My Turn

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters in it are over eighteen and completely made up. I know some readers may find the behaviour of the central character's spouse (Jonno) far-fetched. BUT, In my defence, I had in mind as I wrote this story a person that I know quite well. I genuinely believe that in Jonno's situation he would have at least considered doing what Jonno did. He is, in fact, a complete knob-head. So, you know, just maybe...

By the way, York, once known as Eboracum by the Romans and then Jorvik by Viking traders, is a delightful historic city in God's own country (Yorkshire) in England. That's just to explain the language, spelling and cultural references.

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I was watching TV on my own when John, my husband of eighteen months, got home around five that Saturday evening. He'd been working another weekend shift, so I was reasonably confident he hadn't been up to mischief. He went straight to the kitchen to grab a cold beer from the fridge. He called to me. "Can I get you anything while I'm in here?"

"No thanks," I called back. "I'm good."

"In fact," I thought to myself as I went back to watching the TV, "I'm fucking spectacular!"

John joined me in the living room and grinned as he saw what I was watching. There was a naked woman kneeling in front a group of four naked men, each being masturbated by a different woman, again, naked. All of their faces were hidden.

John watched entranced as each man, as he climaxed, stepped forward and ejaculated over the face and breasts of the solitary kneeling woman. After all four men had shot their loads they stepped out of shot. As soon as the last man had finished, the woman turned full face to the camera with an expression of pure joy as she rubbed the jizz slowly into her skin.

I smiled to myself as I watched John's wolfish expression fade in to stupefied disbelief. He turned to look at me in horror as the camera panned to show the naked men and women lined up behind the central character.

"What?" I asked innocently. "Is there a problem? Something you want to share?"

Several days earlier, the Friday, I'd had a phone call at work. "Nichole, it's Keira, can you meet me for lunch? Please, it's really important."

Nichole, 5'6" of feisty Yorkshire lass, that's me. A twenty three year old, Scandinavian looking, blue eyed blonde, courtesy of my family's Viking ancestry. I'm slim, with nice perky C cup boobs and legs to die for. I'm told my face isn't bad either.

Keira is Marty's current girlfriend, possibly 'The One', and Marty and John have been best friends since junior school. Marty and most of their mates call my husband 'Jonno'. I call him John because I'm neither a twelve year old girl nor an idiotic male trapped in an adolescent time-warp.

Anyway, Keira sounded a little odd, upset even, so I told my boss that I was taking some owed time for a long lunch and agreed to meet her. I do clerical work for Trevor, an accountant who values quality over quantity when it comes to productivity. My inbox was empty, so he was relaxed about timekeeping.

Keira was waiting for me in The King's Oak, the pub on the high street. There were two large white wines on the table in front of her. I hoped one was for me. Even a long lunch break probably wouldn't be enough for a two glass problem. Keira pushed a glass towards me; that was good. Her glass was half empty; not so good, as I know she's a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. She couldn't meet my eye so I began to suspect what the problem was or, more accurately, who.

"What's he done?" I asked, starting to seethe quietly.

"I'm so sorry Nic," she whispered. Her voice was quavering as she tried not to cry. "We were both a bit drunk and some messing about went too far." She saw the look on my face and continued quickly. "I didn't fuck him, Nic. Honest!"

"Tell me!" I told her. "Tell me fucking everything, and you might just survive. Fucking lie or leave a single thing out and I will take a week's leave just to think of cruel and unusual ways to hurt and torment you!"

She sighed. "Thanks Nic." That was how scared she was. I think that she was grateful I hadn't already smacked her one and left her on the floor, bleeding, in a puddle of wine. It was a close thing, but I grudgingly respected her for coming to me with whatever sins we were about to uncover. That bought her a chance to repent.

"Begin," I snarled. "No self pity or excuses. Just the facts. Do not 'forget' anything." I stressed the anything.

I'll spare you the details. She told her story well. She was concise and credible. In brief, this is what she shared. We had all been invited to a wedding three weeks ago. Marty's step-sister, Carla, was getting married to Ian, one of the lads who plays in The Lion Inn five-a-side football team with John and Marty. Keira was a bridesmaid. The church service was at eleven in the morning and the reception was at a country hotel about half an hour away. Suffice to say that by eight o'clock that night, no-one was feeling any pain; me included. By then, as is quite common at weddings nowadays, the venue had been opened up from just immediate family and close friends to a much wider group of acquaintances. Of course, the free bar was a thing of the past by that point, so the hotel was coining it in.

