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It's Better This Way

By: imhapless



As I rode my young fuck buddy, each minute we moaned, swore, and profusely sweat more. I had my thighs clamped to his sides while he massaged one of my tits with one hand and tried his best to finger my clit with the other. As his girthy cock reciprocated in my little cunt, made even tighter by the butt plug up my ass, increasingly intense pulses were being sent throughout my entire nervous system. When he came in me it felt like a Roman candle exploding. Just before my euphoria rendered me comatose I heard him moan "You are one great fuck, Justine!"

I was brought up by a doting, though chauvinistic, filthy rich father, George, and a socialite mother, Grace, to believe that marriage was a noble goal. Actually not just "noble," but, for a woman of class, "essential." Of course it had to be to someone that my parents considered in their class – meaning that he had to be from an "established" family with big bucks.

My mother was gorgeous, in part because she had had plastic surgery on her nose when she was a teenager, and because she had had a top-of-the-line boob job. From the pre-enhancement photographs that she had squirreled away, in my mind she was awesome looking even before the cosmetic work. My father was just OK looking, but in their circle that was fine. The husband had the dough, the wife had the looks.

I got some of my mother's best features and few of my father's bad ones so I was always decent looking in my teenage years and young adulthood. However, I did get a less-that-fantastic nose, somewhere between my mother's real one and her plastic surgery one. Most people considered me "cute," with maybe a "nine" body; no one considered me beautiful. "Justine, I don't know why you won't get a nose job. The refined boys would like you so much more," was my mother's monthly refrain starting when I was about twelve.

Growing up I often wondered if George and Grace were my real parents, not because of appearance, but because of their values. I guess that since I was primarily raised by a wonderful nanny, named Hanna Himler, instead of them, that I grew up much less materialistic and more humane than they were. The problem was that my older brother, Kent, was also raised by Hanna and he turned out to be only a little better than my parents.

My parents, especially Grace, treated people that weren't in their social class either like they were invisible, or like shit. I swear that none of George, Grace, or Kent knew Hanna's last name. That was despite the fact that, out of respect, when we were in public I would refer to Hanna as "Mrs. Himler." While that is not the reason I did it there were advantages to it. It let everyone know that I was polite and cared for other people. I was beloved by every nanny that we ever came into contact with, and Hanna would have given up her life for me.

I treated everyone else with dignity too. For example we had a horse farm with two low skill employees named Joe Jacobs and Sam Crown. It was managed by a jerk named John Tipton. As with Hanna, no one else in my family except me knew Joe's and Sam's last names. They were about ten years older than I was and even though I started calling them "Mr. Jacobs" and "Mr. Crown" they insisted that I call them "Joe" and "Sam." I insisted that they call me "Justine," not "Miss Morgenthau."

Again, without trying to endear myself to them, I became someone that they'd give their life for. Although they always liked me one day that "like" turned into devotion. 

I was fourteen when on a Thursday afternoon right after school I brought my horse, Barbosa, back to the barn after a ride. I found both Joe and Sam in back of the barn tossing their cookies. They apparently had gotten food poisoning from the lunch that they shared.

Seeing their condition I told them that they should stop work for the day.

"We can't, Justine, because we have to finish our work today," Joe said between gags.

"Yeah," Sam continued, trying to act OK when he obviously wasn't, "If we haven't cooled and brushed Barbosa, fed the other five horses, and shoveled the stalls by the time that Mr. Tipton comes by at seven, we'll have our pay docked."

"I don't have any homework tonight," I said smiling, "you go lie down and I'll take care of it."

"We can't let you do that!" Sam exclaimed with one of the most shocked expressions I'd ever seen.

"You not only can, but will," I said as I gently swatted their butts with my riding crop while saying "shoo, shoo."

They offered a little more resistance but I could tell that they really felt horrible so they left.

By 6:30 I had done about ninety percent of what needed to be done, but I wasn't sure that I could finish in time when both Sam and Joe came back to the barn. They looked a little better.

"Thank you so much, Justine," they said in unison as they surveyed my work. They couldn't believe that I had done as much as I had, but I had really worked hard. Now they were the ones telling me to "shoo," saying that they were well enough to finish. When I saw them the next day they told me that they had finished by the time that Tipton arrived, and I had made two friends for life.

I never liked Tipton because he seemed lazy and didn't treat Sam and Joe nicely. For some reason, though, my father thought that he was great. When I was sixteen I began to hate Tipton because he started to make suggestive remarks and at one point swatted my ass.

I was bowled over when my father didn't believe me when I told him about Tipton's comments and action. "You must have misinterpreted something," George said. "I know that you don't like John Tipton because he makes the lazy staff toe the line, but he's a fine man."

This was long before iPhones with recording apps, the Internet, or readily available high tech bugs. However on my next trip into town, using some of my obscene allowance which I normally mostly gave away, I bought a small tape recorder that had just come out on the market. The next time I was alone with Tipton at the barn I recorded his comments which this time bordered on gross, including a comment about me having a fine ass.

