Shedding Spite
- 3 years ago
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Shedding Spite free porn video
I’m a vindictive bastard. Not all the time of course. You don’t get to run a chain of convenience stores without a degree of likeability. In fact if you met me, that is the first thing you would note. I am extremely affable. Just don’t cross me. I will extract vengeance on you. Not revenge, vengeance.
OK you want examples. I used to play rugby, still do occasionally. I was a lock, one of the second row forwards, tall, well set, fairly quick on my feet. So I was chasing down a high and this lumbering fuck No. 1 of a loosehead prop hits me while I’m jumping for the ball, and I land hard, wrecking my shoulder and getting a slight concussion. The ref ruled it accidental. The trainer subbed me while they sorted the shoulder and the team doctor gave me the all clear.
I got back on the pitch and the big fuck grinned at me. Stupid cunt just confirmed that it was a deliberate foul, so next scrum I marked his card for him. He wasn’t sure it was my fist got him and the ref didn’t see it, but that was only for starters.
As it turned out, fortune favoured the brave. Their No1 got the ball and went on a blundering run. He was brought down and the ruck was set but he set the ball back nicely for their scrum half. He was taking his time marshalling his backs and I saw a chance. I heaved up from below my opposite number in the ruck, catching him of balance and sending him into the No 8 and falling onto the loosehead’s arm.
Unfortunately for him he had his hand on the top of the ball and the weight of the two boys broke his forearm. I came up with stud marks on my face and neck where a boot had caught me, and nursing my shoulder again. None of the officials saw anything untoward, and as their No 1 was helped off he looked hard at me. Since at the time I was getting treatment he couldn’t figure if I had any hand in his injury. But I knew, and that was enough. I’m not stupid enough to get into a vendetta.
Now, OK, I got lucky that time. The opportunity arose and the outcome was better than I expected. I had thought they would land on him and just slow him down, so I could take him out hard, later in the game, but you get the idea. Fuck with me, and I will fuck right back.
Looking after the accounts for the stores gives me a fairly good overview of what sells when, and what sort of money should be going through the accounts. I am also pretty quick to spot irregularities on a till. Most of my staff are wives, single mothers and students. Not the sort of people who have a lot of disposable income. So to remove temptation as much as possible, they get a massive staff discount. They can also have any date expired food, on the understanding it is for their use only. Basically I try to make it not worth their while stealing from the stores. The wage is better than average, because the stores are profitable, but the perks make their money go further.
So, when I saw my wife was withdrawing a lot of cash from the joint account, I sat up and took notice. I make a good living from the stores so I don’t have a problem with my wife spending money. I don’t believe in credit cards, so she uses the debit card, rarely cash.
Two other things you should know about me. Despite how the incident on the rugby pitch might seem, I plan things through. On the pitch you get the ball and read the game. Seconds make the difference between making a score or not. Real life is different. That is why I bought the stores that would make money, not the ones on the other side of the road, or a few hundred yards away. The other thing is that I loved my wife with all my heart. I needed to know what she was doing with the money before jumping to the conclusion that the bitch was playing away.
OK, I know I was already there but that is part of the vindictive aspect of my character. I assume the worst. Luckily, my rational side is strong too. Hell she might only have a gambling addiction, or maybe she’s just using some weed. For all I know she might be saving to buy me a nice present. Or to get ready to run.
How the hell was I going to play this? All my stores have cctv and security systems, linked into a computer system. Some of the cameras over the tills are almost invisible if you don’t know they are there. But did I want my house bugged? I thought it best wait till she’s out of the house and check stuff myself. Get something to work on.
The stores pretty much looked after themselves, and I had the office work well looked after too, so, I took a little time to myself to think about my next move. I was wandering along the High Street and went into the phone shop. I’m a sucker for gadgets. They were promoting some software to download all your phone numbers from your sim to your computer, so you won’t lose them. It gave me an idea for a start point. I would download everything from our phones to the computer and then I could search her numbers.
That evening I loaded the software.
‘Sharon! Give me your phone.’
‘What for?’
‘I have this new software that save all your numbers so if the phone fails, you can re-load them from the computer to a new phone. Saves you having to get everyones’ number and punch them in.’
