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The Morality Vixen

By: amyyum



I'm Ashley Catlin; unlike many women, I'm a female of few words, so I'll skip any bullshit that isn't relevant to the moral of my story -- cheating has consequences -- or doesn't somewhat explain why I did what I did. That assumes that what I did will at all appear logical to you.

I was the middle child in a family of three, with a two year older flaming gay brother, Josh, and a two year younger prissy sister, Ramona. I was my Dad's obvious favorite, something that I held against him since even at an early age I had a strong, and in many instances unusual, sense of morality; I thought that we all should be treated the same.

Since my Dad couldn't deal with my brother's sexual orientation, clear since the time he was a little kid, and since he couldn't even begin to understand my prissy little sister, I was his only "son." He taught me everything he knew about "guy stuff." I could accurately shoot any except the most powerful guns, both long and short, by the time that I was twelve, and as soon as I was legal he got me a concealed carry permit for a .32 magnum hammerless revolver, loaded with .327 magnum cartridges. That meant that even though it was light and easily concealable that it had the stopping power of a .45; hey, if you're going to carry a handgun it might as well be able to stop a bear.

My father also taught me to hunt, fish, break down a carburetor, swing an axe to split wood, dribble and shoot a basketball, and do light electrical work. I was what used to be called a "tomboy."

Since I never bothered with my appearance, and since I didn't take shit from anyone, not many guys in High School either wanted to, or had the guts to, ask me out. That changed when I was invited to the Homecoming Dance by a senior when I was a junior; I had just turned 18 a week before the dance. He was a decent guy -- we played for our school's basketball teams and that's how we got to know each other -- but not someone I was particularly interested in romantically. Nor did I think that he was really interested in me -- my impression was that he asked me because I was the second tallest girl in school at just a shade under 6 feet, and he was 6 feet 8 inches tall and would look ridiculous with an average height girl.

My Mom was more excited than I was. Although she was usually subservient to my Dad she didn't even bother consulting him before going out and getting me a very fashionable, though short, gown, had my hair and makeup professionally done, and gave me her prized matching necklace and earrings to wear. I realized that something was different when my Dad's eyes got as big as baseballs when he saw me fully decked out, my mother got a big grin and started tearing up, and my little sister stormed off pouting. It was confirmed when my date arrived and all he said for the first thirty seconds, while mechanically shaking my parents' hands, was "Oh, My God!"

At the dance I was the center of attention -- at least of the guys. There were a lot of pissed off females. Since dancing wasn't in my repertoire of skills I mostly danced only slow dances, just shuffling back and forth. Every guy wanted to dance with me, and I think I pissed my date off by accepting most of the requests; I noticed a lot of poles tenting the front of the guys' pants when they danced with me -- I pushed my crotch into them and just smiled.

I guess I have to describe myself when all done up; at least this is the assessment of at least a dozen people I've met, not mine: I look like a taller, more muscular, big-titted version of Ashley Judd. When I saw a photo of her when she was just a few years older that I was I was absolutely thrilled that people would think that I was that sexy.

It wasn't long after the Homecoming Dance that I had another dramatic change in my life. As the school varsity women's basketball team I was on was bussing to an early evening game, we went past a cheesy motel at the outskirts of town. There, standing next to my Dad's unmistakable pickup truck was my illustrious father passionately kissing a woman definitely not my mother. As I peered out the window as we went by they broke their kiss and I saw his hands cupping her ass.

I had my worst game of the season, scoring only five points and fouling out in the third quarter when I clotheslined an innocent girl on the other team. Fortunately the rest of the team played well and we still won. I explained to my coach that I had gotten some bad news on the trip to the game and apologized for my behavior and ineptitude, and she told me just to do whatever I needed to do to get my mind back in the game.

That night I confronted my father. At first he tried to deny it, but when I told him that there was no mistaking it he had some lame excuse like "I'm sorry, but sometimes I just have other needs." I stormed away after calling him a 'cheating asshole;' he didn't like it, but already had had more confrontation than he wanted so he kept quiet.

I went straight to my mother, who was in the kitchen, and asked to talk to her. I took her into the garage for privacy.

"Dad was having sex with some bimbo in a no-tell Motel this afternoon -- I saw them in the parking lot during the bus ride to the game, and he confessed other affairs, or whores, whatever they are, to me when I confronted him," I told her with a nasty look on my face in a no-nonsense voice.