That night I played the recording for my father. He didn't like it but he was still hemming and hawing about what to do. For the first time in my life I blew up at him. "Either you fire that asshole or I take off."

"Now, Justine..." he started to say.

"Fuck you," I screamed.

"You can't talk to me like that," he yelled once he got over the shock, but by then I was out the door. At that particular point I was glad that I was a little rich girl because I hopped into the Mustang that I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday and sped off to my Aunt Claire's house. She was my dad's divorced younger sister, and the only one of my parent's relatives that I could really identify with. She lived about fifteen minutes away and was happy to take me in.

By the next day, a Saturday, my father had figured out where I had gone and when I refused to talk to him on the phone made time in his busy schedule – which he reminded me of the second that he arrived at Aunt Claire's house – to see me.

I shocked him again when my first words to him were "I don't care about your busy schedule. Did you fire that asshole Tipton?"

"Well, honey..." he started out. Aunt Claire didn't let him finish.

"I heard the tape George. Don't be a fucking moron. Fire the son-of-a-bitch now!"

Aunt Claire was one of the few people in life that my dad had no stomach for messing with; something from their childhood which I was never privy to.

"All right! Will you come home now, Justine?" George said.

"I'm going to hire the new horse farm manager," I stated with my arms crossed and a stern look on my face.

"Ha, ha, honey you're only sixteen and don't know anything about business," he said patronizingly.

"Maybe not, but I know more about people than you'll ever know," I challenged. Then I looked up at Aunt Claire and asked "Can I live here until I graduate High School, Aunt Claire?"

"Of course you can, Justine," was her smiling response.

George tried to stare Claire and me down but couldn't. I don't know if it was because he loved me, because he saw potential in me, because he wanted to keep me away from Claire, or because he would be embarrassed when his friends found out that his daughter had run away, but he relented.

After interviewing a number of people I hired Rita Santos, a forty year old Hispanic woman, as the farm manager. George was none too happy about it until after three months he realized that the horse farm was running better than ever, at less cost, since his buddy Tipton had been stealing from him. He indirectly apologized to me, which was the best that he was capable of.

After graduating High School, with few other significant issues with my parents, although hundreds of minor ones, I got into an elite university. Although I had decent grades I was no super-star like most of my classmates. However, George had money and influence so it was a foregone conclusion that I would get in. "You have to meet the right type of gentlemen to get a proper husband, Justine," was the way my mother put the need for me to attend a prestigious university.

There was a small amount of diversity at my college. I particularly liked one "diverse" guy named Jason. He was totally outrageous, on scholarship, and from a middle class family. He was very bright and wanted to be a divorce lawyer; I guess they call it "Family Law." He had a different view on marriage than my parents; he thought that it sucked.

"So, in other words, if you asked me out it wouldn't be with the intention of perhaps ultimately marrying me, huh, Jason?" I once asked him when we were having a heated discussion on the subject.

"Hell no, Justine!" was his response. "If I asked you out it would be with the hope of fucking you as often as I could, but certainly not with any intention of ultimately marrying you."

My mother would have been horrified by that comment. I just laughed and said "I hope that at least you supply the condoms," then left. I did let Jason fuck me twice, but only twice. It was nice physically, but since it was not what I was after emotionally, that was it. We did remain good friends, however.

Eventually I met a guy, Thomas (not Tommy or Tom) Carnegie, who was interested in marriage and who fit George and Grace's idea of a suitable husband. He went to the same elite university two years ahead of me, was from an old line family two suburbs over, and his parents belonged to the same country club as mine did. We had a very big and expensive wedding when I was twenty one, just out of college, and he was twenty three, just out of business graduate school.

Of course there had to be controversy about the wedding. My parents insisted on a blowout wedding and reception, and though I wanted something smaller I was willing to go along, as long as it wasn't "black tie." However, I insisted that Hanna, Joe, Sam, and Rita be invited even though Hanna was now working for another family (there was no need for a nanny since George and Grace had no small kids), and the horse farm had been sold a couple of years earlier, although Rita, Joe, and Sam remained there. My parents objected because "they're not in the same class as we are," as Grace succinctly put it. Also, Sam was black, and Rita Hispanic, further problems in my parents' eyes.

After the invitations had been printed I told George and Grace, in no uncertain terms, that either the four former employees were invited – and that they buy suits for Joe and Sam – or there would be no big wedding. "Call me when you come to a decision. If the decision is 'No' and you send out the invitations it will end up being your biggest social embarrassment ever," I told them.

I told Aunt Claire, who now had a boyfriend fifteen years her junior, about it and I know that she called George. She told me later that she said only one thing to George then hung up the phone. "George, Justine is dead serious about this. It's her fucking wedding, not yours. You either go along with it or I'll host a small gathering at my house, and I don't know if she'll be in the frame of mind to invite you and Grace. How embarrassing would that be to you? More embarrassing than having a black laborer attend your shindig, I'll bet!"

