Separate Lives Pt. 01

Not making sure Connie would cover for her was another blunder, a major one. Second, she knew I was friendly with Connie and Tom—even more so with Melissa and Cal. Whatever happened in Vegas was almost certainly known by both couples. Either of them might have called me sometime to give her up. These were loose ends she should have tied up somehow. Her third error was assuming I still trusted her and would stay home like a good little boy while she was out whoring around. Her fourth was thinking I would put up with a cheating slut of a wife.

I smashed my fist down on the coffee table beside me, making the lamp dance around on its base for a long moment. Sherrie was in the shower; she didn't hear a thing. I massaged my hand and wrist, seething inside as I contemplated my wife's betrayal of our marriage, herself and me.

I was worried that my anger was going to take over my whole life. It seemed to me that my jaws were always clinched tight these days and my pulse pounded whenever I thought of what Sherrie and that guy were doing. I was ruthlessly suppressing those feelings when I was around her. It only made the rage burn that much hotter.

The sad thing was that I was actually a little relieved when it became clear tonight was to be their next little get-together for sex. I hated to admit that to myself, but I was. Once I got through whatever I had to face this evening, I'd take what I knew and put it in the hands of my attorney. I had him primed and ready to file charges whenever I gave him the go-ahead.

********

Sherrie left a little after seven o'clock, just as twilight was beginning to make soft shadows all around. She thought I was in the garage straightening up the disorder that accumulates if one doesn't give it constant attention, but I was really just killing time, waiting for her to leave. Now that the evening had come, I was anxious to get things over with and move on with my life.

Sherrie hadn't been interested enough about what I was doing to come outside for a look, much less to spend any time with me. I guessed she was just happy I was out of her way so she could get ready for her date...or whatever she was calling it. That was fine with me. If she'd come out to be with me, she'd have seen the rent-a-lemon I'd arranged for that morning. I hadn't wanted to park the shabby looking wreck on the street; it might have been towed as an abandoned vehicle.

It was a small lie, I suppose—hiding the rental's existence. That's what's wrong with lying and cheating. The lies begin to take on a life of their own and reproduce more of their kind spontaneously.

There were three more lies told as she walked out the door. I wished her a good time and we both said we loved each other. A man and a woman who loved each other wouldn't be doing the things to each other that we were going to do tonight. I told myself I didn't care.

When she was far enough down the block not to be able to see inside the garage, I opened the outside door and jumped in the rental car. Driving away, I pointed the remote over my shoulder to close the door and sped down our residential street to make sure I didn't lose contact with her. Paradoxically, I had to slow drastically when I saw her ahead, waiting at a stoplight for cross traffic to clear. I had to pull to the curb and stop for a bit or I'd have gotten too close.

As it turned out, following her didn't prove to be that big a problem. Like most drivers, she paid almost no attention to the traffic behind her and, even if she had, she wouldn't have known to look for a beat-up, eight-year-old gray Chrysler sedan.

She had no idea that her husband was in that vehicle tonight and tailing her, half a city block behind. The light was still good enough for me to be able to identify her vehicle but it was gradually getting darker. It gave me an excuse to turn on my headlights. If she were to look back, she wouldn't be able to see my face past the glare.

I followed her through thinning traffic to the far southwest side of town and watched her pull into a moderately priced motel. I quickly found a space across the street and parallel parked my ratty old vehicle. Getting my camera ready and trying to settle my jangled nerves, I watched out the driver's side window while my wife sat in her car for five minutes or so. It seemed she was impatient. She made a series of quick calls on her cell phone. Mine didn't ring. It was not me she was calling.

A few minutes later, a big dark blue SUV came down the street and turned into the motel. I could see the driver was a male but he was going too fast for me to get a good look at him. He parked beside my wife's Taurus and they both got out. Shortly, the guy had my wife in a tight embrace and was kissing her hungrily. After a bit, she patted his chest and pulled back a little.

