Morning Routine Redux

(Disclaimers: Thanks to the minority of you who enjoyed the previous version of this story or at least provided criticism that was constructive. I decided to simply write another version of the story with a different ending and a sex scene that is a lot less subtle. It still involves the narrator discovering his wife cheating on him. If that offends you, well, I'm not quite sure why you'd read this type of story to begin with. However, this time the narrator is far less forgiving and seeks justice like the dutiful detective he is. I liked the original's perverse and deliberate subtly, but I also enjoy this more action-oriented masculine version as well which derives more payoff from the protagonist.

There are insignificant changes to a few of the opening paragraphs. Otherwise, the beginning of the story is the same. If you read the first version, it should be obvious when the plot will diverge from the original. Feel free to skip ahead to that point.)

As an officer, I know things. From experience I can drive around my neighborhood and recognize certain realities that are invisible to regular people. That's why I find all this so disconcerting. My unwitting victimization every morning. Never would I have known what she was up to. Were it not for those infernal taxes.

My wife and I procrastinated with the taxes. They were due today. Luckily, I was able to persuade the family accountant to set a meeting. Before tomorrow when we'd owe a penalty for being late.

I could not be there because of my work. We were about to execute a search warrant on a drop house. As lead narcotics detective, I'd be working all afternoon probably well into the morning the next day. There wouldn't be any time for me to fuck around in an office.

My wife could make the appointment though. Right after her workday was finished. When I was dealing with the search warrant, she could meet with the accountant. Of course, she would need all our tax forms. The documents she forgot at our house when she left early in the morning.

My wife was a very dutiful, meticulous person. It was in her conscientious nature. Of course, we all become habituated to our routines. The daily rituals that get us through our hectic workdays partially on autopilot. It's like when I first arrive at the station. I always check all my equipment to make sure I'm not missing anything before confirming my handgun is loaded and in proper duty carry. She must have woken up and focused on getting ready while forgetting all about the tax forms.

My face pinched together, and I sighed with exaggeration when I saw the papers sitting there in the kitchen. The papers crinkled as I scooped them up in my arms. I guess I would have to drop them off at my wife's office on my way to the station.

It seemed like a maze. Those small medical offices bunched altogether. It took me forever to find the right one. Dr. Anderson's Psychological Services.

They tried there to help drug addicts there. A noble but ultimately foolish endeavor. These people needed to be arrested and incarcerated. Taken off the streets and sent to prison. Institutionalized until they changed their wicked ways.

All the available covered parking said reserved. I'd have to leave my car in the hot sun. The pavement sizzled against the soles of my boots. I approached the tinted front doors of the office.

The landscaping was sparse. Just some decorative rocks and a cactus. Fake but sleek-looking brick paneling bordered the bottom of the office exterior and extended approximately waist high. The remainder of the walls were made of sand-colored stucco. The office was well windowed yet entirely hidden through matching closed blinds. Red Spanish tiles stacked together formed the roof of the building.

When I opened the door, it triggered a bell to ring. The receptionists droned on into an office phone as she examined her painted nails. The flooring was tiled atop of which a few leather seats rested in front of the receptionist's long desk. To the left I could partially see down a long hallway. I could see no other person.

The receptionists looked over at me. Her eyes gazed at the police vest hanging over my chest, the badge dangling from a chain around my neck, and the 9mm handgun holstered to my hip. She blinked twice before clearing her throat. "Give me one minute," she said into the handset before lowering it down from her face. "Uhm, good morning, officer. Is there something I can help you with?"

I nodded my head as I approached the reception desk. "My wife Katie," I said. "She's a behavioral therapist here. I need to speak with her for a minute." My eyes gazed over at a ticking clock that hung over the reception desk. It shouldn't take long to just drop off some paperwork.

The receptionist's eyes jerked over towards the hallway before the top of her teeth bit down on her lower lip. "Oh, uhm, yes. I just saw her come in. She's just getting situated right now. It'll just be a few minutes and then I'm sure you'll be able to speak with her. Just go ahead and take a seat." The receptionist raised the headset back to her head and resumed speaking to whoever she was on the line with.

