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His wife cheated, and he did what had to be done.

SCENE 1

His name was Carl. Carl Montefiore. He was a tall, angular guy--good-looking, I guess--with a smug look. Even if he hadn't been fucking my wife I would probably have wanted to kick the shit out of him.

But at the moment his look wasn't smug--it was stunned. When I came into his office he thought he was meeting a prospective client for his software firm, not coming face-to-face with a cuckolded husband. He stood to greet me with an affable smile, and I could see he didn't even remember my face, though we had met several times.

"Good morning, Mr. ... Regan, is it? Nice to meet you--please have a seat." His handshake was firm and confident, the mark of an accomplished salesman.

I sat; looked at him coldly for a few moments; then spoke.

"Actually it's not Regan, Carl--it's Proctor. David Proctor--as in, husband of Lauren? Lauren Proctor from your Human Resources Department, the one you've been banging for a couple of months now?"

His face got very tight and he just looked at me, not saying anything. I pulled a bunch of photographs out of an envelope and dropped them in front of him.

"That's you and her at the Best Western Kenwood Inn, on Montgomery Road. Room 128, right around the back. You guys seem to like the same room every time."

More silence. "Who pays for the room, Carl--you or my charming wife?" I knew the answer, but I wanted to see what he'd say.

"I pay," he said, finally, his eyes looking past me to the far wall. "I have an ... an arrangement with the manager there--we do their bookkeeping and reservation software."

More silence. I was in no hurry. I was angry, of course--fucking furious. But I'd been that way for nearly five weeks, so I was in no rush.

"Okay," he said finally. "So you know--what do you want?" He looked older all of a sudden, like the energy had gone out of him. "What do you want from me?"

"Outside in my car, Carl, is a big manila envelope addressed to your wife's office. I'm going to be dropping by the FedEx office as soon as I leave here, unless I get a great deal of cooperation from you during this visit."

His face turned pale but he managed not to jump out of his chair. I admired his composure, in a funny kind of way.

"I don't ... it would be pretty bad if Emily found out about this."

He looked at me. "What do you want me to do?"

I passed a sheet of paper over to him. "Read this over. Then call my wife, right now, and have this conversation with her. You can change the wording, change whatever fucking pet name you use with her, whatever--make it sound natural, like she'd expect you to sound. But set it up just the way I've written it."

He read it through carefully, then looked up. "I don't know if Laur... if she's going to go for this."

I laughed. "Carl, I've heard the audio of a half-dozen of your little get-togethers with my wife. You guys have been doing things a lot kinkier than that."

He actually blushed when I said I'd heard them together. He thought some more, frowning. Then he said, "and if I do this? What then?"

I shrugged. "Then you're rid of me. And whatever you and Lauren do, after today, I don't give a shit."

"And that FedEx envelope for my wife?"

I shrugged again. "I'll throw it away."

"You give me your word on that, Mr. Proctor?"

I leaned forward. "You're hardly in a position to bargain, Carl. But yeah--you've got my word."

He read my script once more; then he looked back at me, and when I didn't move a muscle he sighed and picked up the phone.



SCENE 2

Me and Lauren? Mostly the same old story--no need to draw it out. We met when she was in college and I had my first job. It was a blind date--she was a good friend of my cousin Marie, who thought we'd really hit it off, and we did.

Our courtship was utterly typical, but that doesn't mean it wasn't terrific. I loved Lauren by about the fifth date, and she seemed to feel the same way about me. The sex was a little vanilla at first, a little careful, but we really opened up to one another and it got better and better. We were married after about 14 months, with Marie as her maid of honor and my brother Bobby my best man.

We had Tina almost right away, an unplanned but wonderful event. She's a tennis star, a great student, and a talented artist--a fantastic, energetic, lovable girl, and I adore her. Lauren and I always used to say we only had one but we got the very best k** around.

I would have said Lauren and I had a great marriage and a great life; in fact I did say it, all the time, whenever anybody asked how things were going. She was sometimes a little bit of a flirt with our friends, at parties, but she always reassured me afterwards--in fact our love-making was never better than after we'd been out with other people and she'd confirmed for herself how attractive she was to men.