I'd bought a Nikon Dimage Z1 digital camera when I started planning this operation a couple of weeks ago. Even with my limited experience with digital cameras, it looked like this camera was going to be perfect for the job I had to do. I started snapping away, taking pictures of my cheating wife and the guy she was screwing. Though twilight was fading into night, there was still enough illumination under the motel's exterior lighting to light up both of them. The camera's 10X optical zoom...multiplied by its 4X digital zoom...gave me superb close-ups of his hand trying to squeeze her breasts. I could have counted the freckles on my lovely wife's face if I'd been in a counting mood.

My only real problem was keeping the camera steady enough. I solved that by scrunching down low, rolling down the window, and bracing the camera on the two inches of glass that refused to disappear into the door. Neither of the cheaters across the way noticed me, though I was less than fifty yards away under a streetlight. They were awfully careless. I guess it was true that cheaters begin believing they don't have to take elementary precautions because theycan't be caught.

The guy produced one of those plastic cards with the magnetic strip on the back and opened the motel room door. He and my wife went inside and I settled back to wait them out. I wanted some pictures of them leaving the room to show how long they'd been inside.

The camera had the ability to insert a date stamp on the face of the digital pictures and the downloaded .jpg file would show the precise date and time it was saved in the camera. I thought a computer expert would explain such things well enough so any court could understand it, even if the judge wouldn't accept my explanation. I was sure my attorney would be able to find and hire such an expert.

My stomach was churning. The bitter taste of bile was in my mouth; I was barely able to control stomach contractions that kept threatening to force partially digested bits back up my esophagus. The longer I waited, the worse it got. Abruptly, I couldn't hold it back any longer. I wrenched the car door open and spewed an ugly pool of nastiness out onto the pavement. The flood kept regenerating itself long after I thought I'd brought up everything I'd eaten for the last several days. After a minute or two, though, there was nothing more in my stomach.

It got painful then. The dry heaves continued for another eternity before gradually dying away. I wiped my mouth on my handkerchief, rinsed my mouth out, and drank a half-liter bottle of water. Shaking with anger, humiliation, and feeling a sense of loss so strong I could barely stand it, I stepped over the mess in the street and walked a few yards up and down the curb to see if it would help settle me down.

I glanced at the room door over there, making sure they hadn't come out yet. I stopped in my tracks. There was only a dim glow coming through most of the drawn curtains but at one place, down low on the left side, there was a small area where the light came through more brightly. I was intrigued. I looked all around to make sure I was unobserved; then I crossed the street and walked through the motel parking lot.

From a few feet away, I could see that my dear wife and the sorry bastard who was with her had been inexcusably sloppy for two people doing something they shouldn't. They'd left a space a couple of inches across where the curtain had not quite been pulled closed. I glanced around again, checking to see if anyone could see what I was about to do. I decided that I really didn't care what anyone else thought, even if someonedid see me. This was an opportunity to photograph these twoin flagrante delicto and I was going to take it.

I knelt on one knee and eased the camera up to the window, aiming it through the opening in the drapes. The LCD screen on the back of the camera lit up when I pressed the power button and I had my proof. My wife was on all fours on the bed with a short, stocky man with blond hair getting into position behind her. He was, I guess, the kind of man women thought of as handsome. He looked to be a little younger than me, but it was hard to tell.

My hands were trembling too badly for the camera to focus properly and I had to press the lens against the window. It took some experimentation to get a good series of pics. If I let too much of a gap develop between the window and lens, the harsh brightness of the lights out here reflected off the glass and tended to wash everything out.

In a minute or two, though, I had everything I needed. Inside the room, I could see the guy beginning to slam his cock in and out of my wife's cunt. He wasn't gentle about it, but it appeared Sherri had developed a taste for a little rough sex because her face was screwed up in a mask of lust and illicit pleasure. The camera could take six pictures in a fast sequence and I'd put it on that setting before leaving home. I pressed the shutter release button again and again.

I couldn't take too much of watching them. Still badly nauseated and feeling more pain inside than I'd known since my parents died, I settled back on my haunches and tried to get myself together. I drew in a ragged breath and closed my eyes tight to fight back the tears I refused to shed. I hurt...but a human being can only hurt so long before they shift themselves to another place. I pushed my emotions aside, damming them up and putting them back behind that door I'd thought I had closed on them earlier in the week.