George and Grace not only relented, but they pretended that it was a great idea.

My friend Jason, who came to the wedding despite his distaste for marriage, called me as soon as he got his invitation to suggest a prenuptial agreement. He was in his first year of law school, chasing his dream. I would be coming into two trust funds when I turned twenty seven, both of them very substantial. I asked my father about it. I was surprised when he said "It would be an insult to Thomas' family to suggest one," so I let it slide despite Jason's admonition of "Bad call!"

The wedding was a nice affair, even if somewhat pretentious and over-the-top. There were a lot of people there that I actually cared about. With half of the guests George and Grace actually got kudos for inviting Joe, Sam, Hanna, and Rita. There was genuine applause when in my speech thanking everyone for everything that they had done for me over the years I profusely thanked Hanna. I also made sure to dance with each of Joe and Sam.

If I'm honest with myself I realize now, and probably would have then if I wasn't still under my parents' influence, that while I liked, and perhaps in some way actually loved, Thomas, I was not "in love" with him. I'm not sure that, to him, I was ever anything but a necessary fixture to further his career. The sex with him was good, though not Fourth-of-July Fireworks Display great, and we did get to go to nice parties.

My mother couldn't understand why I worked when I was married to Thomas since my parents – without me touching my trust funds – would have been willing to subsidize a life of leisure for me. However, I didn't think that I had gone to college just to go to lunch and charity balls. I wanted to contribute to society, so I worked as a pharmaceutical sales rep. I had the right mix of looks and brains to be more successful than most, though not stellar.

Thomas did not reach my level of success in his career. He was more social than hard working, and he didn't have a real intellect either. I ultimately found out that he barely got through graduate school. 

After about four and a half years of marriage I started to suspect Thomas of cheating. Since this was also well before the days of readily available and unobtrusive HD cameras and sound recording devices it was harder to catch cheaters than today. However since Thomas wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and since I was smart, patient, and dedicated enough, a little old-fashioned investigation was all that I needed to be sure.

I had one other thing going for me. Since I was naturally friendly to everyone, and Thomas was not, I had a better relationship with some of the women in his office than he did. Susan James, one of the account managers in his office, in particular. I had become quite friendly with Susan after meeting her at a few of Thomas' office functions. Susan and I had gone shopping together once, and another time to a movie when our husbands were out of town. I asked Susan to lunch.

After some pleasantries I got to the point. "Susan, I think that Thomas is cheating on me. What can you tell me?"

"Justine, I make it a point not to gossip or give information unless I have first-hand knowledge of what I'm talking about," Susan answered. Then with a big grin continued, "But I do honestly answer questions."

A sly smile came across my face; 'I knew that there was a reason that I liked this woman;, I said to myself. "Have you heard any gossip or rumors about Thomas having an affair with someone in the office?"

"Yes," Susan answered with a smile.

"You should be an attorney," I laughed. "OK, what were the rumors or gossip?"

"He's banging Carol Neill in Accounting on the third floor."

"Is Carol married?"

"No, divorced."

"Is there rumor or gossip about why she's divorced – and if 'yes' give it to me," I giggled.

"Because she cheated on her first husband."

"Does anyone claim to have information that supports the gossip or rumor?"

"Three people have seen Thomas and Carol come back from 'lunch' at the Marriott Suites two blocks from the office on three different occasions with their clothes rumpled, their hair messed up, or a clear 'just fucked' expression. One person says that she saw them kiss and grope each other in the stairwell between the third and fourth floors."

"Has Thomas's secretary, Lillian, ever said anything about it, or ever had a reaction when it is discussed in her presence?"

"She's never said anything about it, to my knowledge. However, in my presence when someone blatantly said she thought that Thomas and Carol are fucking Lillian said nothing, and refused to answer any questions about her opinion or knowledge. Her failure to defend Thomas said volumes since she does defend him when people question his competence or personality."

"When was the last time anyone says that they saw them at the Marriott?"

"Two days ago," Susan immediately replied. 

'He was "too tired" for sex that night and immediately showered when he got home,' I said to myself.

"Thanks, Susan," I said with a smile, although I was torn up inside. Then I changed the subject.

That same afternoon I took off work and went to see Jason. He rearranged his schedule to see me. Jason had just made partner in the biggest Family Law firm in the city, quite a meteoric ride.

Jason immediately sprang into action. He had his favorite P. I. meet with me and started to do a financial analysis of Thomas and his family. "We have to be sure before we do anything," Jason cautioned me, "that you're not going to be taken to the cleaners because even though adultery has some sway in matters it isn't large, and if he doesn't have the trust fund he claims to have, or it is smaller than you were led to believe, you may end up subsidizing a cheater."