There was never any doubt in my mind about Lauren's devotion to me, not once in 19 years. No tell-tale signs, no vague looks or sudden rushing home for a shower, no late nights at work, no hickeys or scratches on her body. Nothing. We didn't have more sex, or less. We didn't have better sex, or worse. I would never have known.

Oh I guess, in retrospect, that Lauren was maybe a little happier that spring, a tiny bit more lively and fun. But it wasn't much, and I would never ever have noticed, if not for learning about her affair.

It was Tina who found out. That was one of the worst things about it, though all of it was bad. On a Saturday afternoon in early April of her senior year. I was out helping my brother move some furniture, and Tina was supposed to be gone for the day at a tennis tournament. But the courts were flooded from a downpour the day before and the tournament got canceled. Tina's teammate Avery dropped her off back at the house around 11 am, hours before she was expected home.

Tina dropped her bag, got a Diet Coke out of the fridge, and reached for the phone to call a friend about a party that night. She hit "speaker" without realizing her mom was on the phone, and heard a man's voice say, "... your tight little pussy again."

Stunned, Tina quickly switched off the phone. After a minute or two she quietly crept down the hall and peered into the master bedroom. Lauren was lying back on the bed, wearing only a pair of panties. One hand was inside those panties, stroking herself lazily, and the other was holding the phone. Tina heard her say, "oh yes, baby, I can hardly wait too! Can we do Monday this week, or do I have to wait until Wednesday for that nice big hard cock?"

Backing away from the door, Tina retreated to the kitchen, grabbed her tennis bag and left the house. She walked over to the playground at the nearby elementary school and sat there crying for two hours. Then she pulled herself together, wiped her face, and walked back home.

I didn't hear anything about this for nearly two weeks. All I knew is that Tina was withdrawn, morose, and sullen. Like a typical teenager, I suppose, except that she'd always been so sunny and cheerful. I asked Lauren if something was going on, and she was as mystified as I was.

When Tina finally broke down and told me, it was on the way back from the sectionals. She'd played much worse than usual and lost to a girl from Lockland High School whom she'd beaten four times in the past two years--and I could tell she wasn't herself.

So I made a detour to a Starbucks, bought us each something from the drive-through, and parked the car in the big lot of a nearby Walmarts. And I said, "baby, tell me what's going on."

She shrugged. "Nothing. I played lousy, that's all."

I reached over and touched her shoulder. "Tina, you know I don't care about that. It's just one tennis match. But...but you've been unhappy for a couple of weeks now. Please, talk to me. Talk to your old clueless dad who loves you."

Then I waited. I'd learned over the years that Tina could never stand the silence.

She just looked out the window, not moving, and suddenly I saw tears on her cheeks. Without turning her head she said, "daddy, mom's cheating on you."

"What?!" I was on the verge of yelling at her that it was ridiculous, it was insane, was she crazy? Instead I held back. I bit my tongue and I waited. And she told me the whole story. Coming home early, what she'd heard and what she'd seen.

SCENE 3

Of course it was impossible for me to believe. I believed what Tina was saying, but I couldn't begin to believe what it meant, what it had to mean. We cried together for a little while, and then I asked her to keep the secret while I looked into it a little.

So we made a kind of pact, Tina and I, a little private deal to keep all our suspicions and our feelings from Lauren. It brought us closer together, actually, though we'd always had a great relationship.

And I did what the poor sucker husband (or wife, I guess) always does in such situations--spent several grand on a private investigator and let him do his thing. Three weeks later I had the report, the photos, the audio.

I went to work that Thursday, locked my door, turned the ringer off on the phone, and dealt with it. I read it all and listened to it all. I cried, and I cursed. I took off my shoe and threw it across the room, knocking my framed college diploma off the wall. I banged my fist on my desk. I walked around the room and sobbed. I sat at my desk and stared blankly out the window. When I was calmer, about 1:30, I went out for a late lunch at a diner. Over a Reuben sandwich and two cups of coffee I started making some plans.

We may have had a perfectly ordinary married life, but it still meant the world to me. I had loved Lauren passionately for nearly 20 years, had never had any reason to doubt my great good fortune in getting her to marry me. We enjoyed talking and just being together, we were friends, we valued the same things and wanted the same things out of life. I would have said we were the happiest couple in the strongest marriage I knew.

