Warned

Just so you don't think that I, Brian Kepler, am some kind of a super hero when you read my story remember that in real life time and chance happen to all men and sometimes (although probably not often) the "chance" is good.

I'm not quite an average guy because I make a lot of money as a business consultant, and I'm in better shape than the average guy due to an exercise routine that I established in college and continue to this day. Otherwise,, however, I'm pretty normal.

At the start of this story I was 30 years old, married, no kids yet but in my mind that would be changing shortly. One thing that I have consistently been focused on my entire life is being a father, and I was hoping that my wife was now ready to be a mother.

My dating history, favorite color, favorite basketball team, etc., aren't really important for proper telling of my story; what is important is that my wife Melany was also 30 as this story starts, and what she's like.

Melany is a very beautiful sexy woman; that statement, rather than being about her personality, warmth, or charity, exposes one of my past faults since my dick was in control of my brain when I married her. I did love her, but her mercurial personality (especially her jealous streak) sometimes had me question the wisdom of my decision to propose to her -- at least until the next time that she fucked my brains out, causing me to not remember how crazy she sometimes is.

Melany comes from a large family of mostly men, including four younger brothers. I get along very well with one of the brothers, Tom. Tom is gay but hadn't come out of the closet at the start of this story since his old man is a homophobe but he trusts me and has revealed his proclivity to me; I'm not sure if Melany knows but we certainly have never discussed it.

The other three brothers (two are fraternal twins) are between jerks and assholes. Melany's dad Jerry is of the same ilk as the three brothers that I don't get along with.

I do get along well with Melany's mother Samantha who despite having five kids and was 51 years old at the start of this story (she had Melany when she was 21) is very easy on the eyes and clearly the source of the genes that make Melany hot. Samantha may be the best looking 50+ woman this side of Elizabeth Hurley. Why Samantha married Jerry I don't know; she must have a high pain threshold.

One thing that Jerry insisted on before Melany and I married -- which I was more than happy to agree to as long as it was mutual -- was a prenup with a cheating clause.

**********

I had just finished a business consultation about 6:00 p. m. in a city about an hour's drive from my house but in the same State when I got a text from a number that I didn't recognize.

The text read: "Beware; several people are out to get you -- soon -- take protective measures immediately."

I tried to call the number that the text was sent from but there was no answer or voicemail. I'm not one to panic or scare easily but there was just something about this particular text that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

My Spidey-senses were also tingling because there had been a few unusual things happening in my household recently that involved strange behavior on Melany's part. She was more mercurial than normal the previous month or so, sometimes being unnecessarily nasty, other times trying to fuck me to death. It was only because of the latter that I forgave the former; I probably was still thinking with my dick more than I should have. However, I wasn't thinking with my dick so much that I didn't hire a PI to do some investigative work, the results of which I expected to see in a couple of days.

The business that I was consulting with happened to be close to a row of retail stores including a sporting equipment store. In the store I bought some protective equipment that soccer players wear, an over-sized football jersey, a pair of cross-training shoes, and a gym bag which I put my suit coat, tie, leather soled shoes, and dress shirt in. I also purchased a hunting knife and a small hammer designed to be used to pound in tent stakes. To be honest I felt a little ridiculous as I left the store but except for the protective equipment (I never played soccer) I could use everything else that I bought.

Since Melany wasn't expecting me until about 9 p. m. (I was expecting to have dinner with my clients but they had an emergency come up and begged off) I went to a local Johnny Rocket's and had a decent, if plebian, meal. It was about 7:30 p. m. as I started walking to my car; and it was now dark out.

As I approached my vehicle I heard a sound behind me and when I quickly turned I saw a masked guy with some sort of blunt instrument in his left hand swinging toward me. I put up my left arm to block the blow. The first thought that flashed through my mind in a zeptosecond was "the text was right" and the second zeptosecond's thought was "sure am glad that I bought those kids' soccer shin guards and put them on my forearms."

