Not a Bit Too Far

On hearing a rumor about my wife, I set out to prove it isn't true.

This story is written for the Take It on the Run Author Invitational. Many thanks to blackrandl1958 for the invitation to participate in the event. I hope you enjoy it (and all of the stories in the event), and that you'll rate and consider leaving your thoughts about it. This is an edited version in which I corrected a humorous but completely unintentional blunder and made a couple of changes based on comments by readers.

© SouthernCrossfire - 2023. All rights reserved.

________________

Monday, early August, a few years ago

As the chief field engineer of a design-build construction firm, my work required me to go out of town several times a month when problems arose. This week was no exception, with my flight leaving from Hartsfield-Jackson at 7:21 a.m. the next morning. Considering Atlanta traffic, I'd have to be up around 4 a.m. so I left work a little early on Monday afternoon and headed home.

"Reagan? I'm home," I called as I entered the kitchen. Her car was in the garage but she didn't return my greeting so I made my way upstairs. The shower was running in the en suite bathroom beyond our bedroom so I quickly stripped and stepped in, opening the shower door behind her.

"Ahh! You scared the shit out of me," she yelped before turning about and taking me in her arms, pressing her big, wet titties against my chest. They felt great against me but it was her hand that reached down below that drew most of my attention. "Guess that's okay, Trent, since it feels like you brought me a present. A nice, big present. Does it need any special lovin' before it does its magic on my pussy?"

"You know I always love your lovin', girl," I replied, leading her to drop to her knees right there in our oversized shower and go to work for a few moments as the continuous spray of hot water hit our bodies and streamed over us. I twisted to block most of it from hitting her so she could do her thing; at 6'-2 and 210 pounds, that wasn't too hard. With that issue solved, she gave me a couple of kisses, a few promissory licks, and then swallowed my hardened rod into her mouth and loved on it as if it was the all that mattered in the world.

Between her efforts and the heat of the water pouring over me, I felt completely relaxed, and this week's crisis in Baton Rouge temporarily faded from my mind. It felt so good I'd have gladly let her continue to an explosive conclusion but I was sure that wasn't what she wanted considering what she'd said at the start.

"Up, girl, and flip around." I helped her rise and she grinned back over her shoulder at me in rapt anticipation as she leaned against the shower wall and spread her legs, arching her back and pointing her ass and her delectable pussy toward me.

"Get it in me, Trent. Please, I need you to fuck me like there's no tomorrow."

I slid inside and pushed, sliding all the way in one smooth stroke. She was wet! She winced in pleasure as I filled her and then her eyes fluttered closed as she started squirming her sweet ass against me.

With one arm tight under her belly to hold her and the other on the wall to steady us both, I started driving in and out of her as her vaginal muscles clenched in turn. It was slow and steady at first, but I went harder and faster as she started moaning in time with my movements. Her right hand left the granite and dropped below to give her clit the little extra it needed to get her to where she so desperately wanted to be.

Between the two of us, it didn't take long before her moans announced she was there and as she gave a final, almost triumphant gasp, I let go and filled her with spurt after spurt of my baby-making formula that we'd be trying out for real when she went off birth control as we planned in just a few weeks.

Reagan leaned heavily against the wall as she put her now idle hand over mine and we laced our fingers together. She caught her breath for some seconds before she let go and turned toward me, sliding her arms around me.

"That was so good, honey," she whispered, "and I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby," I said in reply, pulling her tight against me.

"Enough to do it again in the bedroom in a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I think that can be arranged."

***

The job in Baton Rouge was a mess as I expected and I spent all of Tuesday afternoon and into the evening plus half the day Wednesday helping get things back on track. I think Eatherly, our onsite project manager, learned something in the process, but we'd be watching him more closely in the future.

After lunch on Wednesday, I shot back down I-10 for a meeting on our job in New Orleans. Mary Jo Bholecki, who I'd helped train in Atlanta some years earlier, was now the construction manager for the Orleans project and was scheduled to be going on maternity leave in another month or two. Therefore, because she was a friend and because of her coming absence, I was keeping a close watch on her project to make sure everything was documented so that the person who took over for her would have clear instructions on what needed to be done.