Suddenly, there was no more love when I thought of her...and I damned sure didn't like her at all. My new remoteness, my detached view, gave me the strength to get to my feet without swaying or feeling stick to my stomach.

There was a sudden flurry of loud voices from inside the room. I could hear Sherrie but I couldn't tell what she was saying. Then there was a louder shriek a second or two later, but it sounded like a man. I didn't know any men who admitted to being "screamers" during sex but I guess they could be. Anyway, the suddenly noisy sex play got me on my feet and moving away. I was afraid it would attract someone to come see what was going on.

I started to walk back to my rental across the street but I paused behind the son of a bitch's car while I thought for a long moment. I turned and walked down the sidewalk past all the motel doors. I looked carefully under the eaves, then stepped away from the building to examine the roof and every light pole in sight. I was looking for any outside security cameras the motel might have. I found a place down at the far corner of the structure where there were some unconnected wires and an empty mounting bracket, but I didn't see any cameras.

I crossed the parking lot and stood next to the rental car, looking at the empty, abandoned restaurant. There were surely no spy cameras over there. There were some apartment buildings I could see on down this side street, but they were far away. On the main thoroughfare, I couldn't see any businesses that would logically be protected by surveillance cameras pointed in this direction. I made sure the cap was securely fastened over the lens and put my camera in the back seat for safekeeping.

Walking purposefully, I went back to where my wife...and whoever he was...were parked. I pulled the pocketknife out of my jeans and opened it while I debated with myself the wisdom of doing what I was thinking of. Then I shrugged and bent low beside lover boy's rear tires.

It took a stronger thrust than I'd thought it would, but I soon found the right amount of velocity and power to shove the blade deep into the tire. I was afraid my grip would slip and I'd cut myself badly, but that didn't happen. The hissing of the air escaping from the expensive set of tires seemed terribly loud, but no one came out to investigate. Encouraged, I took care of all four tires on his SUV, and then all my wife's tires too.

I guess it was a childish gesture. It didn't solve anything and it very well could make it clear to the cheating duo that someone was on to them. I decided they wouldn't think that. They were too cocky. I wanted to do more, but I didn't.

A hundred years ago, I could have smashed down the door and put a bullet in each of their brains and no jury would have ever convicted me. Two hundred years ago, I could have challenged him to a duel and killed him in front of his friends and family. Those were acceptable ways back then for a man to salvage his honor in situations like this. Ahhhhh, but we're so much more civilized now. A cuckold has so few options open to him these days. I did what I could.

Feeling a little better, and not in the least guilty about the damage I'd done, I walked back to my rental and got in, slamming the door and not caring if anyone heard. I'd taken the first steps to rid myself of a faithless wife and regain some self-respect. There was little remaining yet to do. Monday would come soon and I'd have a long talk with my lawyer.

Chapter 3

Sunday comes before Monday, though, and Saturday before that. Sherri came home well before midnight, pissed off because some SOB had slashed the tires on her car "outside the club." Three teens had been seeing running away, she said. Then she'd had to wait three hours for the AAA folks to get there. Apparently, I'd not been observed destroying the tires on the cars and someone else was suspected. I actually had no idea whether the 'three teens' story had any legitimacy, but the three-hour wait sounded about right. I shrugged. None of it mattered in the least.

I was surprised she was home that early though. I'd thought she'd be out a lot later with her fuck toy. If she was outside waiting for the wrecker for any time at all, it meant her tryst with the new man in her life had been a short one—not that it made any difference.

I said a few consoling words to calm her down. She got in bed and went to sleep shortly after coming in. She hadn't wanted any cuddling. I knew why. The odor of cheap motel soap on her body was strong enough to make me gag.

********

Sunday afternoon and evening, Sherri got very affectionate and wanted me close to her. It was impossible to tell from looking at her that she'd been out fucking some other man on Friday night. She showed no sign of feeling guilty about anything at all. If anything, she was more relaxed and pleasant than she'd been in months.