Hesitation.
‘I think my battery is flat’
‘No problem. It links through the USB so it will power from the computer. Just shows how useful a tool this could be. If it had been a faulty battery or something it might have corrupted the data.’
Reluctantly she handed over her phone. I created a folder for her data and downloaded it straight to the machine.
‘OK. It’s in a folder in ‘My Documents’ called ‘Phone Numbers’, under your name, if you need it.’
‘Is there a password?’
‘No, just go straight to it, if you need it.’ I went onto the internet and started browsing for classic cars. I fancied an E-type if I could find one.
Eventually Sharon had soaps overload and went to make a cup of tea. I quickly copied her file and e-mailed it to myself at work.
Normally I didn’t bother checking Sharon’s phone bill, it was paid by direct debit. Things were different though. I lifted the folder from the desk drawer and took it with me to work. Firstly I checked through her phone numbers. Strangely, I recognised my problem the moment I saw the name Steve Reilly. A quick check on the phone records showed me she was phoning him a couple of times a day.
Steve Reilly not only was a competitor, but he was also a football player. To me as a rugby player, that was probably worse. Now I needed confirmation that they were in fact having an affair and using my money to pay for it. I couldn’t see any other option than to get a private investigator onto the job. I would have no problem taking time off work, but I’m a big fucker and I would stick out like a sore thumb trying to follow either of them. I checked Yellow Pages and got a company in a town ten miles away. I could have got the company that did my security work to do it, but they were the best in town and I figured Reilly would use them for his shops too. I didn’t want to employ someone with a conflict of interests
I set up an appointment, and took along a couple of photos of Sharon. The PI was an ex-cop who seemed pretty prosperous, judging by his premises. Either that, or a flash git, bluffing his way. Anyway all I needed was proof of the nasty so he didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes. He told me a week should cover what I wanted and I stumped up a thousand quid as a retainer. As I drove off I noticed I needed petrol, and pulled into a small petrol station.
As I filled up the motor I looked around and my gut told me I was looking at an undeveloped goldmine. I went in to pay and realised it was a husband and wife business. They were in their sixties, and I got talking to them. Long story short, they wanted to retire but hadn’t got around to doing anything about it. I asked them their price, knew it was about £250k under its potential, and told them to get a valuation. I gave them my car
d. Look, I may be a businessman but I have to look at myself in the mirror every morning. I might take vengeance but I don’t take advantage of people, and I don’t cheat … much.
A week later I got two phone calls. One rather apologetic, from Mr and Mrs Flanagan, saying they had been told the business was worth pretty much what I thought. They were astounded when I agreed the price and asked for their solicitors details. The second was of course my PI telling me Sharon was playing away, but not just with Steve Reilly. She had met a different man for lunch and then Steve in the evening, when I was at training. I told the PI to get me further details.
I drove down to give the PI another thousand and to have a look over my new acquisition. The PI had photos of Sharon with Steve, and with the other guy, in public, but hadn’t got anything sexual. I gave him the second instalment and told him to get something that would stand up in court, proving infidelity, and an identity for the second man.
I sat pat for another week, fulfilling a husband’s bedroom duties. Hey, a fuck’s a fuck, and you get it when you can! Sharon didn’t seem unusually reticent, nor unusually eager. Nevertheless oral was out. Not that that was unusual during the week. I wasn’t worried about STDs since we used condoms. Sharon wouldn’t take the Pill as it made her gain weight.
The following Friday I got what I needed. Paramour number two was a guy called Jim Leonard, a sales rep for a company that sold those bagged sundries you see corner shops and stores like mine. You know the sort of thing. Sewing kits, those small rolls of insulation tape, electrical fuses. That sort of stuff. They used his flat twice that week. Steve Reilly and her got a little beauty spot car park action while I was at training. I had enough to know my marriage was over. I figured she would be on the rag shortly so her activity would dry for a week. I put the first part of the plan into action. I got some chillis from the store and extracted chilli juice. I smeared the crotch of a few pairs of her knickers. The ‘big’ ones at the bottom of the drawer that she was likely to be using soon. I also got a hypodermic and injected some of her tampons. I’d heard of some guys using wintergreen for a practical joke, but I reckoned she might smell it. I hadn’t a clue if it would work but it seemed reasonable.
