tagLoving WivesWhile You Sleep

While You Sleep


Hi Folks. This is another longer story. It is an LW story in that there is a wife cheating on her husband as the backbone of the story. But there is also much mote going on here. So those of you who just want the usual strange car in the driveway story might want to pass on this one. Those of you want the whole thing to be resolved in three pages also might want to keep it moving. Those of you who have a pacifistic nature might not like this story. Those of you who want a burn the bitch story might be a little upset because there are no bitches getting burned here. There is also not a reconciliation so those of you who want to see the couple get back together no matter what will probably have your feelings hurt. For the three people that are still here, I hope you like this one. It's a bit long so sit back and enjoy it. This one is an action movie. To get you in the mood you might want to listen to Charlie Sexton's version of "While you sleep." It was originally written by Steve Earle who never recorded it. I'm trying to get Kat into 80's music. Thanks as usual to Mikothebaby for everything. She's like a combo sister/best friend. She does so much more than just edits, she keeps me grounded and sane. SS06

* * * * * *

As I shut down my Mustang's engine, I let out a heavy sigh. I actually hated coming here. The irony of that statement wasn't lost on me, since there was a time when to me, this place, not Disney World, was the happiest place on Earth. Looking at the small grouping of detached apartments, it's hard to imagine that there was a time when all of them were well-maintained and looked nearly new. Even stranger is the fact that the current state of disarray and disrepair has occurred over a period of less than three years.

The unit I'm parked in front of is pretty bad, but the one I'm going to is far worse. I couldn't actually get my car in front of that one because there are several cars in various states of repair parked in front of it, in the driveway and there's even a truck on the lawn.

Actually, you can't really call it a lawn when there's no actual grass. I think there's a law somewhere that says that. I also think it's pretty specific. There have to be at least ten or twelve blades of actual grass present for an area to be called a lawn. An uneven, rough trod collection of dirt, mud and weeds with a dead pickup truck thrown in for decoration is not legally a lawn.

When I lived here, I was proud of my lawn. It was watered every other day and cut every weekend. My neighbors and I traded lawn care tips and always tried to one up each other in having the coolest garden equipment. Now the place looks like no one lives here. Only the thumping from the loud, raucous music coming from inside gives any indication that people actually live in the unit. The peeling paint and sagging wooden steps, help to reinforce the impression of the place being unoccupied.

The screen door swings freely in the wind. There is no screen in the door, nor is there any glass. In fact the only thing keeping the door anchored to the building is the one lone loose hinge near the top. The opposite corner on the bottom of the door seems to be planted into the rotting wood of the porch. It acts as a type of pivot and every time the wind blows the door seems to noisily swing. It's that lone, tortured hinge making the noise apparently. The corner of the door also scrapes further into the porch with every breeze.

I wonder what it would look like if I were to come back in in two years. Would the wind and the constant movement finally rip the hinge from the wall and let the door simply fall off? Or would the constant scraping simply dig the door deeper and deeper into the porch until it couldn't move?

I often wonder why none of the neighborhood's scavengers don't simply come up onto the porch in the middle of the night or the day for that matter and simply steal the door and take it to the scrapyard.

As I close the door of the Mustang, that solid, "thunk," sound as the door closes draws attention. I have no illusions that my car's security system would be a match for any of the neighborhood's cadre of professional car thieves. But if my car has drawn attention, I use that scrutiny for my own benefit. I let my black trench coat slide open until my gun is visible. I also make a show of pulling my piece as if I'm checking it over before confronting someone inside of the unit I'm visiting.

My movements suggest that I'm an undercover cop on an investigation. I walk around behind the car and open its tiny trunk. I pull out a giant stuffed animal. It isn't just any teddy bear or unicorn. It's a giant stuffed skunk. The skunk is kind of an inside joke between my daughter and I. Ever since I took her to see that movie "Over the hedge," when she was three years old, my daughter has loved skunks. I know that she'll love this one as well.

I step gingerly on the shitty wood of the porch expecting at any second for the rotted boards to give way under my weight. But they hold and I knock on the door hard and wait. After a few moments when no one has answered, I try the knob and it turns and opens.