She turned ashen, and then started to quietly sob. After about thirty seconds of that I asked "What are you going to do about it?" since I was perturbed that she wasn't screaming and getting a butcher knife to use to cleave off his nuts.

"It's complicated, Ashley," she said, almost too quiet for me to hear. "He has his faults, but I need to keep the family together. You kids need him, and I need him, so..."

"So you're just going to let him run roughshod over you?" I questioned in a loud voice.

"I'm so sorry you saw that weakness in his character, Ashley, honey," she replied, still lightly sobbing and now unable to make eye contact with me. I stormed back into the house and slammed the door to my room closed.

I lost complete respect for both of my parents that night, and since I never did like that prissy little drama queen Ramona, I considered Josh my only real family member.

I avoided my parents as best that I could, although I did have two screaming matches with my father when he tried to tell me to "Get over it." For the second one he got so mad that he said "You're just a spoiled brat with no idea of the real world. I ought to slap some sense into you." My response sent him fleeing.

"You touch me you fucking asshole and I'll put a bullet in your brain. I'm not a wimp that you can run over like your wife. I don't tolerate shit." I lifted up my skirt, exposing my .32 revolver in a holster strapped to my thigh. He turned red and fumed, but left me alone.

As soon as basketball season was over, I went to live with a widowed Aunt, my Mom's sister, who lived in the same school district as my parents. She hated my father and was happy to take me in to spite him. After that the only time I saw my parents was on holidays. It made my mother distraught but I always had the same refrain when she called me, about once a week. "If either you, or he, put a stop to his whoring I'll come back; not until!" 

I saw Ramona at school, but rarely talked to her. Josh had a job and an apartment with his "partner," and Josh and I hung out quite a bit.

____________ 

I had my share of sex in High School in the year and a half after up coming-out party at the Homecoming Dance, and in college. While sex was decent for me, to be honest for a long time I was never completely overwhelmed by it, like many of the females I knew were. This may have been due to the fact that I absolutely insisted on condoms; I was fine with a guy eating me, or sucking his cock up to the point of discharge, but cum was not entering my body because I didn't want any STDs. Only one guy tried fucking me without one, but my .32 revolver in his face gave him religion, and also meant he didn't get any pussy of any type from me. 

I thought it very strange, however, that even though sex was just "good" for me, that the guys who I fucked, or fucked me, seemed to be supremely thrilled, despite the use of a condom. I chalked this up to guys being more easily visually stimulated and enamored by the looks of my "killer" body (not my words, that of dozens of guys who referenced my body). I found out my junior year in college that was only partly correct.

Even though I had basketball scholarship offers to play in college, I took an academic scholarship at the most academically prestigious university within a four state area of my home town, with a double major in biology and chemistry. My lab partner my junior year was a really cute, big, senior named Brent, who had quit football to make sure that he got grades good enough to get into graduate school. He and I hit it off and by the fourth week of class we were fucking two or three times a week. Brent was more direct, and easier to talk to, than any other guy I had sex with, and he was the first to point out why I was considered a great fuck, when after one really satisfying session I brought up my "visual stimulation" theory.

"Ashley, that may be partially correct. However, you are my best fuck ever because you have powerful pc muscles, and really know how to work them," Brent told me during pillow talk.

Being a biology student of course I knew what the pc muscles were, but was under the mistaken belief that they were only relevant for pregnancy.

"What do preggo muscles have to do with me being a good fuck, Brent?" I innocently asked.

"No, not a good fuck; a GREAT fuck. You need to take a sexual anatomy class, girl, because those muscles are not just to help you during pregnancy. Your pussy can squeeze a dick like a milking machine -- that's the primary reason you're so awesome to screw," he said with a big smile.

The very next day I did research on pc muscles and found out what he said was true, and then some. I found exercises -- and even an exercise device -- specifically for working out those muscles. I became obsessed with having the strongest pc muscles ever, and exercised them at least six days a week.

I found that when I concentrated on using my pc muscles the sex with Brent was the best I ever had had. Brent also introduced me to a finger up my ass, later followed -- at my suggestion -- with a butt plug while we fucked. With the butt plug and concentrating on squeezing with my pc muscles I really started to enjoy sex, ultimately as much as Brent did, I do believe.