I sat down in one of the leather armchairs and set the tax paperwork down on a nearby end table. What was is with medical offices? They always seemed to make you wait around all the time. At least when its busy at the barber shop, the man who cuts your hair still stops and greets you personally when you come in.

As I sat there, my ears detected something. My very first clue. The sound of heels clacking on tile. I knew what it was. All the scoundrels, dealers, and whores I've dealt with over the past few years. The noise was not new to me. Nor did it surprise me to hear it here. A place that caters to the perils and problems of broken people.

I paused before sliding my chair slightly to the right. With my right eyebrow raised, my feet pressed against the tile and pushed my pelvis closer to the edge of my seat. When I leaned to my right I could see partially down the hall. When I did so, I noticed my wife. She was the one wearing the heels. But how could that be? Not once did she leave the house in such footwear. Nor was it the case she ever arrived home in heels. The clacking continued as my wife disappeared into one of the rooms on the right side of the hallway.

My pulse quickened and my muscles grew tight. I pinched at my chin. Should I go down the hall? Confront my wife about the heels? No, you interrogate the suspect only after you've completed your investigation. That way you're prepared to debunk every lie. Rebut his or her attempts to weasel out of whatever immoral and illegal conduct he or she's engaged in. I should conduct surveillance. Look for more clues. Figure out what's really going on here.

My ears listened carefully. I could hear a few faint beeps coming from down the hallway. A machine whirred from inside the room my wife had entered followed by a steady dripping noise. Water gurgled and steam hissed. My nose whiffed an earthy nutty smell. After some moments passed, a sustained beep could be heard coming from the room my wife was in.

I heard more clacking before my wife emerged back out into the hallway. She was holding a small cardboard tray in her hands. Tucked into the tray were two white cardboard cups surrounded by brown heat guard strips. It had to be my wife's freshly brewed coffee. Surely one of these cups was for my wife to drink. But who was the other cup for? She disappeared again when she entered a room further down the hallway to the left. I heard the door close behind her.

I fidgeted in the chair as I felt the hair on the back of my neck standup. My eyes darted over to the receptionist. She was absorbed in conversation. Not paying attention. I could sneak past her. Resume visual surveillance. Search for more evidence. I quietly got up and pretended to walk towards the bathroom. It was just to the left right after entering the hallway. My eyes looked back and observed that the receptionist wasn't looking. I walked straight past the bathroom door and continued down the hall.

I arrived at the doorway my wife had disappeared into. The door was labeled Dr. Kurt Anderson, PsyD. It was another man's office. The door and windows surrounding the office were all transparent. But I could not see through any of them because of the off-white blinds that covered them from inside the office. They were all turned down into the secluded position. My wife was alone in there with the door closed with a male shrink. I knew a thing or two about psychology. There've been many interrogations I've conducted. Many techniques I knew of to get people to talk, spill the beans, cooperate, and snitch on each other. Ways to manipulate people. Make them pliable. Open to suggestion. A psychologist would know these tricks. My chest tingled and body grew heavy as I thought about my young vulnerable wife.

My darting eyes noticed something. A section of blinds that wasn't covered. I could peer into the room. Violate whatever reasonable expectation of privacy the psychologist and my wife had in there. I wet my lips and shivered before leaning over to the section of window and peering through. My wife was sitting in a chair. Her face flushed behind her colorful glasses, and I could see that she was laughing. Her creamy white blouse had the top button unfastened exposing the cleavage of her breasts. A tight pair of blue pants hugged her legs. The tray holding the two coffees rested atop a wooden desk separating my wife from the psychologist. Dr. Anderson appeared to be somewhere between five to ten years older than my wife and me. He was wearing a blue button-up shirt and a pair of black dress pants. He lacked the muscle definition I had worked so hard to achieve but otherwise seemed tall and well put together. I shouldn't underestimate him. That big brain of his. It's all he needed to try to seduce her. My eyes focused in on him. He was leaning towards her. His eyes firmly focused on the top of my wife's soft breasts. He wet his lips before smirking at her.