The scene in front of me looks like something out of Caligula. Inside the room the noise of the country music station pouring out of the cheap stereo at ear splitting volume is countered by the sounds of loud moans and groans. Three naked men are all pumping one small chubby woman. All of them are covered in sweat and the woman's screams are the loudest in the room.

"Ohh...Baby...harder...fuck me...fuck me," she screams, oblivious to everything else going on around her. In one corner, a guy is smoking weed or a mixture of marijuana and God knows what else. I'm not interested in him. I'm more interested in the would-be porn star on the couch. She's flat on her back with her thin legs flailing in the air while a large greasy looking guy rams his dick in her ass. She alternately moans and then plunges another guy's dick down her throat. The third guy is currently rubbing his dick against one of her large breasts and pumping his hips in time with Lynrd Skynrd's "Sweet home Alabama."

Two other guys appear to be playing cards in the kitchenette unit in the next room. I wonder what happened to the stove we had when I lived here. One of the guys is wearing a suit and a good one. He seems to be the only guy in the room who's noticed that I'm here.

I drop the skunk and draw my piece. I don't go for the gun though. I drew my iPhone. I snapped off several still photos concentrating on Danielle's face and a few shots of the entire scene then I switch to video and march past the scene through the house talking as I go. I walk, video-taping the entire scene to a door on the second floor. I open the door and video tape my sleeping eight year old daughter.

I close the door behind me and start to pack some of her clothes into a small suitcase in her closet. Just as I get as many clothes as I can fit into the suitcase the phone rang.

"Hammond," I said, answering it.

"Rick," says my boss, Jeremy Clarkson, the agent in charge. "I've got an assignment for you. Your plane leaves for DC in an hour."

"On my way," I said ending the call. I storm back down the stairs and nothing in the room seems to be any different.

I kick the plug out of the wall and the stereo ceases abruptly. "God damn it Danielle," I yell. "Rina is upstairs asleep while you're holding an orgy with all of these fucking losers. I was about to take her out of here but my boss called me. I have another assignment, but when I get back..."

The sound of the gun clicking silenced me immediately. I should have known it would be the guy in the suit.

"Who are you?" he asked. He and the guy he was playing cards with are completely different from all of the other guys there. For one thing they're the only guys who are dressed. For another, neither of them is drunk or high. And the fact that they're both holding guns isn't lost on me either.

"He's my husband," said Danielle. "Don't worry about him...Oh I forgot who you are. You should worry about him..."

"Shut up bitch," said the guy in the suit. "Donnie, shut your bitch up."

I figured that the Donnie he was referring to had to be Donnie Simmons. He was Danielle's latest boyfriend. His father was Big Al Simmons. He owned and operated a chain of appliance stores throughout the Midwest. I could see that over the next five to ten years the big chains like Best Buy, and Good Guys Inc would slowly squeeze them out of the market. The online vendors like Amazon would also cut into his profits if he didn't find some way to either diversify or move into a different business. But for now, Big Al's Appliances was at least a regional powerhouse.

Donnie, of course, had very little to do with the actual management of the stores. He saw himself as a business genius who simply hadn't been given a chance. His dad had given him some kind of titled position in the organization that really sounded far more important than it was. Donnie probably figured that when his dad died, he'd run the stores the way he wanted. But anyone with half a brain could see that by the time Big Al died, there probably wouldn't be much left.

Donnie was about six feet tall and fat as hell with lips that looked too big to be a man's. Apparently, Donnie was a sharing individual because he was allowing his friends to fuck Danielle too.

"Oh shit, boss," said the guy next to the man in the suit. "He's got a piece and there's metal next to it. I think it's a badge."

"You a cop?" asked the guy holding the gun on me. He began to lower his gun.

"Not exactly," I said. "But I do have a gun." I held my hands up and slid my coat open. Before they even saw my badge and ID my gun and holster told them what they wanted to know.

"Look at the holster rig and the hardware," the second guy said. "He's a fed."