Two days later the P. I. had positive proof of a hotel room visit by Thomas and Carol, including recordings of moans taken from outside of the door to their room. 

I went to my parents at their house to tell them about the affair and to tell them that I would be divorcing Thomas. Once again I was stunned to find out how different their morals were than mine.

I first met with my father. After I related the situation to him, though I did not identify the woman, he said, "Well, Justine, you know that guys are like that. I'm sure that he loves you and as long as he's discreet you shouldn't let it bother you."

"So in other words Mom can go around fucking other guys as long as she's discreet?" I cursed.

He turned completely red, then continued, "Listen, honey, talk with him about it and tell him it bothers you. I'm sure that he'll stop then."

I went storming out of the den. Once I exited, however, I wanted to yell at George one more time. When I turned to go back into the den I saw him turned to the side and picking up the phone to make a call. That made me suspicious.

I surreptitiously picked up the extension in the parlor just as the phone was ringing at the other end, so I'm sure that George didn't know that I was on the line. He was calling Thomas. What he said floored me even more.

I was so angry that I can't remember exactly what was said. However, the essence of it will never leave me. George told Thomas that I knew of an affair, advised him to beg my forgiveness, and then the coup de grace – "You need to be more discreet in the future, Thomas."

Although still seething I decided to still talk to my mother. Her response was even more remarkable. "Justine, it happens. Both your father and I have had affairs. Just have one yourself, you'll feel better. Fidelity is only for the middle class, not people like us."


It's Better This Way



My parents' comments made me more determined. I intended to move my things out of the house that Thomas and I owned. When I got there, Thomas was waiting.

"Honey," he said – something he never called me, it was always 'Justine' – I have something to confess to you."

"What's that?" I coldly replied.

"I've strayed. I had a short fling with another woman. I don't really know why because as you know I love you so. But it was short and now it's over and the guilt was eating me up so I had to tell you," he said with big eyes and a soulful impression.

"Are you asking for forgiveness?" I sarcastically asked.

"Yes, darling," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hold my hand.

"If there is any chance of that, 'darling,' then you need to tell me who it is and how long it's been going on," I said with arms crossed.

"It's Allison Burke, you know, from the country club, and it's only been two weeks."

'What about Carol Neill?' I said to myself.

"She's the only one, and that really has been how long it was?" I asked with a much softer tone, trying to see if he would blatantly lie.

"Yes, absolutely," was the response that revealed his character.

While I was 90% sure I would be divorcing Thomas before our little talk, now I was 100% sure since there was a second woman he was porking and he had unabashedly lied.

I said nothing, went upstairs, and packed my most important possessions. While I was doing this Thomas was trying to reason with me, which pissed me off even more. Especially obnoxious was his comment as I walked out the door, "You know, darling, that this is a no fault divorce state and you'll be splitting your trust funds with me if you divorce me."

"Thanks for the legal advice, Tommy," I replied, getting a stone-faced reaction from him. He absolutely hated being called anything except "Thomas."

I lived in a hotel for a week while Jason continued his investigation. Tommy-boy called me every day. He tried to be nice. He even said that it would never happen again. I took his calls but simply told him "I have a lot to think over; if I do decide to divorce you, you'll be the first to know."

About a week after my "meeting" with Tommy-boy Jason had completed his investigation. His investigation was facilitated since I was able to provide Thomas' social security number and much additional financial data from our tax returns and from information that he kept locked in his desk at home, but with the key easily located.

Jason's investigation determined that Thomas likely did not have anything more than a token trust fund, and that his father was being investigated by the SEC. Likely his family's entire "fortune," which probably was built on a house of cards, would be at risk.

"This is a problem for you," Jason said, "because he could get close to half of your mega-million trust funds."

Seeing the forlorn look on my face, and knowing that I wished that I had listened to him instead of my father and gotten a prenup, Jason said with an evil smile, "But there is a way if you're game."

"What's that?" I said as I perked up.

"If there is physical spousal abuse, then under the laws of this state the abuser can take nothing that the abused brought into the marriage. Has he ever hit you?"

"He did push me down once, but claimed that it was an accident, and it may have been. I did have to go to the Emergency Room, though."

"Did any one witness this?"

I started to say "no" when he cut me off. "Perhaps your old nanny, Hanna, witnessed it?" he said more than asked.

I just slyly smiled and said "Maybe. I'll ask her about it."

"That still is not enough by itself, though. Does he have a temper?"

"Yes; if the right buttons are pushed he could go ballistic," I replied, thinking back about things in the past that others, and sometimes I, had done that bugged the hell out of him.

"Here's my plan," Jason chortled, as he left his desk chair and sat next to me.

The plan involved securing the assistance of four of the "little people," as my parents and Thomas would call them, from my past. Four people that would do anything for me: Hanna, Joe, Rita, and Sam. 

I called Thomas and told him that I wanted to meet him in a local park where there was a rise that overlooked some picnic tables. He readily agreed. The meeting was on a school day while school was in session so there would likely be no one else in the picnic table area of the park.