While I liked Brent, I never looked upon him as marriage material. After my junior year he went off to some far distant graduate school after a completely awesome good-bye fuck. My senior year I met my future husband, Brady.

Brady was good-looking, witty, smart, muscular, and about two inches taller than I was. He was also incredible in the sack. Oftentimes a first fuck can be less than stellar because the people don't know each other's erogenous zones, or what types of activities turn them on. With Brady that wasn't a problem.

My first sexual experience with Brady was unique. He took more time than any other guy I ever had sex with, giving me a complete body massage before gumming my clit and fingering my asshole so that I achieved two orgasms. He was the first guy ever that didn't even want to try bareback, but rather pulled out a condom without any suggestion from me. I pulled out my butt plug at the same time that he rolled his condom on, and he got a big smile on his face when he saw it.

After gently inserting the butt plug, he put my heels on his shoulders and manipulated my tits as he slowly inserted his dick into my pussy. His dick was the perfect size and hardness for my cunt (which is small for my size), and his cock had a slight upward cant, so that in this position it rubbed on my G-spot. As he patterned his stroking -- nine gentle strokes, then one hard one; eight gentle, then two hard; etc. -- I pulsated his cock with my pussy as vigorously as I could. By the time that he got to four gentle and six intense strokes, he and I both lost all awareness and started squirming and bucking like we were having seizures. I swear that I could feel his hot cum squirting into the condom as we both screamed in ecstasy and melted into each other's arms.

Brady and I moved in together in an off-campus apartment just before graduation when I had already lined up a job doing research on STDs at a pharmaceutical company, and he got a job in engineering sales of high level computer equipment for a big electronics company. Since we were exclusive, and both tested negative for any STDs (we got tested by completely mutual agreement), we stopped using condoms and the sex got even more incredible.

Brady and I got married two years after we graduated. We both made good money, lived together in a modest apartment, and saved enough to finance a medium-size wedding ourselves.

Brady knew that I didn't have much contact with my father, although over the years I had increased the level of contact with my mother; but he didn't know why. As we made plans for the wedding I felt obligated to tell him since I was going to have my gay brother Josh walk me down the aisle, not my father.

"Wow, what could he have done to cause you to do that? That's really a slap in the face for a father," he remarked when I told him my plan.

"He's a philandering piece of shit and always will be. He's never given up his whores so I've written him off. Infidelity is something I just can't countenance," I aggressively replied. That really made an impression on Brady.

"Does your mother know?" he defensively asked.

"Yeah, and she's too scared to do anything about it. If I were her I either would have divorced him or put a bullet in his brain the second time that it happened -- maybe both," I retorted, even more agitated than before.

"OK -- it's your family, deal with them whatever way you want to," he meekly replied, throwing up his hands.

My parents did come to the wedding -- my father walked my mother up the aisle -- and I even danced once with my father, but I wasn't warm and fuzzy toward them. My sister Ramona didn't attend because she was pissed that she wasn't a bridesmaid; that was fine by me. Josh was so happy and so proud when he walked me down the aisle that I knew that I had made the right decision.

Brady and I had two kids, a boy James, and a girl, Alicia, three and five years after we were married. I took leaves of absence the last two months of pregnancy and the first five months of each of their lives, but had no trouble getting my job back. In addition to doing research on STDs I supervised a lab that did STD testing, mostly for hospitals, but also for members of the community if they were willing to come to our research facility, where the lab was located.

After we had been married for seven years Brady was promoted to supervisor of an entire sales area, which caused him to travel more than before, although just to two different cities each about three hundred miles away.. I didn't like it, but I didn't want his career to remain stagnant either. Our marriage had been great, with plenty of sex, so I knew that I could "spare him" an average of one or two nights a week. That is when a problem started, however.

After Brady's third two night trip to City X there were suspicious things in his luggage, and he seemed a little "off." It's hard to describe exactly why I felt that, but I did and my intuition was usually right. I decided that some investigation was necessary.