I nodded. "I'm not here for a job," I said. "I came because I had my daughter yesterday for a visit and she saw this in the window of a toy store. The store was closed last night so I went back and got it today. My only interest here is getting her away from here."

"I can see why any father would want his child out of here," said the man in the suit. "I assume that is why you took pictures of your wife in action." I nodded. She's been blocking and delaying our divorce for almost three years. I finally have evidence that should get not only my divorce but custody as well."

"That's why you didn't take pictures of my associate and I," said the man in the suit nodding his head. "We're only here because Mr. Simmons is a possible business associate and THIS was what he considers entertainment. Five or six guys fucking one chubby slut...No offense meant."

"None taken," I said.

"Sorry about the guns. We carry a lot of cash sometimes for our business dealings. We both have CCW permits for the guns and..."

"I believe you," I said. "As I said I'm not interested in you or your associate...Or even those guys for that matter. I just want my daughter out of this cesspool."

"We'll be leaving then," he said. "Good luck with your divorce." He and his associate backed out of the room and out of the house. I wondered where they'd parked since I was certain that they'd have decent cars and I didn't see any parked in front of the building.

"What are you doing here Richard?" screamed Danielle. As I looked at her it was hard to believe she was the same woman. Three years ago when we'd separated, it had broken my heart. Eight years years before that, when we'd gotten married, I'd been over the moon and couldn't believe that a woman that beautiful was mine.

Now as I looked at her sagging tits, bulbous beer belly and thin yet flabby legs, it was hard to reconcile the picture of her in my mind with the screaming, sweating, stinking creature shrieking at me. When I met her, it was just after she'd won the title of Miss Michigan. I'd been sure that she'd go on to become the next Miss America and use that to springboard into some kind of movie or television career.

Any guy who saw her back then instantly fell in love with her. I did and I fell hard. The funniest thing was that she fell just as hard for me. I thought we had it all.

"No one gave you permission to come inside of my house," she screeched. "Donnie, call the police. No, just throw him out!"

As Donnie moved towards me the other naked guys got up too. Being smaller than Donnie, I guess he expected me to be intimidated by his bulk. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Donnie was even stupider than I'd given him credit for. Attacking another man while you're naked is simply stupid. Donnie raised his big flabby arms as if he was going to grab me in a bear hug. I stomped down on his instep and broke his foot. Then I delivered a short chopping punch to Donnie's throat. I pulled the punch to avoid killing him and the pain in his foot was forgotten as he struggled to breathe.

My next move was as clichéd as it was un-necessary. Donnie was already out of commission and his friends after seeing how quickly I'd taken Donnie out of it had begun to retreat as swiftly as they could. There was no need for what I did, but I did it anyway.

I kicked Donnie in the clock-weights as hard as I could and left him a slobbering wheezing pile of goo on the floor.

I'm not a cruel man. I'm not a sadist. But I am a man. And the shrieking, flabby pile of trailer trash that Donnie was publicly fucking and sharing with his friends had once been my woman and legally, she was still my wife. That's why I did it. There is something primal about seeing another man fuck your woman. Something deep inside of us just wants to destroy or remove the offending organ much in the way that sperm cells destroy other men's semen. That is my only excuse for kicking Donnie in the nuts when he was already out of it.

As to why I stepped on Donnie's hand and then stepped onto his chest and then back down onto his other arm as I confronted Danielle, yep that part was probably over-kill. I wanted to show Danielle that her new man meant absolutely nothing to me.

On the floor behind me, Donnie just lay there wheezing, struggling to even take in enough oxygen to complain about his broken foot or his aching balls. His friends quickly gathered their clothes and beat feet out of there leaving Donnie where he lay.

"Danielle," I said calmly. "In the first place, I have every right to be here since I'm the one paying for this hovel. In the second place, the court gave me unlimited visitation rights as long as I am current on my child support. You have no legal recourse or reason to block me from entering the premises to see my child which was my only intention here today. I don't care what you do Danielle or whom you FUCK, since I wouldn't touch you with a syphilitic donkey's dick. You can have gang bangs on the lawn or...I guess you'd have to call it a sty now...if you want to and as long as it doesn't affect my daughter, I wouldn't care. I will be using the pictures I took today to try to get custody away from you, as soon as I get back though. Maybe we can finally get this God damned divorce over with and you can set up shop on the street corner of your choice."