I head footsteps coming from down the hall. My body pulled away from the window as I deliberately rubbed my chin and purposefully frowned.

"Officer?" the receptionist asked as she approached me. Her eyes darted over to the door handle to the psychologist's office. When she realized the door remained closed shut and deduced that I had not tried to enter the office, her parted lips let out a heavy breath. "What are you doing back here?"

"Oh, uh, I was looking for the bathroom," I lied. Deception is a great interrogation technique, but it must be deployed carefully. "Why? The look on your face. It makes it seem like you're concerned about something."

The receptionist hesitated before responding, "Oh, uh, well... I just was surprised to see you back here. Do you mind waiting in the lobby for a few more minutes? I'm sure your wife will be ready to see you soon."

"Why is it a problem for me to be over here?" I responded as I puffed out my chest. My right hand rubbed at the police badge that hung around my neck.

The receptionist tilted her head to the side and looked inwardly for several moments. I knew exactly what she was up to. When you trip a suspect up in an interrogation, this is what she does. Starts searching around in her brain. Try to come up with some bullshit excuse. Some reason why she shouldn't be arrested and booked into jail.

"Well, uhm, that vest," she stammered. "And the gun. We're a psychology office, sir. Patients could be uncomfortable seeing you back here like that. No offense or anything. I'm grateful that people like you are on the front lines protecting us. Honestly. It's just... Well, some of our patients are troubled people."

"Well, I still have to take a piss," I complained as I frowned.

"Oh, well, you walked right past it," the receptionist said. "It's right over there." She pointed to the bathroom.

I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. My body began to tremble. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. After a few moments passed, I peeked out the door. The receptionist was gone. The hallway looked clear. I walked back towards the office. As I approached, I heard a metallic click. Someone had just locked the door from inside the office. I felt dizzy and sweat all over my body. The section of blinds I had looked through earlier was closed now. They must have heard voices outside. Taken extra precautions. Precautions to make sure whatever they were about to do in that office would be kept private.

My eyes darted back and forth before focusing on the office next door. It was vacant. Nothing other than generic office equipment. It's walls. They were thin. Perfect for eavesdropping. My mind recalled the many instances I had put suspects in a cell together. Recording everything without their knowledge or consent. Criminals who had performed masterfully in the police interrogation. Only to incriminate themselves at the very moment they thought they'd pulled the wool over our eyes.

I entered the office and closed the door behind me. Quietly, I prowled over to the wall separating the office from the one my vulnerable wife was currently locked in. My ear pressed against the bumpy drywall as I struggled to listen in on what was happening. I could hear my wife gently humming to herself. She did that when she was relaxed. When she was performing rote tasks like washing the dishes or doing laundry. My ears detected the sound of heels clacking against the tile of the office. I could tell she was walking around his desk. Joining him on the other side. There was a slurping noise as well. He was sipping the hot coffee my wife had made for him. Enjoying the steamy stimulation my wife was able to provide.

The sound of clothing rumpling was followed by a gentle thud against the floor followed by another. My wife continued to hum before my ears detected more rumpling followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled down. It was a relaxed, comfortable unzipping. Nothing about it suggested a sense of urgency or excitement. My eyes widened as my lips parted. The receptionist telling me to wait for my wife to get situated. Trying to keep me away from the back hallway. My wife's humming and the gentle unzipping of clothing. Of course, the heels which my wife had to have obtained in advance. There was no seduction going on in the office next to me. Whatever psychological tricks he had used to manipulate my sweet innocent Katie had been deployed long ago. Now they were just going through their usual motions.

That's the thing about crime they teach you in the police academy. Every criminal we arrest is likely to have committed the same crime numerous times before they are caught. The drug addict arrested with meth likely possessed and used the drug numerous times. A drunk driver we pull over has likely driven inebriated fifty, sixty, maybe one hundred different times. Any burglar I apprehend is extremely unlikely to be breaking into his first house. No one wants to be arrested or charged with a crime. They take precautions and proceed carefully to avoid getting caught. The problem the criminals have is they keep offending. They may think they're good at evading the authorities but sooner or later Murphy's law will catch up to them.