I guess not, huh?

Once I'd seen the PI's report I knew we were done. I might have been able--MIGHT have been able--to get over a brief fling, but she and Carl Montefiore had been enjoying one another's company for weeks. With great pleasure on both sides, from everything I could see.

And they were intimate--they were long past the rushed fucking stage. They played games, she dressed up in sexy lingerie for him, they used toys, they fooled around with blindfolds and handcuffs. A lot of stuff much wilder than anything that had taken place inside our bedroom.

So I picked up Tina early from school one day and we went out to lunch, just the two of us. I spared her all the details, but I told her it was a real affair and that I was going to leave her mom. Tina was angry and miserable--she wanted to go straight home and tear into Lauren, but I calmed her down.

"Listen, honey--you know your mother loves you. She adores you. She didn't do this to you, she did it to me. Maybe not on purpose, to hurt me--I'm sure she figures I'll never find out. But she betrayed me, not you, and it's up to me to deal with it.

"Do you think you can win an Academy Award for just a few more weeks? Be a typical daughter, don't act out of the ordinary, until after graduation?"

She nodded unhappily. "I guess so, Daddy. I mean, if you want me to. It's just that..." She started to sniffle again. "It's just that, how could she DO this to you--to us? You're so wonderful to her, and..." Her voice faded out into weeping, and I came around to her side of the booth and held her in my arms as she cried.

In the end Tina promised to act the loving daughter until her high school graduation. Three days later she was leaving for a ten-week junior development tennis camp in Colorado, and then--after a week at home--she'd be off to USC.

I made it clear to her that I was going to end the marriage after she left for the summer. "And then I'll take some time off and travel, honey--how about if I come stay in Denver for a few days and visit?"

She blew her noise and wiped her eyes and tried to smile, and said, "yeah daddy, that would be great!"

SCENE 4

I'd taken care of all the routine crap ahead of time. Found an apartment, made financial arrangements about credit cards and our checking account, gotten time off from work so I could fly out to the West coast. I was going to visit my college roommate in San Francisco for a few days, then rent a car, drive through the Rockies, hang out with Tina for a little while in Colorado, and then fly home.

As soon as Lauren left for work that morning I waited for the movers to come pick up my share of the furniture and take it over to my new apartment, along with my clothes and computer and the rest of my stuff.

Then I went and had my nice visit with Carl Montefiore--I've already told you about that. And I went and got some lunch, and dropped my envelope for Mrs. Montefiore into the FedEx box by the court house.

What--you thought I was going to keep my word to that asshole? After he'd been fucking my wife for weeks?

And at 1:45 I parked my car in back of a restaurant across the street from the Best Western, found a hidden vantage-point, and watched. Lauren drove in and parked right in front of Room 128, went around to the main office, came back a minute or two later, put a key card under the mat outside the door to 128, used the other one to let herself in, and closed the door behind her. She had a shopping bag with her, so I assumed she'd brought everything Carl had asked her for in their little phone conversation.

I waited about ten minutes; then I strolled over to the door, got the card from under the mat and let myself in. There was Lauren--there was my wife, the woman I'd loved and cherished and been faithful to for twenty years.

She was lying on the bed, wearing a very sexy black teddie and nothing else. She was on her stomach, her hips propped up by two pillows under her middle, so that her open pussy was visible from across the room. And she was wearing the sleepmask--she couldn't see a thing.

I saw her stiffen when she heard the room door open and shut. "Carl? God, you scared me baby. I was just lying here, and..."

"Shh." I whispered it. I moved to the bed and bent down to whisper in her ear. "You're a good little slut, aren't you? My little peach." (That was what he called her in some of the recordings I'd heard--God knows why.) I'd put on a bit of Carl's cologne, so there was no reason she wouldn't think I was her lover.

"And now I'm here and I'm gonna drive you crazy!" I kept my voice at a whisper, knowing she wouldn't be able to tell it was me. Without another word I found the shopping bag on a chair and got the handcuffs. I handcuffed Lauren's hands together over her head, then pulled a long rope out of my pocket.