Thomas arrived, all smiles, to the isolated table that I sat at, and didn't notice the P. I. with the telephoto lens movie camera up on the rise, or the two horsemen behind him.

"I'm so glad that you agreed to meet, honey, we can work this out," Thomas said as he sat down across from me.

"Are you really glad, Tommy-boy?" I grinned.

"Why are you calling me that, you know I hate it," was his miffed response. 

"Shit, that's too bad Tommy-boy," I replied, still grinning.

While pretending to be happy, and occasionally laughing, for the camera, I lit into him with everything that I knew would incense him. Most comments were untrue but designed to be provocative. 

I called him a dick-less and spineless shithead, I told him that sex with him had always been a chore for me and that I hoped that he satisfied his whores more than he did me. I shoved an affidavit from Hanna over to him in which she swore that she had witnessed him pushing me down and then calling me a bitch and slut with no remorse or attempt to help me up. I told him that I had had affairs with some real men, not limp-dicked wonders like him, including two black guys at the same time who had fucked me senseless. I told him that from my past sluttiness I had gotten STDs and that he now probably had them and had given them to his whores.

He got madder and madder, rose to his feet and told me to shut up. When he did that I asked "The last time you ate me out did you enjoy getting the cum some black homeless guy put in me a few hours before?" With that he snapped. He hit me across the face.

While pretending to plead with him for the camera I sucked it up and said "You're such a dick-less wimp that you slap like a sissy."

He swung at me with his fist. I was already moving out of the way and toward the ground before he swung so there was only a glancing blow on the top of my head. However, to the camera it would look like he punched me to the ground.

As soon as I hit the ground I heard a bugle. That caused Tommy-boy to interrupt the attack. Over the rise came Sam and Joe riding the horses that Rita had provided for them. Sam was blowing a bugle, and Joe had a sabre in his hand. Tommy boy didn't have a chance to get ten feet before they were on him and told him to sit down until the cops arrived or they'd skewer him.

The P. I. arrived on his motorcycle shortly after the horsemen. Without Tommy-boy seeing him, the P. I. put fake blood around my nose, forehead, and ears – lots of fake blood. Then as I pretended to be almost out of it he took a number of still photographs.

The P. I. showed his gun to Tommy-boy and told him to stay where he was, while the horsemen gleefully rode off back to the horse trailer over the rise. I talked to Sam and Joe later to thank them, and Rita for allowing them to do it. They told me that it was the most fun that they'd had in years, and that they were honored to in a small way return the kindness and respect that I had always shown them.

The cops arrived, saw me, talked to the P. I. who told them that he was filming because I was scared of my abusive husband, and took Thomas away in handcuffs. It didn't help his case that as the cops led him away he yelled at me "I'll get you, you fucking bitch." The P. I. made sure that that quote made it to the police report.

I went to a clinic where the doctor on the premises was a client of Jason's. She "treated" my wounds and wrote up a scathing report on the significance of my injuries. 

After Tommy-boy's attorney was given a copy of the movie, still photos, police report, Hanna's affidavit, and the doctor's report, Thomas was happy to plead guilty to one count of spousal abuse, and to be sentenced to thirty days in jail, 100 hours of community service, and two years of probation.

After that the divorce was quick and easy. We split the proceeds from the house, we each left the marriage with the trust funds that we came into it with (his was around $25,000, mine was around $15,000,000), and there was no alimony either way.

I heard that Tommy-boy got fired, that his father was indicted by the SEC, and that his family had to give up their country club membership. I didn't give a shit, but my parents did. They comforted me, said that they suspected all along that he was a bad apple from a bad family, and pretended that they had supported me.

I never had anything but superficial conversations with my parents ever again. I was sick of their values, pretentiousness, and idiocy. I almost "divorced" them, too but kept a relationship only for the benefit of my grandparents, brother (who, though no gem, wasn't as bad as they were), and Aunt Claire.

The day after my divorce was final I went to see Jason a little before noon on a sunny day. His secretary, Mabel, was probably confused when I showed up with an air cleaner in my arms and wearing a raincoat. Jason had refused to charge for his services. I paid my bill for the disbursements, such as the P. I.'s services, process serving, photocopying, etc. I got a receipt that was not only dated but time stamped, and then went into Jason's office.

He was pleased to see me and stood up to greet me. "I've come to pay my bill," I said, exposing my naked body by opening up my raincoat."

"Oh shit, Justine," he moaned, wide-eyed. "I'd be disbarred if I had sex with a client."

"I know that, dip shit," I giggled as I closed up my raincoat and placed a letter on his desk firing him as my attorney as of 12:01 p.m. that day. "Endorse this, recognizing that you're no longer my attorney," I chuckled. He was in such a hurry that he knocked over his pen container reaching for one. He finally picked one up and scribbled his acknowledgement on the letter. I took it to Mabel to be date and time stamped.