Wet, slurping noises could be heard through the thin wall. This time it wasn't coffee being gurgled on in there. The Katie I knew would never betray me like this. He must have conditioned her to be this way. Used his knowledge of psychology to mind control her. Made her an accomplice to his depraved crimes of perversion. I was sure that he mindfucked her into this degrading morning blowjob routine.

Faint sounds of male grunting could be heard through the wall. "Unh, oh yeah, unh, don't forget, oof, the balls," the psychologists voice said. I didn't hear any disagreements from my wife. Instead, all I could hear was the sound of wet lapping. Certainly, the noise was consistent with a bumpy muscly appendage caressing up against a nasty wrinkled set of swollen testicles. The sucking and slurping noises resumed not much longer afterwards.

My ribs squeezed together, and my stomach knotted up. I've never been more aroused in my life. My cock throbbed in my gray pants. How could I get so turned on by this? Listening to my wife relaxing slurp on some hard rubbery object while a man's voice grunts and moans. Who knows what she was doing with her hands in there. I hoped she'd at least have the decency to take her wedding ring off ahead of time. Probably not though. It would be such an inconvenience to do that every weekday morning.

My left hand fondled the handcuffs on my duty belt. I could put a stop to all of this. Break down the door. I've done it before. Arrest the perp. He was trespassing inside my wife. Burglarizing her mouth with his foul nasty penis. Surely there is a crime I could charge him with. Sodomy's still on the books. Would it be constitutional to charge him with that? Something for courts and lawyers to decide after the fact. It's still a state statute. A crime established by the state legislature. I had probable cause. That's all I needed for just an arrest.

My mind raced. I wasn't on duty. The body camera was at the station. If I accused him of resisting arrest, there'd be nothing to rebut it. It'd be the word of a sworn officer versus that of a wife debaucher. A corrupt doctor who uses his knowledge of the human mind to sexually gratify himself rather than help the sick and infirm. I had handcuffs, a taser and an extendable baton. If I wanted to, I could make him suffer. Cause him to bleed.

So. Much. Adrenaline. My ears pounded as I leapt to the office door. My twitching hands manipulated the lock. It was open. I shimmied into the hallway. My stance was ajar. Ready to grapple, toss a body aside, dominate over another person with weapons and handcuffs. That's when I saw her. The devious receptionist. Her mouth hanging open. The lying bitch was too late. Time to pay the good doctor a visit. My fingers caressed its hard metal ridges. Not an appropriate time to use it of course but it was a force of habit.

I hit it with everything I had. My budding shoulders. The musculature in my chest. The hard police vest. It cracked and splintered. One more time. My nostrils flared as I grit my teeth. When I tackled forward the door fell to the ground with a thud. No need for a battering ram. Not when my own hard body will do. The shrink jumped backwards from his desk chair. His face was whiter than the thin walls surrounding the office. I was used to all of this. Barging into a room. Seeing someone utterly terrified of me.

"He tricked me!" my treacherous wife yelled as she stood up from the ground. Should I trust these words? Spoken out of a mouth that had just been slurping on another man's sweaty penis. She was trembling. The way she struggled to breathe through her whimpers. It was completely pathetic.

"Don't fucking lie to me," I snapped at her with a sneer on my face. "This wasn't the first time. You don't think I realize what you've been doing. Sucking his dick in his office. Like it's your little perverted morning routine." I licked my lips as I turned to the shrink. My fingers pulled my handcuffs out of their sleeve. The metal clanked as I slowly raised the cuffs to my lips before giving the very top of the cuff a nice little suck. My mouth delighted in its cold metallic taste. You see, I too had a routine. One that involved sucking. A little bit of foreplay. A tease before the main event. "Doc, I got psyche issues. Real bad anger management problems." I approached his desk and dropped the handcuffs. They clanged loudly against the hard wooden top of the desk. My right hand retrieved the baton from my belt. With a flick of my wrist, it expanded outwards. "You gotta help me doc. Things are about to get real bad in here. Use your psychology please. Talk me down."