There was an international football match on that evening; Barcelona was playing some Dutch team, I think. Anyway, most of the blokes disappeared into the bar, where the large screen TV was. Most of the women didn't. It turned out that my beloved managed to use the confusion to coerce Keira into an empty side room for a quick snog. She swore that was all that she'd intended but she ended up giving him a blow job and he left; and I believed her because he could be a selfish bastard sometimes.

"How much had you had to drink?" I surprised her with my question.

"Honestly, Nic. I'm not sure. Marty says he had to help me up to our room about quarter past ten but I can't even remember that."

She hesitated. "I'm sorry Nic. I hoped that I could put it behind me and just make sure that I never get that drunk again, but." She stopped. Taking a deep breath she started to speak again. More quickly now, as though to purge herself. "Thinking back, I started to remember things he'd said. I don't think it was just a drunken fumble, Nic. I seem to remember it was Jonno who always seemed to be the one filling my glass. And then It came to me that he muttered something as he left me to clean myself up. I swear he said something like, 'two down, two to go'."

"Is that it?" I managed to keep my voice level.

"That's all I did, Nic. Honest!" She pleaded. "I was hammered and randy and stupid. I'm sorry for what we, I, did; but that's everything and it won't happen again. Promise."

"Okay, Keira. You're off the hook," I told her. "But you owe me!"

"Thanks; that's fair. The thing is, Nic, I'm afraid that I might know what Jonno's doing." Keira looked even more nervous now.

"What are you waiting for? Spit it out, bitch!" I was perhaps less level than I intended.

"Well," she started, "after I got cleaned up, I panicked and went looking for Marty to see if he'd missed me. While I was searching, I passed a small group of guys laughing at something one had just said. In hindsight, I think it sounded like Jonno. I thought he'd said that he'd scored a fiancée and a bridesmaid so far. And he had a MILF and a preggo to go."

"And?" I invited her to continue.

She hesitated again. "I just found out yesterday that Jade is pregnant: she's Wayne's girlfriend. I was a bridesmaid, Carla just got married and Debbie is a thirty six year old mum. She's really pretty." Keira stopped talking to see if I was following her line of thought.

"You're thinking," I said slowly, as I followed her reasoning to a logical conclusion, "that the lecherous little twat is screwing his way through his own team-mates' wives and girlfriends?"

Keira nodded nervously. "It only started to make sense when I found out about Jade, but Jonno could have found out from Wayne weeks ago."

"But you said you didn't fuck him." I reminded her.

"I didn't. I promise." She replied, earnestly. "So, either he was lying to his mates or he's going to try to blackmail me into going all the way by threatening to tell Marty about what I did at the wedding if I won't do what he asks next time."

I was devastated. Disappointed but, if I'm honest, not too surprised. Don't get me wrong: I loved John. He was bright, though not academic, hard working, good looking, fun to be with and great in bed. But he'd always had problems with consequences. When he was younger he was always the one in bandages and plaster casts because he couldn't resist a dare. He promised me, when he proposed, that those days were over and he would be a responsible grown up.

I didn't expect him to change overnight, and I didn't want to kill the spark that made him so attractive to me, as well as other women, so I tolerated a lot. I didn't bitch when he looked at pretty girls. I excused a bit of friendly flirting within our group. But I was clear. No screwing around and, No! I will not be open to the idea of swinging now or any time in the future; it isn't even to be mentioned. So, what the fuck was he playing at?

That afternoon, after I'd dealt with some correspondence for Trevor, I sent some text messages. Actually, one text message to four recipients. It read, "I know everything! We meet at Debbie's house, seven o'clock tomorrow when the boys are at five a side. Be there or else!" I added the appropriate emoji; red face, slit eyes, obscenity banner over the mouth. I don't think the message lacked clarity or gave any indication that non-attendance was an option.