As I expected, Mary Jo had everything in order so after dinner with Mary Jo and Ozzie, her husband, on Wednesday evening and a planning meeting with her and her staff early Thursday morning, I made it to Louis Armstrong for the flight home and then fought my way through Atlanta traffic to arrive at my office by 1:45.

I reported to Mr. Stricklin, my boss, on the situation on the Baton Rouge project, my recommendations for upgrading supervision over the on-site team, and my good report on the work Mary Jo and her team were doing in New Orleans. He agreed to my suggestions on Baton Rouge, asked a few questions about the leadership transition when Mary Jo went on leave, and then told me to take the rest of the afternoon off after I submitted my expense report.

Once in my office, I quickly finished it and said, "Done!"

I reached for my phone to send Reagan a text that I'd be home early before heading out the door. It was then that Ethan Gardiner, my best friend since third grade and coworker of the past six years, entered my office and shut the door behind him.

"Hi, Trent. How was your trip?"

"Long but productive; Eatherly should be able to keep things on track in Baton Rouge for the rest of the project if he watches his supervisors a little better. Now, though, I'm tired and I'm done, so while I love you like a brother, Ethan, Mr. Stricklin told me to get the fuck out of here."

His face clouded on that, so I explained with a laugh, "No, he didn't fire me. I just had so many hours on the trip helping them straighten out the mess that Mr. S told me to take the rest of the afternoon off to try to stay in the good graces of all you folks in accounting. Therefore, I'm going to run by the store, get some flowers and a bottle of wine, and be in a good mood for her when Reagan gets home. Anything about work can wait until tomor--"

To my surprise, Ethan raised a hand and said, rather forcefully, "Trent, stop. It's not about work. I'm so sorry, buddy, but I really need to talk to you now. It's...it's, well, about Reagan. She's--"

"What? What's wrong with Reagan?" Fear stabbed my heart. Something had happened to her and no one had been able to contact me because I'd been on the damn plane. But why hadn't I gotten a call since?

With me having interrupted him, he stammered, "Trent, she's been messing around on you while you're traveling."

Anger lit my face as I looked at the guy I'd thought of as my best friend for practically forever. Reagan had told me she'd been a real free spirit in college and the years that followed, enjoying sex whenever and wherever she could get it--we'd even fucked twice on our first date, I recalled--but as we became more serious and begun talking about making a life together, she'd put those days behind her, going to a therapist for a while and committing to settling down and having a family. While committing to me, she still loved sex, a lot, but she'd definitely put her freewheeling days behind her.

"That's not funny, Ethan. It's not a bit funny and I don't appreciate it. I think you'd better get the fuck out of here and do some serious soul searching about our friendship before you walk into my office again."

His face looked pained as he replied, "I know it's not funny, Trent, and I hate having to tell you more than you can know, but I...well, I really think it's true. See, I heard it from Jake Campbell who heard it from his friend Clay who got it from a friend of his. Clay's friend was the one she fucked around with. From what she accidentally told him afterward, he's not the only one she's doing so that's why he didn't keep it secret. He was pissed off that she was cheating on him."

I knew it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true, so I was so pissed off that I was ready to take Ethan's head off for falling for such a stupid joke. However, I knew my wife a lot better than Ethan did and so my anger turned to the others who would spread such lies and to the nameless asshole who started them. On second thought, I wasn't giving Ethan a pass either; in fact, I was doubly pissed that my supposed best friend was the one helping them spread such shit.

"Ethan, I'm going to tell you this once. It's not true, not a word of it, and if you ever, I mean ever, repeat a word of that again, I'll beat the living hell out of you. Now, you'd better get out of here before I decide to do it anyway."

Ethan was about 5-foot six and weighed 150 pounds, if that. He'd always been a scrawny kid, the prototypical nerd, so he knew that I, at my size, could do it if I chose. It looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he looked down at the ground and slowly shook his head.