Tying one end to the handcuffs, I reached down and slid the rest of the rope under the bed, then went around to get it on the other side, brought it up and tied the other end to the handcuffs on the other side. Taking two shorter pieces of rope, I tied one end of each to one of her ankles and the other to a leg at the foot of the bed.

She was now pinned down in the middle of the bed--she couldn't pull her arms down, she couldn't sit up, she couldn't pull her legs together and she couldn't turn over.

"You're a bad girl, aren't you?" I whispered. She giggled, and I swatted her ass. It made her jump, and she squealed. I hadn't hit her hard, certainly not with the anger I was feeling.

"Oh, yes, baby, I'm a very bad girl. Are you gonna punish me?" She was smiling, arching her bare ass up off the bed and moving it around a little, tempting me.

Without another word I took my clothes off and put them on a chair by the door. Then I waited, silently, knowing she didn't know where I was.

"Carl? Baby?" She sounded excited, but a little nervous. I made her wait another couple of minutes, while she called to me (or him, I guess) a few more times. Then without warning I started swatting her ass, hard, giving her twenty alternating smacks on her two cheeks.

"Oh! ... Carl! ... what? .... that ... OUCH! ... hurts, baby, what....?"

When I finished she just said, "damn, baby, that hurt! What the hell was that for?"

I lay down on top of her, pressing my hard-on against her ass, and whispered into her ear. "Aren't you a bad girl? A little slut? A slut who cheats on her husband?"

She frowned and said, "no talking about him, remember?"

Ignoring her I continued. "What do you think he'd say if he saw you like this, little peach? Tied down on the bed, your ass and pussy wide open for me--what would he say?"

"Stop it, baby!" Lauren whined. "Just ... just touch, me, okay? Fuck me!"

In a breathy voice she continued, "I know I'm bad, baby--be my bad man and punish me!"

So I did. I punished her just the way I planned, knowing that it would be the last time I'd ever touch her, the last time I'd ever see her naked.

I lay down between her spread legs and I kissed and licked her pussy until she was panting and gasping and jerking her hips around. And when she was moments away from coming I stopped.

Remember, this was the woman I'd been having sex with for two decades--I knew her responses pretty well, and I waited until the very last minute.

"You bastard!" she cried, "finish me. Please, baby!" But I sat back, watching her move her hips as if to draw my tongue back inside her, until she'd calmed down a little. Then I did it again. And again. Each time more slowly, more gently.

By the third time Lauren was drenched in sweat, she was moaning and talking, panting, "please Carl--PLEASE baby! Let me come, please! You've got me so crazy..." Her hips were rolling, her back was arching as she strained backwards, hoping my mouth would return and give her the long-awaited orgasm.

Instead I went and sat at the head of the bed and guided my cock to her face. It was only partly erect, and I wiped it against her cheeks until she opened her mouth greedily to take it in. She moaned, swirling her tongue around the head.

I pulled it out for a second, whispering, "you like that, baby? You like my dick, you little slut? Is it better than Dave's?" And before she could reply I jammed it back inside her mouth, forcing her to gag a little.

I let her work on me, sometimes lying passively and sometimes moving my hips back and forth to get it deeper. It made her uncomfortable, since her hands were bound and she couldn't fend me off, but I didn't give a shit.

Occasionally I reached down to swat her already-red ass, just to encourage her. And when she had my dick as hard as it had ever been I pulled it out of her mouth, went around behind her, climbed on the bed, and jammed it into her wet cunt.

"OOH, baby," she gasped. I lay flat on top of her, pushing her down onto the pillows, enjoying the feeling of her hot cunt for what would be the last time in my life. And then without a word I began fucking her.

I wanted to give Lauren something to remember me by, so I stroked slowly and powerfully, intending to make her come several times before I finished. She moaned and rolled her hips and cooed at me, but I didn't make a sound. I simply fucked the shit out of her, thrusting steadily until she'd come at least three times, and then I pounded her hard until the cum jetted out of me and I collapsed on her back.

There was silence. I might have been squeezing the breath out of her a little, but I didn't give a fuck. Finally she said in a little-girl voice, "that was awesome, baby. You outdid yourself today." She giggled and added, "what got into you? Or should I say, what got into me?"