When I returned to Jason's office I closed his door, locked it, turned on the air cleaner at full blast so that the noise would keep anyone outside the door from hearing what was going on inside, and removed my raincoat. As I stood there naked he pushed the button on his intercom and said "Mabel, cancel my luncheon appointment," and then scurried out from behind his desk.

I put up my hand to stop him from approaching while I looked at my watch.

"My watch, synced with the Official U. S. Atomic Time Clock, now says that it is..." then I paused for two seconds, "12:02 p.m. Get your cock over here."

After Jason kissed and mauled me for a few minutes, while I was undoing his belt and zipper, I pushed him down on his couch. Staring into his eyes the entire time I pulled down his boxers and took his already erect cock into my mouth. After I had him moaning and panting I stood up, straddled him, and lowered my soaking wet pussy onto his upright cock.

I hadn't had a fuck since I found out about Thomas cheating because I had not cheated, and never would cheat, during marriage. Therefore I was so, so ready to fuck his brains out.

I rode Jason like I was on a bungee cord, feverishly bucking and twisting my pelvis, and squeezing his cock with my pc muscles. He did his best to massage my bouncing tits, but was only partially successful since I was a whirling dervish. When we simultaneously orgasmed it was virtually unsurpassed in intensity. Our nervous systems short-circuited as I collapsed on his heaving chest.

I don't know how long it took for me to recover, but his cock was still in me when I did. I slowly stood up, which caused him to pop out and which sent a spike up our spinal cords. I knelt down again, took his softening cock into my mouth, and licked it clean, eliciting numerous groans of pleasure.

Once he was spic-and-span I stood up with a big grin on my face and put my raincoat back on.

"How in the fuck am I supposed to work the rest of the day after that, Justine?" he mumbled through half-open eyes.

"You should have charged me money instead of making me feel indebted to you," I snickered.

"A mercy fuck, huh?" he chuckled.

"Something like that," I responded. "Considering the great job that you did I think that I owe you a few more despite how distasteful it will be for me," I giggled. "Here's the address of my apartment. Can I expect you about nine tonight?" I rhetorically asked. "Bring my air cleaner with you, will ya?"

He was still trying to pull his pants back up as I slithered out the door. 'WOW, I feel good!' I said to myself. 'I got rid of a cheating asshole without penalty, got revenge on him, and got a great fuck to boot. Nice!'

I fucked Jason six of the next seven nights. The morning after our last fuck I told him "Jason, my debt is paid. It was the best bill payment of my life; you really are a great fuck. Have you changed your views on marriage?"

"No; but I really want to keep seeing you. We have great fun together, don't we?" he replied, as he put his arms around my waist.

"Yes, we do. But I'm still looking for commitment, despite the disaster with Tommy-boy. Next time, though, I'll have you draft a prenup." I gave him a big kiss, a gentle squeeze of his balls, and ushered him out the door. He gave me a wistful wave goodbye.

Shortly after my divorce was final I got access to my trust funds and set up and ran a charity using horseback riding to help autistic kids connect with the world. I bought the horse farm that my family use to own, and hired Rita, Joe and Sam (at a 25% raise), and some professionals who dealt with autistic kids. It was very rewarding work.

One thing that was particularly amazing was how many of the kids, especially boys, seemed to connect with Sam and Joe even though they were obviously not psychologists. Sam and Joe really got a kick out of it too; both of them told me at one point or another that it was as much fun as riding to rescue me from Tommy-boy!

I was careful in seeking husband number two. After I had dated Jackson Brown for about three months, and considered him a viable option, I had the P. I. firm that helped with my divorce do an extensive background check. Although there were a few question marks the report came back that he was basically clean.

Jackson was also someone who was acceptable to my parents since he was on the skirt of their social circle. That was his major drawback, as far as I was concerned, since I would have preferred someone they didn't approve of. However, I did enjoy Jackson's company, he was very good in bed, and I felt that he truly loved me.

The second marriage occurred only after Jackson signed an iron clad prenup that Jason drafted, and it was a small event at my Aunt Claire's house. Only immediate family and a few friends on each side attended. I was thirty five at the time, he was thirty four; I kept my maiden last name, Morgenthau.

Jackson and I had been married about five years when almost out of the blue some strange shit started happening. Each instance of weirdness happened when Jackson was out of town, specifically in Philadelphia. In each case I didn't mention it to him when he got back; the first one because I forgot, and the last two on purpose.

One day I went to get in my car when I noticed some fluid underneath it; actually, quite a bit of fluid. I called AAA to have it towed to a garage where I was informed that it looked like the connections for the hydraulic fluid for the brakes had come loose.

"Is that unusual?" I asked the experienced mechanic.

"Very unusual; in fact, normally this can only be done intentionally," he replied.

"What would have happened if I had driven the car?" I continued, probably pale at that point.