Here is where "chance" came in. More quickly than I ever remember reacting before I pulled the tent-spike hammer from my belt and in a fluid motion hit my attacker on the left side of his head at his temple causing him to instantly collapse. Since I never was good at tennis, splitting logs, or even hammering nails, the perfect placement of my swing was truly lucky.

While my left forearm hurt, it really wasn't bad at all -- which is lucky because I saw two more shapes coming toward me, one from my right, one from my left. My good luck continued as I parried a blow from the guy on my left with my left forearm and hit him on the top of his head with my small hammer. While that sent him down it also broke the wooden handle of my small hammer.

I turned in time to see the guy on my right approaching quickly and recognized his blunt instrument as a tire iron (fortunately the size of one for compact car, and not a truck). He took a different tactic than the other two and swung at my left lower leg. The blow would have crippled me if I didn't have adult soccer shin guards on my lower legs -- as it was it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. The fact that I didn't collapse startled him and I was able to jump him and knock him down.

When I had the third assailant on the ground I pulled the hunting knife from the sheath on my belt, initially covered by my football jersey, and put the blade to his neck. He immediately started groaning "I give, I give, don't cut me."

I got to my knees, shifted the knife to my left hand and held it on his throat while I got my cellphone out and with one hand dialed 911.

"This is 911 -- what is your emergency?"

"I was just attacked by three masked guys on the street; two are disabled and I'm holding the third at knife point. I need two ambulances and the police as soon as possible."

"Where are you?"

"I'm not from this city so I'm not positive but I'm a couple hundred yards from the Dick's Sporting Goods store on Chestnut and there's a Target almost across the street from me. Can you hone in on my cellphone signal?"

"We'll give it a try; stay on the phone and when you see a police vehicle let them know where you are by standing up."

"OK -- I'm the guy in the red football jersey; my three attackers have ski masks on, all three prone, two hurt the third with my knife on this throat."

There was some more give-and-take and fortunately there must have been a cop car nearby because it came right nearby me within two minutes flat. I told the attacker who was conscious that if he moved before the cops got there I'd stab him, and then stood up and waved my hands. I had already kicked the tire iron out of his reach.

Two cops came running toward me guns drawn and one with a flashlight. I yelled "I'm the 911 caller; I'm throwing my knife down and my cellphone connected to 911 is in my right hand over my head."

As they approached I told them that the conscious masked guy was one of the attackers so the male cop rolled him over and cuffed him. Then something I had never seen on TV before (I've never been in a real life situation like this before so I don't know if it's standard procedure) the female cop took my cellphone and talked to the 911 operator. After a short exchange she terminated the 911 call and handed my cellphone back to me and said "Remain standing six feet away with your hands up while we check the other two masked guys," so I did as she said.

By the time that the cops had checked the other two guys out three other cop cars and an ambulance were there. After checking me for weapons and having me remove my protective gear the female cop put me in the back seat of her squad car. I noticed that both my forearm and shin guards were cracked -- but they had done their jobs.

I sat in the back of the squad car for only about five minutes before a pair of detectives, a male and a female, opened up the back door. They introduced themselves as Cagney and Lucy. "I'll bet that you take a lot of shit with a last name that sounds like 'Lacey' and being paired with a female detective with the last name of 'Cagney'" I said to the male detective, trying to be funny despite the seriousness of the situation.

How did I know about the old TV female detective show "Cagney & Lacey" since it ran from 1982 to 1986? Because one summer when I was a teenager I got a significant injury playing pickup basketball and was laid up for almost two weeks. To alleviate boredom I became well acquainted with lots of old TV shows on a local nostalgia TV station, including the aforesaid Cagney and Lacey.

Lucy was big and kind of disheveled; to me he looked like a human version of a St. Bernard.

Cagney looked like a modern TV female cop -- too cute to be real. She also looked tough despite the fact that she probably was no taller than 5 feet four inches (163 centimeters) and weighed less than 125 pounds (57 kg). Her pants suit seemed to bulge significantly at her chest (not that I noticed).

Cagney laughed at my comment; Lucy simply snarled "Don't be a wise ass; come with us to the station."

"I need my gym bag and the protective gear the uniformed officer took from me," I replied.