He looked up at me and I could see the pain in his eyes as he said, "Trent, I'm really sorry. We've been best friends for a long, long time, so you know I'd never want to hurt you, but I really think that not telling you would hurt you a lot worse in the long run. And, buddy, you know that I know you well enough to know that you'd react just like this. You've always had a hot temper, so how many times did I have to step in to calm you down to keep you out of detention or worse in high school? Trent, I wouldn't have told you this, any of it, if I didn't think it was true. I'm going, but...here. You may not believe me, but here's the name of the investigator who my cousin hired when he thought his wife was fucking around on him. This lady's good and if she tells you that Reagan's messing around, well, you'll know it's the gospel truth."

I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, willing the blood racing through my temples to ease a bit. I'm not sure if it worked, but it did help clear my thoughts and put things in better perspective.

Ethan was right; we'd been best friends since his family moved in down the block when we were little and we'd been tight ever since. We'd both been smart--I'd been the salutatorian of our high school class in the north Georgia mountains, coming in second only behind him--but he'd been the level-headed nerd who kept us out of trouble when he could while I'd been the hot-headed jock who physically got us through a few scrapes when his efforts didn't work. We'd gone to different colleges, me into engineering with a construction management focus at Tech and him into accounting at UGA; I'd matured a lot over time without him there to help manage my temper, though I must admit that a few extra lumps along the way without his guidance helped that process.

When I heard about an opening in my firm's accounting department, I let him know about how much I liked the firm. To my surprise, he'd applied and I'd put in a good word for him so we'd been working together for the past six years, including through all the time that Reagan and I dated before marrying nearly five years earlier. In retrospect, I realized that, while I didn't think for a minute that his story was true, Ethan must have been led to believe it was true and that he was telling me to protect me, not to deliberately hurt me.

With a slow exhale, I asked, "Your cousin's wife. Was she? Fucking around, I mean."

"Oh, yeah. And Miss Hightower got the goods on her."

"What happened to them?"

Ethan grimaced. "He divorced her skank ass but still has to see her twice every week when they swap kids. He loves those kids and will do anything to protect them, which is a damn good thing because he hates her so much he'd have probably killed her and gladly gone to death row by now otherwise. I'm so sorry, man."

He stepped out of my office as he answered his phone, closing the door back behind him. That left me alone to stew on his crazy accusations and what he'd said about his cousin. I felt sorry for the guy having a woman that he loved and trusted who'd step out and do that to him; however, not knowing the circumstances, most of my sympathy went to the kids. They didn't choose their parents or the mess they'd been born into.

The reason was that Reagan and I were discussing expanding our family soon. We wanted a boy and a girl, if the genetic odds worked out in our favor, but we were considering going for three if we got matching chromosomes in our first two tries.

I sat at my desk, staring at the door, for a couple of minutes, trying to calm myself before picking up my things and heading out. I was going home to see my wife, trying to put everything Ethan had said out of my mind.

Unfortunately, the seed that he'd planted sat there festering, refusing to be forgotten, as I made my way to the interstate for the trip home.

No, I didn't believe it, not for a minute. In fact, I absolutely refused to believe it and would have found the whole thing laughable if it wasn't so serious. As I drove north on I-75 to my exit, I considered letting Reagan in on the stupidity, but something stopped me. While I was sure it wasn't true, there was no reason to piss her off that people--including Ethan--were telling such horrible lies about her. After a quick stop at the grocery store, I kept my mouth shut when Reagan rushed into my arms as I walked into the kitchen from the garage.

"You're home early," I said, but that was as much as I got out as our lips came together and we attempted to make up for missing each other since Tuesday morning. When we separated, she was nodding.

"I figured you'd be home early so I worked late the last two nights in order to take off early today to greet you. God, I've missed you so much, Trent," she cooed, pushing me against the kitchen cabinet as she undid my belt. A moment later, my pants and underpants were around my ankles and my dick was in the heaven of her mouth, her lips and tongue playing me like a guitar.

Up and down she strummed, vibrating her throat, her tongue, and my world, and I realized, to my surprise, that I wasn't going to last long before I blew, and that wasn't what I wanted.