"If you tried to stop quickly going over 50 mph you wouldn't have been able to and would have crashed," he grimly replied.

A month later I woke up in the middle of the night because a fire engine stormed by house with siren blaring. I felt groggy when I went to the bathroom. I checked the carbon monoxide detector and it wasn't registering a problem, but because I felt so weird I opened up a window and stuck my head out. I felt OK in a few minutes then went and spent the night in a hotel. I had the fire department check out my bedroom the next day.

"There are indications of elevated CO levels in your bedroom, but not the rest of the house," the fireman told me.

"It that possible?" I skeptically asked.

"I've never seen it before, but it's possible if there was a source of CO in your bedroom. I didn't find one, though," he answered.

"Why didn't the carbon monoxide alarm go off?"

"From my inspection it seems that there's a wire loose in it, also something unusual."

Six weeks later I had a headache, something that always occurred at the beginning of my very predictable menstrual cycle. I went to take some ibuprofen, my pain killer of choice. The pills in the bottle in the medicine cabinet looked a little funny, and felt very slightly sticky. Had the brake fluid and carbon monoxide instances not occurred I probably would have taken them. Instead, I put them in a plastic bag, washed my hands, and took some aspirin instead. The next day I brought the pills to a lab. 

While the pills were in the lab for testing, the next week I met with a potential donor, from Philadelphia, to my autism charity. I'm not sure how it came up but I found out that he was an executive of the company in Philadelphia that Jackson had visited in the last week. I innocently asked "Have you ever met Jackson Brown?"

"Yes," he said, "I met him and his wife just last week."

'Holy shit, not again,' flashed through my mind. Obviously I hadn't been with Jackson in Philly. Maintaining as much composure as possible I pumped him for information.

"I've never met his wife, what's her name?"

"Mary Brown. A very attractive woman," he replied.

"Really; what more can you tell me about her, I'm curious."

"Well she's tall, with heels on she was taller than I am and I'm almost exactly six feet tall. She had shoulder length blond hair, and she loved talking about football. She said that she once had been a professional cheerleader."

I immediately knew who he was talking about, Mary Ann Deloitte. She was someone that we knew from the tennis club that we belonged to. She was single, maybe divorced, probably three or four years older than I was and with a bad reputation. No one seemed to know what she did for a living. Jackson and I had interacted with her several times and while Jackson certainly paid attention to her I didn't think it odd. Because of her striking appearance all of the men at the club paid attention to her except for one guy who absolutely loathed her.

Thankfully the donor never caught on who I was. I asked him not to mention me to Jackson if he talked with him since I didn't want Jackson to think that I was prying into his life. He agreed, and wrote me a check for $10,000 for the charity.

I immediately called the guy who loathed Mary Ann Deloitte. He was reluctant to talk until I told him that I suspected that she was having an affair with my husband, and that some strange things had been happening to me. He then opened up and told me to check out the criminal record of Mary Ann Dobson – not Deloitte.

I wasn't very good at hiding my emotions and there was no way in hell I was going to fuck Jackson on the basis of what I knew so far, so I made some excuse about Aunt Claire being sick and how I needed to spend a few days with her. I called her to back up my story, which she was happy to do. 

I got no resistance from Jackson when I told him about spending some time at Aunt Claire's house. That led me to believe that he'd be fucking Mary Ann in our house.




It's Better This Way



The next day I went to see Jason. Jason was very concerned. "This is above my pay grade. However, I have just the people who can help. They're expensive but you are looking out for your life so who gives a shit," he said. "I think that they're ex-CIA, although sometimes I think that they're ex-KGB," he continued, laughing as he made the KGB remark.

I met with Dmitri and Simon the same day. I gave them a $20,000 advance. They wired my house for video and audio the next morning while Jackson was at work, and told me to avoid physical proximity to Jackson and to stay at my Aunt's house and to go out as little as possible. They even posted a rotating twenty four hour inconspicuous guard at Claire's house. I initially thought that was overkill, but they convinced me that I was in danger and that Jackson and his whore may become desperate.

When Simon called me the next day to report that all the electronics had been installed in my house he also gave me a report on Mary Ann's criminal background. She was a con artist who had served several years in jail and once had been arrested for attempted murder, although the authorities couldn't make it stick when their star witness disappeared.

Simon also told me that he had gotten the ibuprofen lab report and that it showed a rare form of poison that would have caused death within seventy two hours if I had taken the pills.

Jackson did bring Mary Ann to our house for some fucking that very night. Their pillow talk was more revealing than the fucking.

"How does your bitch wife keep avoiding our attempts to put her down?" Mary Ann asked. "Has she ever said anything to you about it?"

"No, she hasn't, and I tried to draw her out. I asked her about a stain on the garage floor and she told me that there was a minor leak of some kind of fluid. She that she didn't know what the fluid was, so she just had her car towed. She said that she never asked what the problem was and no one ever told her," Jackson related.