John got in from work about seven that evening. He works as a delivery driver for an on-line retailer, so his hours can be flexible; but, in his defence, he puts the time in without complaint. I studied him as we sat. He did seem a little preoccupied while we watched a film on TV after we'd eaten, but he didn't look particularly guilty, and he hadn't really changed his behaviour recently. He got laid regularly and exceptionally well, though I say so myself. In fact, I was more adventurous than him; he was really squeamish about periods and bottoms. I didn't mind, though, he was well hung and enthusiastic; most women would be happy with either, and I got both.

After the film finished he stood up. "Early night, love?" He asked, hopefully.

"I'm up for it if you are," I replied. "Only fair to warn you, though, I've had some cramps this afternoon, so I think I'm about due on."

I almost laughed when I saw his face drop. Men! Clueless about periods. I wasn't due for over a week but he just accepted it without question.

"Ah, well. Never mind. We can just cuddle." Yes, and that was all he was going to do for the foreseeable future. This period would last until whatever the fuck he was up to was resolved to my complete satisfaction.

The following evening, Saturday, he left the flat at half six as his team was playing an early session. The sports centre where he played in the league was about fifteen minutes drive. Keira collected me, as instructed, at quarter to seven to take me to Debbie's. I'd chosen her house because she has two kids and I didn't want her to struggle finding a babysitter at short notice; I'm not a monster. The other two text recipients, Jade and Carla, were already there with her. Keira joined them seated around the living room; all four women looking very far from happy. The kids were playing upstairs on their computers or something. We had the ground floor to ourselves.

I stood in the middle of the room, facing them. "John, Jonno, whatever, and you. Assume I know everything. No lies, prevarications, justifications or excuses." I looked at Carla. "Starting with you. Speak!"

She jumped, startled, at my tone. "I don't know what you mean Nic." She stammered. I could tell from the guilt written across her face that she was lying. I stalked menacingly across the room and glared down at her. She appeared to be on the point of wetting herself in fear.

"I. Will. Fucking. Hurt. You." I snarled into her face. "Speak now, or I will put you down and keep kicking you until you do."

I had a reputation you see. My dad was an ex-Royal Marine Assault Engineer and he'd sat me down when I'd started to 'develop' and explained that some men might overstep boundaries and, as a woman, I'd learn how to deal with that from friends and from my mum. But, if I ever felt threatened, really threatened, I should 'put the bugger down with a knee in the fork and then keep kicking the twat until he stops twitching'. I love my dad. He could write a book on practical parenting.

Then it happened; when I was sixteen, a drunken guy who knew me from school (he was two years above me) stopped me as I walked home from a friend's house late one evening. He said he remembered I'd had a big mouth at school and he had a big cock to go in it. He pushed me down in front of him in the street and went to unzip. He got my tightly bunched fist in his nuts first and then, while he was crouched begging God to make the pain go away, I stood and gave him a roundhouse kick to the ear. His head bounced off a conveniently located street light pillar and he woke up in Accident & Emergency. The police didn't have enough evidence to charge either of us but I hear he still has tinnitus and now only fires on one cylinder, as it were. I made sure everyone heard what happened. Like I say; my reputation for ruthless, brutal and violent retribution is widely known and carefully nurtured.

Anyway, confronted by a she-demon from her nightmares, Carla started crying. Like I cared. "It was my Hen-Night in York," she sobbed. "We were in this pub and a group of lads kept sending us drinks. I was necking shots so fast that I could hardly stand. And then Jonno was there. He claimed that it was a coincidence; that he was out with some mates from work. Then he wanted to kiss the bride-to-be. So I gave him a big snog and then he was squeezing and rubbing my tits and..." She stopped, trying to talk through the sobs. Then she took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Nic. He took me outside and I was so rat-arsed drunk that I let him fuck me while his mates watched." She started crying softly again.

Debbie took her and sat her on the sofa and hugged her. Trying to tell her that everything would be okay. Mm. Maybe.

I turned to Jade. "You're next."

Bless her, she thought I was bluffing. "Even you, Nichole, wouldn't hit a pregnant woman." she gloated.

