while they wandered next door to their friend's house, where they often spent summer weekends in their pool.

I spent the day brooding. Divorce the slut, become a weekend warrior with a greatly reduced influence on my children's future; or live in a suddenly loveless, trust less marriage. My normally decisive personality let me down, and I was no nearer to a decision when shortly after 3PM the doorbell rang.

This time it was a guy in a suit who held up a badge, confirmed my identity and introduced himself as Detective Carling.

"Sir, your wife and her sister are outside; but are worried about coming in."

"I'm not bloody surprised about that Officer Carling, are you?"

"Sir, there are some things I need to tell you."

I invited him in and we sat in the lounge.

"Your wife spent all night and all today at the hospital, being sedated and tested. I have to tell you, sir, that there were signs of recent sexual activity; and at her sister's insistence, she requested a blood test for date rape drugs. I can tell you sir that an hour ago the test results came back and she tested positive for GHB."

"Wha....what does that mean?"

"It means, sir, that there is evidence that your wife has been raped. My colleagues are on their way to the alleged rapist's house now to arrest him."

All I heard myself saying was, "Raped?"

"Yes sir. Not all rapes are violent. With these new drugs....."

I was aware that he kept speaking but I wasn't hearing any longer. As quickly as my love for Sandra had fled 22 hours earlier, it all came flooding back. The guilt was almost overwhelming. I'd failed dismally in my duty of protecting her.

Without a thought for my guest, I jumped up, ran out of the door, and out into the street. I saw Sandra and Anne standing next to Anne's car. Sandra suddenly tensed as she saw me running towards her, and Anne moved to stand protectively in front. I brushed past Anne and grabbed Sandra into a tight clinch. All three of us wore wet faces when we went inside five minutes later. Detective Carling had gone.

I became aware later that evening that the kids had come home and then left with Anne. My world was reduced to Sandra and me, and we moved like Siamese twins all that evening and night. Things came to a bit of a head early the next morning.

"Look, Dave, if you apologise one more bloody time, I am going to remove your balls with the garden cutters. If I'd caught you coming out of a motel room in the same circumstances you saw me, I would have come to exactly the same conclusion." I didn't dismiss her threat totally. She was almost as tall as me and I knew from experience, quite strong.

I looked deep in her eyes and saw nothing but forgiveness. I felt the bulk of my guilt evaporate which allowed me to see what lay beneath it. Simmering rage. One way or another, Mr. John-Fucking-Arsehole-Shithead-Bertram was going to pay bigtime.

I could only guess how Sandra must feel about him.

I hadn't pushed for details of their encounter. I wanted to know, but had to allow Sandra to reveal them all at her own pace.

On Monday I rang in to work and took the week off. I then dropped Sandra off for a counselling session the police organised for her on Saturday. With an hour to kill, I dropped into the police station and asked for Detective Carling. He was on shift so we chatted for a while. I thanked him for all his effort and asked where the case was up to at this time. He'd finished all his evidence collection, packaged it and 'sent it upstairs'. The only thing missing was DNA test results. He seemed genuinely happy to report that his uniformed colleagues were called to a domestic disturbance at the Bertram residence the previous night after John was released on bail. Mr Bertram refused to press charges against his wife. There was only minor bruising after all. As the uniforms were leaving, they were followed by Mrs. Bertram in a taxi, complete with suitcases. I remember thinking that it was a good start to his suffering.

I related this with glee to Sandra when I picked her up. She smiled grimly.

It wasn't until the Tuesday of the following week that Sandra decided to relate the details of her ordeal. She said her counsellor recommended it. I'd returned to work that week but otherwise spent every free moment with my wife. I even skipped my usual Wednesday poker night the previous week, which was only a thinly veiled excuse to drink beer and tell lies anyway.

I knew absolutely no details, except that she ended up in that motel room after being drugged by her asshole boss.

We were nestled together in bed when Sandra started crying.

"How did you find out about us, Dave?"

"Well, I picked the kids up from school as usual Friday, and took them to that new burger joint along Main Street. As we were pulling out afterwards, Rob saw an Aston Martin in the motel carpark across the road, and asked if we could stop and have a look. You know how he is really into sports cars. I thought it looked like John's and the personalised plates said JB77. Then when I saw that orange handbag of yours on the front seat, I knew something wasn't right. It was nearly five o'clock by that stage, and I knew you would have to be leaving soon to get home at normal time, so we just sat and waited to see which room you came out of. The kids checked the restaurant, but it was closed."

Sandra was silent for some time.

"I can't believe I was so stupid."

"Come on dear, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. I should never have put myself in a position where he could have slipped me something."

I said nothing, letting her set the pace.

"It started with a bunch of us going out for lunch on Fridays. I didn't really take much notice that after a couple of months everyone else started dropping out until it was only John and I left."

I felt my anger flare. A married woman going to lunch with just another man was only appropriate if her husband was okay with it. In this case her husband didn't bloody know about it.

"How many times did you go alone with him", I asked in a voice far more casual than I felt.

"I guess three or four times. Oh Dave I knew it was a bit naughty, but by then I felt totally comfortable with him. He obviously loved his wife and talked about her all the time. He always listened when I talked about you and the kids, and never said anything bad about you. We talked about anything and everything. I did tell him the first time it was just the two of us that it was a bit inappropriate, but he assured me that he didn't consider me as anything but a good friend. The slimy bastard!" The last sentence was spat with a vehemence I'd never heard from Sandra before.

Saying nothing, I waited for her to continue.