No, I wanted my wife, to be in her, to be safe in her arms, or if she preferred, just to be safe between her legs and giving her all I had. Putting a hand on each arm, I smiled into her eyes and gently pulled up. She understood and rose, only to flip a chair around with the back to the table and then kneel down on it after unzipping her skirt and dropping it to the floor, revealing that she'd already removed her panties. Grinning at me when I saw, she put the back of the chair under her breasts and used her arms to brace herself on the table.

"Fuck me, Trent. Fuck me like I've wanted you to all week."

The head of my dick slid over her wet trench a couple of times before I plunged inside, sinking in over half way before I stopped. Out a bit and the second thrust rested my pelvis against her fine ass and my balls against her clit.

"Do it, Trent. Fuck me!" she practically screamed as I withdrew and then slammed back home. Looking back at me over her shoulder, she continued the delicious, profanity-laced encouragement, making me hotter by the moment to give her exactly what she wanted.

With my body pounding against her, I was building to a climax in a hurry. Reagan was helping herself by then, massaging furiously against her clit, alternating moans with oh-so-hot curses to drive me on. It finally became too much and the fireworks in my brain and in balls as I started gushing into her. I slammed a few more times, not sure if I could go on a single time more before she cried out, her arm collapsing, and she slumped down over the back of the chair.

With her pussy pulsing in her victory, I felt myself slipping out and then watched my cum start slipping out of her well-fucked, bright pink hole. Realizing it was about to drip on our good chair, she reached under and caught it as she grinned at me before waddling off, her hand cupped between her legs, toward the half bath near the kitchen.

I grinned back at her, thinking about how beautiful she was, how much fun she was, and how completely full of shit Ethan's idiot friend or friend-of-a-friend or whatever was. I knew for a fact that Reagan loved me and that she'd never cheat on me. With that, I shook my head and put Ethan's stupid story completely out of my mind.

Later that evening, Reagan and I had round two, starting with me eating her out until she screamed in ecstasy followed by gentle missionary-style sex in bed leading to hard-driving missionary sex with her wrapping her arms and legs around me for dear life. Afterward, thoughts of that stupid tale were back.

Ethan and I had been friends for such a long time that I realized he would have never told me like he did unless he actually believed it. Reagan fell asleep in bed soon afterward, a pretty smile on her face as she drifted off.

I sat up in bed trying to read my book, but the words on the page refused to be picked up by my brain. My thoughts were on my wife and on the impossible story my best friend had told.

As much loving as Reagan had given me, on Monday before my trip and today after I came home, I knew that the reports he had received were bogus and that I had to prove it to him or it would endanger our friendship even more than his supposed warning had. I went to sleep that evening, still trying to figure out what to do but as I drove to work on Friday morning, it came to me. I'd contact the private detective that Ethan had suggested. However, I wouldn't be calling her to get her to prove that Reagan had cheated on me.

No, not believing it anyway, I'd get Ms. P.I. lady to prove that Reagan hadn't.

***

On Friday morning, I called Dawna Hightower's office and accepted the first available appointment on Monday afternoon. It was in Midtown so I gave myself a little extra time and walked into the office at about ten minutes until two. Having been well-employed for several years before marrying Reagan, I had kept my sizable investment account in my name, which allowed me to surprise her with occasional gifts or trips without her foreknowledge. This time, I'd use some of the fund to hire the investigator and Reagan would never need to know about the stupid rumor when Miss Hightower proved it false.

At 2, the receptionist called me and escorted me into a conference room just down the hall where a rather stately Black woman dressed in pressed black slacks, an expensive white blouse, and a red scarf stood up from the table to greet me as the young lady closed the door behind me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jareau. Welcome to Hightower Private Investigation Services. I'm Dawna Hightower. How can we help you?"

She was tall and very nicely proportioned; her grip was firm, too, making me guess that she'd kept herself in excellent shape since, according to her firm's website, retiring from the APD several years earlier. From her online biography, I figured she was in her early to mid-50s though she appeared younger in person to me. She had a warm smile but her eyes were scrutinizing me the whole time, picking up on my body language, I suspected, as well as whether I might secretly be carrying.