"Shit. Looks like Cameron fucked up that job for us. He must have made the leak too blatant. What about the carbon monoxide and pills?" Mary Ann asked.

"There was no real way to innocently bring those up, so I never asked her about them. The pills are still in the medicine cabinet so maybe she just took another pain killer, or didn't have her normal headaches," he replied.

"We have to be more direct. We need to get an 'accident' expert involved, and I have just the guy for it!"

"Good, sweetie; now suck my dick again while we both think about how we're going to spend Justine's millions and never have to work again."

With this information the case was turned over to the police. The very next day they got a warrant for all of Mary Ann's and Jackson's phones, and when her "accident" guy agreed to kill me that very week for $25,000 they preemptively arrested all three of them as soon as Mary Ann met the accident guy and passed him a $12,500 down payment.

Since Jackson had cheated, under the prenup he got nothing in the ensuing quickie divorce. He also had never bothered to check my will. Under it he would not have gotten all of my money, as he apparently assumed. He would have gotten the house, our possessions, and $500,000. The rest of the money would have gone to my charity and a dozen others that were dear to my heart.

Since Jackson was a first time offender he cut a deal and got ten years by pleading guilty and agreeing to testify against the other two. They saw the handwriting on the wall, too, and plead guilty in exchange for twenty two year sentences.

My second marriage left me shell-shocked. Now thirty six, I questioned if I wanted to get married again. Jason tried to talk me into staying in town and having a relationship with him, but I wanted a clean break. Maybe a move would sweeten me on the idea of another marriage.

First I did something that I thought that I would never do. I got a nose job and a boob job. I got the best plastic surgeon in the country and by the time that I recovered from the surgeries everyone who knew me said that I looked as beautiful as my mother had ever looked – in other words "awesome!"

I hired an eager young woman with a strong social conscience to run my Autism Charity. Then, at age thirty seven, I moved more than a thousand miles away to a city with a thriving social scene and the need for more charitable involvement. My goals were simple: work on charitable endeavors about twenty-thirty hours a week (not counting the numerous charitable social events I intended to plan), treat everyone I met with respect, work on sculpting my body, and – most importantly – regularly get my brains fucked out.

Because of my friendliness, wealth, and appearance, I was a big hit in my new community. In all modesty I could have gotten virtually any guy there to fuck me. My only requirements were that they had to be single – I wasn't going to do to some other marriage what had been done to mine – and they got an STD clearance, because I wasn't going to use condoms. 

I gave any guy I was interested in fucking the STD-clearance condition after the first or second date. I never had anyone turn me down. For guys that I had non-exclusive extended relationships with I had them get updated clearances. I fucked guys from ages twenty one to sixty one.

Three years after my move I had an epiphany. 

On a Saturday afternoon I had invited two twenty six year old studs, Will and Trent, to my mini-mansion. After some time at the pool they both removed their trunks, causing their hard cocks to spring out. One removed my bikini top while the other removed my bottom. I feigned reluctance as they carried me into the shade and threw two large chaise lounge cushions onto the pool deck.

I could no longer fake reluctance when Will started eating my shaved pussy while Trent sucked one tit and massaged the other. "God, I love your big natural boobs," Trent moaned between sucks – I didn't correct him. Will was too busy getting me off to say anything.

After I came down from an orgasm induced by Will's stimulation of my clit and fingering of my cunt, they turned me on my hands and knees. Trent stuck his cock in my mouth, which I eagerly tongued and sucked, while Will ran his cock over my soaking wet slit a few times before burying it in my pussy. Once buried, Will pounded hard.

I sucked Trent as hard and eagerly as I could, while also manipulating one of his testicles with one hand. I needed to get him off before Will got me off. I succeeded when several large charges hit the back of my throat.

I had just finished swallowing the last of Trent's load when Will started fingering my pucker hole while fucking me. I immediately had a powerful orgasm, which was extended when Will blasted my pussy with his man cream.

We moved to my bed and Trent and Will took turns fucking me the rest of the afternoon, including in some positions that I did not think were humanly possible.

I was almost out of it, with Trent's cock still buried in my pussy from the rear, when the phone rang.

"Hello," I groggily answered.

"Hello, Justine, this is mother," said the very proper voice on the other end.

I wanted to say 'Why in the fuck are you calling me, you haughty bitch,' but I kept my cool.

I primarily said "Yes," "No," "Really," or "That's nice," while she continued talking. With Trent's cock still in my pussy, still hard, and once in a while twitching, that was about the extent of my ability to communicate. That is until her normal obnoxious coup de grace.

"You know, Justine, we have several nice suitable gentlemen to introduce you to if you would come home. You really should get married again, that's the proper thing to do."

Just then Trent pulled his cock out and Will stuck his in. As he started to slow fuck me I mumbled into the phone, "No, Grace, it's better this way," then hung up as Trent started working a butt plug into my ass.