Reilly played a bit of five-a-side at the local recreation centre where I sometimes played too, just for fitness. Naturally I got some shit for my lack of ball skills but more than made up for it in speed and stamina. Usually some one was nominated as keeper, and the position rotated so everyone got a decent work out. My rugby skills gave me a distinct advantage in goal. Reilly figured he could run rings round me with the ball, and he could. While I was keeper he came in close but he couldn’t get round me. He stuck the boot in once or twice and I made it obvious when he did but laughed it off. Then they scored and we changed keeper. He made the mistake of trying to bait me, so when he tried to take the ball off me he kept coming in tight. I was a little loose with my footwork and caught him on the ankle, but not too hard. Then when he had the ball I accidently body checked him, and he landed hard on his arse. I, of course apologised, made the excuse of not being able to read a fives game because of the speed, and helped him to his feet. Reilly was less than gracious, but the rest of the boys sided with me.
The next game, Reilly came in with a hard tackle trying to take me out. I saw it coming, and let him come on before trying to clear the ball. As his foot came down where my ankle should have been his knee managed to collide with my upswinging boot. I was rewarded with the happy sound of his knee trying to bend the wrong way. Our combined momentum ripped the cartilage and ligaments of the joint. He went down, screaming like a girl. I again apologised profusely. He got no sympathy from anyone else though. They had seen how he tried to break my ankle and made it known that he had no-one else to blame but himself. We got him an ambulance. I offered to take his car home for him. It was the least I could do in the circumstances. He, of course refused.
By this stage, Sharon was into the doctored knickers and tampons. Clearly the chilli juice was having some effect. She was, shall we say, a little uncomfortable. She suffered for a day or two before going to the doctors. Naturally, the doc hadn’t a clue about the real cause, but she was given some cream, which she hid in her handbag. I hadn’t fixed all her tampons, otherwise she might have made an association when her period ended.
When I came back from football she was sitting on the settee with a face like thunder.
‘You bastard! Who is she?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’ve given me a dose of syphilis! Who is she? I’m going to take you to the cleaners! I’ll take you for every penny you’ve got!’
‘Wasn’t me. Must have been Steve Reilly or Jim Leonard’
‘What? You know?’ She crumpled.
I opened my briefcase and handed her a copy of the PI’s report. ‘Pack your gear and get the fuck out of my house!’
‘Where am I going to go?’ she wailed.
‘Fucked if I know, but if you’ve given me a dose, you’ll be getting fuck-all from me.’
I was severely pissed off. As I mentioned earlier, she wouldn’t use the pill in case it would put on weight, so we used condoms for birth control. If she had a dose then she was fucking the others bareback. Fucking bitch! Serves her fucking right.
I grabbed the roll of bin-bags from the kitchen and went up to the bedroom.
‘I’ll give you a hand packing,’ I guldered, and started emptying drawers into the bags. I was unconcerned about what went in and just tipped everything in on top of everything else. I loaded all her shit into her car, got her keys, took the house key off the ring and fucked her off at the high port.
I slammed the door behind her in a simmering fury, got a beer and threw myself into the recliner. I had known about her infidelity, but being confronted so baldly by it blew the lid off the pressure cooker. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I drank myself into oblivion.
I woke the next morning to the rest of my life. Surprisingly my hangover was fairly mild. I put that down to my fitness.
I went into work pretty despondent. I cleared up the routine stuff and made an appointment with my solicitor. Then closed my office door and reviewed my options. Curiously, I didn’t feel any urge to dispense retribution on Sharon, Reilly, or Leonard. I just felt completely deflated. My staff, however, picked up on my mood and Big Jean, was sent in to interrogate me. Jean was in her late fifties and was the store agony aunt. She had seen just about everything and was one of those motherly women who didn’t take shit. She sat opposite me and waited.
‘Ok, Ok. Sharon’s been playing away and I’ve chucked her out. That’s it. I’m not going to do anything stupid, so you don’t need to worry.’