She was seething as she looked at me.

"All you're going to get is out of a fucking job and thrown in jail," she hissed. "You broke in here and attacked poor Donnie."

I turned around and quickly took pictures of the two remaining guys as they tried to scamper away. "Hold it right there," I said. They both froze.

"I have both of your pictures. It will be a simple matter for me to run these pictures through the facial recognition software..." I just walked over to the first guy and took his wallet. The second guy just handed me his.

I quickly took pictures of their driver's licenses and returned them to them.

"Are we going to jail?" asked the first one. "I...I...used to have a card for that weed. I got the glaucoma and..."

"Just save it," I said. "I probably won't need your testimony and I don't care about the weed. If you do get called into court all you have to say is what really happened. I started trying to talk to Danielle and she tried to sic her fat assed boyfriend on me. Of course, you won't have to testify because Danielle may have done the world's greatest magic trick..."

They were looking at me curiously.

"What magic trick officer?" asked the second guy. "I was a little bit high so I might have missed it."

"She took a beautiful woman and turned her into a sloppy, fat, whore," I said. "Anyway Danielle isn't stupid. She's just flapping her lips to try to scare me. Even if I didn't have the right to be in here, which, I do. The door was open I just turned the knob and walked right in. So she doesn't have a case. She told Donnie to throw me out. Donnie moved towards me and I defended myself against a larger, heavier, greasier attacker. When you add to that the fact that I'm a federal agent; both Donnie and Danielle would be the ones in jail. She isn't THAT stupid. Have a good day."

I turned back to Danielle who was fuming so hard that her entire face had turned red and she was clenching her fists.

"Maybe if you stick another dick up your ass, you can let some of that steam out and your blood pressure will go down," I smirked at Danielle.

"Your video won't do much in court," she said. "The way the laws work in this country all that will happen is that they'll wonder why you're allowing your daughter to live like this and take even more money from you. Donnie's father is thinking of opening a few stores out of state. If you push this, or try to use that video, I'll move Katrina and myself out of state with him and you'll have a hard time ever seeing her."

"I'll be gone for a while," I said. "I have an assignment out of town to handle. And we'll finish discussing this then."

"You do know that's the reason I cheated on you," she said. "You were always leaving town for assignments. I got lonely. And after a while of that..."

"Save it for Oprah," I said and I left.

* * * * * *


As Donnie struggled to get up, I looked at him seriously. He kept coughing and grabbing both his throat and his nuts. All he could get out were gurgling sounds. I sat down on the couch. There was a time when I'd never let Rick sit on the couch if he'd just come back from a run. When we first moved here, I'd worked my ass off to make everything about the place look nice. I'd picked out this very same furniture as if the world depended on it being stylish and opulent, and now just look at it. Shit, just look at me.

I'm only two years older than Rick, at thirty, but I look like I'm pushing forty. Rick on the other hand still has that same boyish charm and looks younger than his twenty eight years. If you asked him he'd probably say that it's due to all of the workouts he has to do to stay fit for his job, but I think there's more to it than that. I think it's the lack of guilt and the fact that Rick is a fucking boy scout. I don't think Rick has ever done a bad thing in his life.

I don't see myself as a bad person. I'm just human. I make mistakes just like everyone else and I made a few during my life and during my marriage. The problem is that both Rick and his job put me under constant scrutiny.

Those idiots don't realize it but Rick is not a cop. Rick is also not an agent specifically. Rick works for the secret service. He isn't one of those guys who are assigned to protect the president. He doesn't have that type of seniority. But he is well thought of and is probably on the fast track to becoming one. What Rick does is he goes to places that the president or a senator or some other dignitary may soon visit and makes sure that the area around where the visit will occur is secure. He scouts routes for them to travel from place to place and arranges it so that every possible area of attack is covered or barricaded.

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byStangStar06© 145 comments/ 199941 views/ 195 favorites

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