Silly cow! "No, but I don't imagine that your stuck-up parents will be pleased to hear about your adultery being used as grounds for my divorce: will they? Oh, dear me. Shagging my husband while carrying another man's child! What will that do for their social standing down the golf club?" I smiled sweetly at her, watching the colour drain from her face as she realised the grief she'd get if I went public. It was all bollocks, of course. UK divorces are no-fault nowadays but I'd gambled, correctly, she didn't know that. In fact, I wasn't even certain that she'd been involved; Keira's eavesdropping implied that she was on the 'to-do' list, literally; but I wasn't sure, until she spoke, that she had, in fact, been 'done'.

"Wayne has been treating me like I'm made of glass since he found out I was pregnant," she admitted quietly. "About a fortnight ago, Jonno knocked on our door. He said that he'd had a delivery nearby and desperately need a wee. He thought, as he was passing our house, he'd ask if he could use our bathroom rather than pee down a back alley. When he'd finished in the bathroom he came into the kitchen to chat. It was just so nice to be treated as a woman rather than a baby maker. He said pregnancy made me glow. He asked me if it was true that pregnancy hormones made women really horny. In fact, now I think about it, his whole conversation was about sex. He asked if he could stroke my belly. He asked if my breasts had got bigger; if my nipples had changed. And then he touched them." By now she was talking more to herself than me.

"And they were so sensitive, and it felt sooo good and then his hand on my belly got lower and lower. And I just wanted him to keep going, to pleasure me the way that Wayne wouldn't and hasn't since the pregnancy test." She remembered where we were and looked me in the eye. "I dropped my pants and he fucked me over our kitchen table and it seemed like it had been so long but it was wrong. It should have been Wayne and I should have stopped Jonno. I'm sorry Nic. He knew what buttons to push, but I'm a big girl now. I should have stopped him. And I didn't."

I nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Debbie. "When, where, why?" I demanded.

She couldn't look at me as she spoke. "Last week. I'd just got back from dropping the kids off at school. Jonno knocked at the door..."

"Let me guess," I broke in. "He was passing by and needed the toilet?"

Debbie sat there, crushed. She nodded in agreement. "He complimented me. Told me that he couldn't believe that I'd had two kids and still had a body like mine." She shook her head sadly. "Greg takes me for granted sometimes, but I still love him. But Jonno just got to me; made me feel, I dunno, sexy. And then he took my hand and stroked it. It was so innocent but, once he'd touched me, he just escalated. He stroked my hair, then my cheek, he held me and I didn't want him to stop. Once he'd kissed me and squeezed my tits, I was lost. I just needed him inside me, so I dragged him upstairs and fucked him on our bed." By now she was crying too. Fuck it! Why lie? We were all in tears, even me.

"I'm sorry." The four women looked at me in astonishment. I shrugged. "John is my husband and he seems to have been involved in some bizarre quest to fuck you four. He's my responsibility, so I apologise for his behaviour."

Debbie, Carla and Jade looked at Keira. She shook her head. "He wanted me to when he took me into this quiet side room at your wedding," she said, looking at Carla. "I only went in for a bit of privacy while I snogged him for a laugh. Then he took his dick out and I wanted to touch it, 'cos it felt so naughty. He really wanted to fuck me but he kept fiddling with his phone, which killed the mood so I blew him and he left."

"He took his phone out and put it on the table when he fucked me." Jade said, thoughtfully.

"He put his phone on the bedside table when he fucked me." That was Debbie.

Carla looked tearful. "Do you think that he had one of his mates film me fucking him in York?" She whispered.

I could only come up with one plausible explanation. However insane it sounded, it seemed obvious that my idiot spouse had been on some sort of a sexual treasure hunt; he was collecting evidence of fucking his team-mates' wives. What the Hell was he up to?

Well the only one who could answer that was John, but now I, we, had a reckoning to consider. Keira had given John a blow job. The other three had fucked him. Drunk or vulnerable though they may have been, they had let him stick his dick, the dick that should have been solely my property, inside them. They owed me.

They had cheated on husbands and partners and my beloved knob-head of a husband seemed to have evidence on all of them. I didn't know why, but he could ruin their relationships, two involving children, if he let on. I owed it to all of them to mitigate the chaos he could cause.

I looked at Keira. "Marty's unrequited fantasy. What does he dream of that you won't do?"

She looked sheepish. "Sorry, Nic. I can't say it." She must have been really embarrassed to risk crossing me.

"It's for your own good," I told her. "This is too important to be shy now. Tell us; what's the fantasy he can't have?"