"We'll put the gym bag in the trunk of our car but the protective gear is evidence so it stays; and before we leave we need you to identify the weapons on the ground," Cagney said.

As Lucy threw my gym bag in the trunk of his unmarked Ford Victoria I told Cagney that the hunting knife and the broken small hammer were mine, the tire iron was the weapon of the conscious masked dude, and the other two weapons -- I didn't know exactly what they were in the darkness -- were used by the other two guys but I didn't know which guy had which weapon. As I was doing this I noticed that the first guy that I hit was still lying there -- the other had been taken away in the ambulance.

"Why is my first attacker still here?" I asked Cagney.

"He's dead," was Cagney's deadpan reply.

That shook me to my core.

************

The interview room at the police station was painted a puke green and the plastic chair I sat in was flimsy and uncomfortable. At least I didn't have to wait long for the interview to start.

I first gave Cagney and Lucy a complete commentary including showing them the mysterious text on my phone and my receipt for the purchase of things at the Dick's Sporting Goods store. After my narrative they asked me questions for the next ten or fifteen minutes -- I answered them all honestly to the best of my ability, trying to shift my eyes between them rather than staring at Cagney, which is what my brain preferred. Then there was a knock on the door and a woman who looked like a technician came into the room and handed Lucy some photographs.

After the technician left Lucy said "I know that you didn't recognize your attackers with their ski masks on but we have photos of their faces; maybe you'll recognize them from the photos."

He then handed me all three 8x11 inch photos at once, two of living guys, one of a dead guy.

With just a glance at the photographs I yelled "What the fuck!" as I stood up and unintentionally knocked my chair back into the wall. "These are three of my fucking brothers-in-law," I snarled.

"Sit down, relax," Cagney said, obviously taken aback by my outburst. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," I snapped, "I know what those assholes look like."

"Why would your brothers-in-law be out to get you?" Lucy inquired.

"I don't know. We don't have a good relationship but I haven't done anything in particular to make them mad at me. Plus, even though they're assholes I never got a vibe from them that they were violent types."

Cagney and Lucy questioned me another half hour or so until I finally had had enough. "Look -- you already know without a doubt that I acted in self-defense so I'm leaving. I'm traumatized."

"OK, we just need your shirt, pants, and shoes," Lucy said.

"Bring me my gym bag and a pair of sweat pants so that I can change then I'm out of here. You have all my contact information -- if you have any more questions call and I'll answer any other questions you or the prosecutor have."

Cagney handed me one of her business cards and with a sly smile made a point of saying "My cellphone number is on the back; call if you think of anything else." I shook her hand goodbye, holding onto it a little longer than was appropriate.

***********

I didn't call Melany on my drive home; my mind was awash in conspiracy theories.

I didn't think that it was possible that Melany's brothers would attack me without at least her knowledge and probably her encouragement or even orders.

That also clued me in to who had warned me -- it had to have been her brother Tom, the one who I was friends with.

I wondered if her father Jerry played some role too because the three miscreant brothers seemed to do his bidding.

By the time that my hour long drive ended -- it seemed shorter because my mind was working at high speed the entire time -- I had gone through every emotion possible. Surprisingly the one that predominated as I entered my house about 11 p. m. was lustful anger (something I'd never felt before).

Melany was standing in the kitchen with a bathrobe on when I entered the house. When she saw me her face turned ashen -- confirming my assessment of the situation. She recovered fairly quickly.

"Brian, honey, why are you so late. I was starting to get worried."

"Worried about what, sweet Melany?"

"Oh -- that something bad had happened to you."

"Well I do have bruises on my left forearm and left shin," I grinned as right in the kitchen I removed my dress shirt and the sweat pants from the cops.

Melany looked flustered as I disrobed. I proceeded to take off my undershirt, socks, shoes, and then dropped my boxers as she looked on uncomfortably. I felt that my cock was rock hard and that was confirmed when my boxers dropped to the floor.

"Darling, why are you getting naked?" she asked, completely perplexed and turning ashen again.

"Because you may be taking a trip soon and I want to get all the pussy I can before you go," I snickered.