That, I had read, was one of the classic signs a spouse is cheating. Whether they showed it or not, they usually felt some degree of guilt and would try to "make it up" to their dishonored spouse.

I had talked to my attorney earlier today while Sherri was fixing lunch—he'd said to call him at home if I needed to. He was all set, he said. All he needed was my signature on the paperwork and he'd file them at the courthouse before noon tomorrow. The pictures were bargaining chips if Sherrie contested the divorce. Tomorrow afternoon, I was going to be a free man, in a sense. The divorce wouldn't actually be final for six months, but I'd be separated from the woman who'd brought me so much pain.

That night, Sherri put on a black lace nightgown she knew I liked and glided seductively across the carpet to where I sat on the bed. I didn't want her, not after I'd seeing what I had Friday night. I was trying to come up with an excuse not to have anything to do with her tonight.

I was sick to my stomach again just at the thought of touching her. I sat on the bed and tried to look uninterested. She stayed with it, though, the very image of a loving wife who wanted some loving from her husband. She exposed a breast, round and pale in the dim light, capped with a dark circle and a proud, partially erect nipple. Coming closer, she rubbed her breasts against my face in a move she knew usually aroused me. Even though I didn't want to—even though I could barely bring myself to be civil to her, her strokes and caresses were beginning to have a visible effect on me. She smirked, knowing the power she had over me. It pissed me off.

Abruptly, I changed my mind. Without any thought at all, much less a careful consideration of the consequences, I knew I was going to give my dear, deceitful young wife the sex she wanted, and more. It would be one last fuck before we separated forever. If I were rational at that moment, I would have known what I was going to try to do to her was rooted in my own humiliation. There was, perhaps, some arrogance mixed in also. But, at the moment, all I wanted to do was exact a small measure of vengeance for the disgrace that this woman had heaped on me.

Carefully, I built up an image in my mind of a street prostitute. I envisioned a whore who deserved no consideration and who was nothing more than a receptacle for me to use and discard. I would masturbate, using her pussy, when I was ready, but my revenge was going to be a little more subtle than that. If it worked, she wouldn't even understand it as retribution for a long time. I let Sherrie's face blend into the faceless features of the whore I had just constructed. Having dehumanized Sherrie sufficiently enough for my purposes, I was ready.

I stood up and pulled her close. I bent to find the lips I'd kissed so many times before. I started gently, our lips barely touching before I drew back. Once, twice, a third time, and more before I became more demanding. When I came back again, I found her lips open and waiting for me. I pushed my tongue inside, searchingly. I flicked my tongue at hers, teasing her and making it clear I wanted more.

I let my hands roam, sweeping them down her arms to her fingertips in a slow caress. Abandoning her arms, I cupped a hip in each hand and stroked her smooth skin through the silky material. My thumbs stroked the soft hollow inside the hip and moved across what they could reach of her lower belly. She sighed into my mouth as my hands moved behind her to take each ass cheek and knead it gently, massaging them and pulling her tight against my body at the same time. I traced the line of her backbone from bottom to top and then brought my hands back down in a smooth stroke from between her shoulder blades to her ass.

I checked. Her eyes were closed now. She was swaying gently, searching for my mouth every time our lips separated. Her hands fell to my forearms to lie there softly while my assault continued. Her nightie had a wide, scoop neck and I pushed one side off her shoulders.

Leaning over, I touched my tongue to her right nipple, flicking at it gently before swirling all around its circumference. I made her nipple and aureole wet with my saliva, sweeping my tongue around and around the blood-engorged nipple. Then I sucked her nipple into my mouth and touched my teeth to it. I wasn't biting—just letting her feel the hardness of the enamel against her sensitive skin.

Sherrie was not a very vocal lover. Her commentary was mostly limited to low murmurs that were unintelligible and the occasional "Oh, my precious" when we were making love. Tonight she was confining herself to soft moans and appreciative groans when I touched a particularly sensitive place. It was just enough for me to figure out where to go next. I'd given up trying to get her to talk to me during sex and tell me what she wanted, much less talk dirty.