"I suppose he must have slipped something into my wine glass just before we left. When we got up to leave I felt a bit woozy and he had to help me stand. We were in the motel restaurant that day; and as soon as we got out the door he pressed me up against the wall, and started kissing me."

Sandra interrupted herself with more sobbing. This must have been really hard for her. It wasn't exactly easy for me either.

"I'm sorry Dave but I really got into it. All of a sudden I just felt so horny. I...I... didn't think of you at all. I'm sorry, Dave. I just had to have him. The bastard must have pre-booked a room and picked up the key at some stage, as he took me straight in to a room."

This time the silence lasted an uncomfortably long time.

"What happened when he got you in the room honey?"

"Well, shit, this is really hard to say, Dave; but the counsellor said to be totally honest with you. He pushed me down on the bed, lifted my dress, ripped my panties off and, er........he performed cunnilingus on me."

Again I felt compelled to break the silence and in a voice infinitely calmer than I felt, I asked. "Did he make you cum?"

In a very soft voice she replied, "Yes, Dave. Twice. I'm sorry."

"Go on."

"Well, after a while he stood up and pushed me onto my knees and shoved his penis in my mouth. Do you really want to know all this, sweetie?"

"What I want isn't really the right question. I need to hear it all. I don't think it can be as bad as what I have imagined every night since that Friday. Go on."

"Well I.......sucked on him for a while, you know..........Then, after a while, he grabbed the back of my head and stuck his penis in as far as it would go. I gagged and almost puked and could hardly breathe. You would have thought I really hated that, but all I can remember is that I just wanted more. That crap he put in my drink must be really powerful stuff."

Silence.

"Did he cum in your mouth?"

"Yes, Dave. I'm sorry."

Silence.

"Did you swallow?"

"Yes, Dave. I didn't have much choice. I couldn't breathe."

Silence.

"Come on, tell me the rest."

"Well, he lay on the bed and told me to, you know, kiss his penis until he got hard again. I was still as horny as hell, so I just did it. When he was hard I mounted him and we just went for it until he came again. Then he made me kiss him hard again and we started all over again. I'm really sorry, honey. I know this must be really hard for you to hear."

That must be the understatement of the year.

"Did he make you cum again?"

"Yes Dave."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Did you think of me at all during any of this?"

"No, Dave. I know you will never understand this; but it was just like an overwhelming need...like I hadn't eaten for a week; then someone put a banquet in front of me. He could have been him or you or even a woman with one of those strap on things like we saw in that adult shop that time. It would have made no difference."

Suffice it to say, I didn't get much sleep that night. Sandra, with the relief of her unburdening, slept like a log.

The next day I was still seething with anger and looking for an outlet.

I rang Detective Carling for an update. He said he would check and get back to me. He rang back within half an hour and asked if Sandra and I could come in and meet his boss.

An hour later, the kids were next door and we were being ushered into the station chief's office. After some small talk he launched into his spiel that he must have delivered a thousand times.

"I'm sorry folks but we have dropped all the charges. As you know we arrested Mr. Bertram and charged him with rape with the aid of a prohibited substance. We searched him, his car and his house and found no trace of GHB. We seized his computer and could find no evidence he purchased any on the internet. He claims you engaged in consensual sex with him Mrs Brown."

Sandra, cherry red with rage shouted, "That's bullshit!"

"Settle down, Mrs. Brown. I know that and you know that; but with it being your word against his and no evidence that it was he that gave you the GHB, we would be wasting public money by taking this one to trial. I'm sorry."

My turn. "But what about the medical examination on Friday night?"

The chief pulled a file across and opened it.

"Well we proved your wife was contaminated with semen and DNA matches proved it was Mr Bertram's but that can be explained by consensual sex also."

He read from the file again.

"The doctor's report notes that physical evidence in the vagina and slight bruising of the anus were again consistent with consensual sex, with no obvious signs of excessive force. I'm sorry people, there just isn't enough evidence."

I glanced at Sandra. She was looking miserably at the table.

I thanked the chief and Detective Carling and we left. As I reached the door the chief stated in a commanding tone.

"Remember, Mr. Brown, the law takes a very dim view of people taking matters into their own hands." Without pause or a glance back, we left the building. We said nothing until we got to the car. I gave Sandra a commiserative hug and held her till she stopped sobbing.

Finally she spoke.

"I can't believe that prick. After raping me and causing all the pain and damage to our marriage, the shithead is going to walk away scot free."

"Well not totally free. His wife has left him and will probably clean him out in the divorce."

"That's not nearly enough." Again the vehemence from her.

Nothing more was said until we parked in our garage, Sandra made to open her door and get our, but I grabbed her arm.

"Were you going to tell me about him fucking your ass?"

Silence.

"No, Dave. I just didn't want to hurt you any more than I already had."

"Was it his idea or yours?"

"His."

"Did it hurt?"

"At first, yes, but then I got used to it."

"Did you cum when he was doing it?"

Her silence gave me all the answer I needed. She fled the car.

I'm sorry to say that I wasn't very good company during dinner that night. My mind was swirling with all the outstanding issues. Why had she allowed herself to be alone with him? Why had she lied to me by omission about the anal? I thought I'd made it clear I wanted to know all the details. I was very upset that she'd enjoyed it so much. What she had described was equal to our honeymoon sex. What really had my animal enraged though, was what to do about the predator that had targeted my patch, and so far evaded punishment for it. I don't think either Sandra or I could be totally healed until there'd been some nuclear payback.