‘Maybe not now. But I know you. Give you a while to get over it and you do something that’ll get you jailed. Who’s she been seeing?’
‘Steve Reilly and some guy called Leonard.’
‘Oh shit! You aren’t going to crack skulls, are you?’
I laughed. ‘Actually I bust Reilly’s knee last night.’
‘Oh Christ! Are the police involved?’
‘No,’ I laughed again, ‘we clashed in a tackle, playing five-a-side last night and he came off worst.’
She gave me a disapproving look. ‘Boss, you have a lot of people who depend on you. On top of that they like working for you. It’s about time you grew up a bit. You don’t need to prove yourself all the time anymore. Shit, all the people come to your shops cos they know you’re square. And they know you’ll help them out if they are against the wall. Reilly only gets the business cos you give him space to trade. This vindictive streak you have is totally against the rest of your char
acter.’
I looked at her in mild surprise.
It was her turn to laugh. ‘Everyone knows you play a straight game, but if you’re crossed you’ll more than get even. Why do you think you have so few problems? Now get your act together. Stop looking to get even, and start having a life. The business will look after itself now. It’s time you enjoyed what you’ve built up. This is a good point to change your outlook. There’ll be women lined up for you now you’re back on the market. I’d be beating them off if I was a few years younger.’
‘If it wasn’t for your Bert …’ I let the implication hang in the air. Jean was a fine looking woman.
‘You dirty bugger,’ she blushed, ‘I’m old enough to be your mother!’
‘You started it.’
As Jean left, I knew she was right. I had spent my life building a business but feeling I had to prove myself all the time. It was time I grew up. Even my rugby was trying to prove myself to me. As I sat there I took stock of my life and made the biggest decision of my life. It was time to put away childish things.
So there you have it. That is what changed my life. I just felt the whole need to get my own back drain from me there and then. My business has reached a point where it is as big as I want it. I can comfortably manage it myself and still keep the personal contact with my staff. But I have started to expand my social life. I still play rugby but more for the fitness. I find I actually enjoy it more now. I learned how to dance, and joined a hill walking group. I spend a lot of the summer walking in Europe, and have met a lot of very lithe women. Fresh air and beautiful scenery seem to be rather conducive to establishing international relations.
I suppose before you go you’ll want to know what I did to my ex-wife and her lovers. Well, Sharon didn’t come out of the divorce as well off as she thought. I had done the decent thing by the Flanagans, giving them the market price for their business, but I’d had to raise a mortgage on mine to buy them out and rebuild the petrol station. It cost a fucking fortune to have the old fuel tanks taken out. So when the divorce went through, I had a mountain of liabilities … according to my accountant. Since we had only been married for five years and there were no kids, my solicitor negotiated a clean break settlement based on my nett worth. She got the house as part of it, but had to take on the mortgage. She had to go back to work and struggled to keep up the payments. It went up for sale and she disappeared of the face of the earth as far as I know. Probably got her hooks into some other sucker. I never did find out why she took up with Reilly.
Speaking of him, his leg didn’t heal too well and he uses a stick now. Not only is his football career over but he’s the shape of a football now. Unfortunately for him, his car was broken into as it sat outside the recreation centre that night. His laptop and brief case were stolen. The word is that he had a stack of cash nicked too, but he didn’t report that to the police. Between his slow recovery and the loss of his laptop, he had to put a couple of his shops up for sale. I thought it only fair that I help him a bit, since I was partly responsible for the injury. So I bought his two best shops. He was getting by on what was left, until the laptop and some of the documents were recovered by the police. I’m buying him out completely now, just to help him pay the taxman.
Jim Leonard had been supplying a lot of shops with those sundry bits and pieces. Although not mine. Somehow, word got out about him tapping Sharon. Apparently she wasn’t the only wife he was squiring and someone else found out. He took quite a beating, but the police had too many suspects. They never managed to bring anyone to book. Karma can be a bitch. And for the record, it wasn’t me. I was giving a vertical expression of a horizontal desire that night, followed by answering that horizontal desire. Mind you, Jean seemed unsurprised when she heard the news.
Dottie
- 01.02.2023
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