Without replying I got up, lay down by her head and gently pushed my wet cock against her mouth. After a minute she opened up and took me in, gently sucking and cleaning my dick as it softened. When I was completely soft I pulled it out, stood up, and without a word began getting dressed. She had a dreamy smile on her face--she looked thoroughly pleased with herself.

"That was great, Carl," she said again. And when I didn't answer she said, "baby? Carl? Where are you?"

Fully dressed, I sat back down on the bed next to her. "Right here, little peach," I said in my own voice, and pulled the sleepmask off her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at me, a little dazedly, as they started to focus.

Then she cried, "ohh!"--a single short sound, instantly cut off. I gazed at her, and her face took on a terrified expression, her eyes wide and her mouth tightened into a frightened grimace.

I had all sorts of angry words ready--weeks of rage and misery I was ready to unload on her--but instead I said nothing, just watched her face as she processed what had taken place in that motel room over the previous two hours.

Lauren turned very pale. She licked her lips nervously, looking at my impassive face. "David, I--

"Oh my God. David. I can't think what you--

"Honey. It isn't, I mean it wasn't what--"

She couldn't finish a sentence. Perhaps not surprising under the circumstances. I silently watched her, and tears started to fall from the corners of her eyes. She lay there, naked except for the teddie bunched up around her chest, sweaty, cum dripping from her pussy, hands bound above her head, and began to cry, shaking her head, still looking at me but shaking her head, saying, "no, no, it isn't--you can't, it's not--"

I stood up and watched her, still saying nothing, as her sobbing grew louder. Then I pulled out a prepaid cellphone and hit a pre-set number. When the voice at the other end said, "EyeWitness News Tip Line," I said, "yeah, I'm at the Best Western Kenwood on Montgomery Road and there's some sort of domestic dispute or sex thing going on in the next room, Room 128.

"Yeah," I continued. "I can't tell if a lady is being ****d or what, but there's a lot of screaming and yelling. I already called 911, but I figured I'd call you guys too."

Without waiting for a reply I hung up the phone. Lauren had stopped crying--she was twisting her head to look up at me, a horrified expression on her face.

"No baby, please, don't let them, don't let anybody see me, please, baby I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, please Dave ..."

Looking right into her eyes I dialed the phone again. "911, what is your emergency?" the voice asked.

"Yeah, I'm at the Best Western Kenwood and some guy is fucking, I mean excuse me, a man is having sex with a woman in Room 128 and the door is wide open, I mean you can see everything. I walked by with my k**s and I mean, my God, he's got her tied down on the bed and everything!" I hung up the phone.

Lauren was crying out wildly now, twisting to try to free herself. "Please baby, please, please you're not going to leave me here, I'm begging you, please--"

I bent down and covered her mouth with my hand, holding her face tightly so she couldn't twist away from me. Her eyes held a panicked look as she stared back at me. I held her that way for a couple of minutes, just looking at her. Looking at the face of the woman I'd loved nearly my entire adult life.

And then I let her go and walked out of the room, ignoring her desperate cries and pleas from behind me. I used a cushion from the couch to prop the door wide open and I walked out into the parking lot, going over to sit on a bench near the street.

In about four minutes a big EyeWitness News van pulled into the lot. I waited until I saw two guys, one with a big camera, head towards the open door of Room 128, and then I crossed the street, got into my car, and drove away.

SCENE 5

There has to be one more scene, doesn't there? I mean, it would be nice to end it right there, Lauren tied to the bed, the news crew headed into the room, the police on the way? But there's always an aftermath, whether you like it or not. Unless someone's dead, I guess. Then there's no aftermath--for them at least.

It was a Saturday in mid-September and I was driving back to the house, the house that Lauren and Tina and I used to live in together. Only now I lived in an apartment downtown, Tina was in her dorm at USC, and the house was on the market--Lauren couldn't afford the mortgage on her own.

After my little marriage-ending adventure with Lauren I'd flown out to San Francisco for my vacation: saw my brother, drove through the Rockies, and had a great visit with my daughter. Then I'd come back home and started to build a new life: the life of a single guy.