The word "go" had barely left my mouth when I was on Melany. I ripped off her robe, finding her naked underneath. I felt more sexually energized than at any other time in my life -- and felt like a Neanderthal at the same time -- as I flung her nude body over my shoulder and started toward our bedroom. She was begging me to stop but not hitting me or unnecessarily squirming as I deftly carried her along.

Before I tossed Melany on our bed I went by her dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled two of her scarves out. As soon as I tossed her on the bed I tied her right hand to our sturdy metal headboard with one of the scarves.

"Brian, honey, what are you doing -- you're scaring me," she repeated at least three or four times. I didn't respond but simply tied her left hand to the headboard with the other scarf. This time she tried to resist but it was futile. While normally I'm stronger than she is fueled by what I called my lustful rage I felt I wasn't just stronger; I was as powerful as the Incredible Hulk and she had no chance to resist me!

Melany protested the first couple of minutes as I sucked her nipples and fingered her pussy. After that it was only pleasure moans and groans, especially after I gave her a "shocker" (two in the pink, one in the stink).

After I nibbled on her clitoris for a while as I simultaneously lightly twisted her nipples she started cumming. She may have had a continuous fifteen minute orgasm once I buried my rod in one push and fucked her with the passion of a thousand suns while concurrently continuing my assault on a nipple while also trying my best to thumb her asshole.

While for many reasons I would never want to repeat the state that I was in that night, one way that it was great and I would love to repeat was that I was a human dynamo. I had five orgasms before the sun came up the next morning, more than twice as many as I ever had in a similar period of time before. I fucked her pussy three times, her tits once, and her ass once. Between some of the fucks I let her go to the bathroom and showered with her, but when in bed I always kept her wrists tied to the headboard because I didn't trust her not to knife me in the back.

The next morning I got out the business card that Cagney had given me and called her cellphone. After identifying myself I got right to the point. "I'm sure that my wife was the mastermind behind my attack. Can you pick her up for questioning?"

"We've decided to get the State Police involved since you live in a different city," Cagney replied. "Can I send a couple of troopers over to your house this morning?"

"Sure; by 11 a. m. I should have proof from her cellphone," I cackled.

I let Melany get dressed as she alternately thanked me "For rocking my world" last night and begged me to "Untie me, honey." I acknowledged the former, but in response to the latter kept her hands tied behind her back. That caused me to have to feed her breakfast but that was a better alternative than her taking after me with a kitchen cleaver.

Since I pay for Melany's cellphone service and it's on my plan, and since despite my counsel she uses the same stupid password on her phone and websites (believe it or not it is "qwerty," the fifth most common password in the US in 2023), I was easily able to access her texts. Even the deleted ones were easy to recover since we have iPhones and they normally sync with her Mac computer (I don't have a Mac). By the time that the State Troopers got to my house at 11:14 a. m. I had copies of her communications with her father Jerry and her moron brothers about attacking me, both in digital form and in a printout.

The troopers exchanged my rope ties on her hands with handcuffs, read Melany her rights, and took her away. Only after the cuffs were applied did she change from trying to be sweet to being toxic. One thing she yelled that surprised me was "You dickless cheater!" for two reasons. The first was that I clearly had a dick since I had fucked her with it five times the previous night. The second was that I had never cheated on her.

************

Since Jerry, Melany, and the two live miscreant brothers were charged with the murder of the third miscreant they were not allowed bail. This would make my divorce easier. Obviously I had good grounds for the divorce without what the P I told me three days after Melany's arrest, but after his revelation -- complete with photos and audio -- I filed on the basis of adultery, enforcing the prenup.

I was surprised that Melany initially counter-sued for adultery; however after the first round of discovery from our attorneys, and after my deposition was taken, she dropped her countersuit. Apparently she had been given -- by a co-worker named Reginald Buttress -- photo-shopped pictures of me with a slut we both knew by the name of Rosy Wilson. When I had at least two witnesses, and in some cases video proof, that I was elsewhere each of the times that I supposedly was with Rosy Melany's case collapsed.