I'd had my lawyer start the divorce, and I'd avoided all contact with Lauren except to leave a message saying that I'd give her until November 1st to buy my half of the house--after that I was going to sell it. She'd called and emailed me for weeks but I never responded--nothing I wanted to say to her, and nothing I wanted to hear, either.

I'd had a friend keep track of the press coverage of my little escapade. It got a couple of articles in the local paper--no pictures, alas!--and three days worth of nudge-nudge, wink-wink stories on the local Eyewitness News channel at 11:00. They'd shot a little footage they could use: the camera approaching the open door of the motel, then a partial shot of a bound woman on a bed. Unfortunately, no shots of Lauren's face, and the news station never mentioned any names, undoubtedly to avoid a lawsuit. Ah, well.

But Mrs. Montefiore was in the process of taking her husband to the cleaners, as they say, and she'd made enough of a fuss at the company to get Lauren fired. The word had gotten around among our friends who the anonymous lady in that crazy motel room story was--that was good enough for me.

Lauren had had to take an administrative job 20 miles away, at a lower salary. I knew she'd never be able to keep the house. And from what Tina told me, she'd been miserable and apologetic the whole week that Tina was back, before leaving again for college. Tina was still so angry she was barely talking to her mother.

I pulled into the driveway, parked, and walked into the house. Lauren had agreed to sign the divorce papers and the power of attorney on the house if I'd come talk to her.

She was sitting at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee, watching me as I walked in.

"Hello David," she said quietly.

"Lauren." She looked older, a little smaller. She hadn't been sleeping well, and maybe not eating too well either. I didn't find my heart overflowing with much sympathy.

"You want coffee?"

"No thanks." I got myself a glass of water and sat down.

She gestured toward the counter and said, "the papers are all there. I signed them. How long do I have before I'll need to find a place?"

"Probably at least 2-3 months. Even if it sells instantly, people usually need a couple of months before closing. I'll let you know."

There was a silence.

"I know we're done," she said suddenly. "I have spent a long time thinking about this, as you can probably imagine. I thought--in addition to asking myself why I was such a fool, I mean--I thought about how I would feel if the situation was reversed, if you'd been having an affair behind my back.

"And I couldn't even begin to imagine taking you back, under any circumstances. The feeling of betrayal, the shock and humiliation, the anger at being cheated on and lied to and treated with such, such contempt ..."

She looked at me, unhappy but dry-eyed. "I'm just trying to say that 'I get it,' David. Or at least I sort of get it. I won't claim I can really know what it felt like for you.

"If there were any chance, any way at all you could ... I don't know, find a way to give me another chance .... I would do anything, give you every ounce of devotion and love within me, to make up for what I've done.

"But I don't expect there's any possibility of that." Her eyes flicked up to glance at my face, but all she could have seen there was a blank stare.

"So what I really wanted to say is, I'm sorry. Sorry I cheated on you, sorry I acted like a whore, sorry I disrespected all the love and loyalty and support you've given me since the day we met.

"I'm sure my apology doesn't mean much of anything to you--but you still deserve it, and I still wanted to give it to you."

She gazed at me, no doubt hoping I'd say something even a little bit comforting, but I didn't. I just looked back at her--no nod, no "uh-huh." Just looked.

"Did Tina tell you how we found out?"

She nodded, her face tight with pain. "I asked her several times and she finally did. I feel so terrible about that.

"For what it's worth, David, it was never about humiliating you or hurting you. I know I was an idiot to think I could keep it secret, but that's what I was trying to do. We were ... at least we thought we were being very careful."

She started to tell me about how it had started, and I put up my hand.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't care how it started, I don't care why you did it, or how long it went on, or any of that.

"You wanted to tell me you're sorry--okay, you told me. Anything else?"

I knew I was being a cold-hearted bastard, and it was a bit surprising that I found it so easy to do. She was suffering, and I found I wasn't the least bit interested in being consoling or even decent to her. You do the crime, you do the time. And it was my marriage she'd destroyed, my happy life she'd blown into a million pieces.

As I waited a tear slid down her cheek. "No, David, I guess there isn't anything else."

Without another word I picked up the signed papers, turned and walked out of the house.