The next time Brady went to City X I had a female private eye monitor his post-work activities. The report that I got was that a blonde woman went up to his room with him about 9 p. m. -- shortly after he got off the phone with me -- and that she looked "slutty." I didn't want to spend a lot on the P. I. so I told her just to wait two or three hours to see if the blonde exited, and then leave. The next day the P. I. called to tell me that the woman left his room about 11 p. m. after a kiss at the door, and in the elevator she was leafing through several $100 bills.

I sent the kids over to my brother's apartment so that they wouldn't be around, and confronted Brady when he got back. I told him that someone I knew from college who worked in City X saw him with a trashy looking blond entering the elevator of his hotel around 9 p.m. and accused him of whoring. Of course he denied it, said she was a business associate and that she left right after picking up some papers, "No more than fifteen minutes," he whined. He offered to have her call me to confirm it.

Of course I knew that he was lying, although I didn't tell him how I knew that he was lying. I went ballistic, yelling and screaming with every ounce of passion that I had. As I left to pick up the kids I told him "You get a pass on this one, asshole. If you fuck anyone else I swear that I'll put your nuts in a grinder. Also, you better fuck me the best you ever have in your life tonight or you'll be spending the rest of the month on the couch."

Why did I tell him that, you ask, after just being sure that he cheated on me? Why should I penalize myself -- since I hadn't been laid in three days -- because of his actions? I knew that he was so disease averse that he would have used a condom, although I was going to get tested tomorrow anyway, so why not? I wouldn't have had any love in my fuck, but I wanted it to be over-the-top physically.

Brady came through that night. He was as enthusiastic as he ever was when he ate and fingered me to two orgasms, then vigorously did me doggy -- my favorite position -- while simultaneously stroking a butt plug in and out of my anus. I pulsed my highly developed pc muscles as intensely as I could as he was stroking in and out, trying to rip his dick off, and he came with such force that I probably went comatose for a few seconds, only the second time that ever happened to me in my life.

Even though I was physically satisfied the next morning, my trust had been destroyed. I needed to seriously contemplate what to do "when" -- not "if" -- it happened again. I knew that my blowup would likely put him off for his next trip or two, but no longer; and I knew that he would be more cautious.

After an entire week of contemplation and research I came up with a plan. The final spark was provided when I went met two out-of-town equipment salesmen for lunch. They were both married, and knew that I was, yet they made every effort to pick me up rather than discuss equipment. I could have shut them down completely by yelling at them, but I wanted to see how far that they'd go. Their come-ons like "I have an open marriage," "threesomes are really fun," and dozens of other trite lines made me realize that they were sure that there would be no consequences for their actions.

I guessed that Brady and my Dad had the same attitude.

My parting words of "Don't ever call me about selling my lab equipment again. We don't deal with slime like you assholes," didn't sit well with them. One yelled "You bitch, you led us on." I turned, stalked back to the table recognizing fear in their eyes then kicked the tabletop, spilling all the leftover food and drink on it into their laps. "Say one more word and I call your supervisor and wife," I said with a big grin.

For some reason the place was quiet as I sashayed out.

After serious introspection I had decided that the time was not right to divorce Brady. At the young age our kids were they needed a father. He was attentive to the kids, they genuinely loved him and he they, and except for the major exception of philandering he was otherwise a good husband. I needed to get the kids to the age where his loss as an everyday Dad would not be devastating, and to get myself in the best possible position for life after Brady. But I couldn't be like my Mom and just accept his philandering, so my plan included general revenge on philanderers, and when the time was right revenge on Brady.


The Morality Vixen



Two nights later I did a test of one of the pieces of equipment I had made up in the lab to facilitate my plan. I modified a plain ring, which I could very non-descriptly add to the other rings on the ring finger on my left hand, to prick skin and introduce the most powerful tranquilizer on the market into a person's back. That night as Brady fucked me missionary I put everything that I had into it and while we were both in the throes of orgasm pricked the skin on his back and introduced the tranquilizer. Within ten minutes he was completely out, and hadn't even noticed the pin prick, obviously misinterpreting it as a passion-scratch.

When I was sure that he was unconscious I rolled Brady off me, got his keys, opened up his locked briefcase, took out what he thought was his "secure" cellphone, and placed the highest end bug on the market in it. It automatically recorded all of his calls and I could download them through his briefcase at night. The bug worked off the cellphone battery and would recharge whenever the cellphone was recharged, and would remain off until the cellphone was activated.

In a trip to City Y two weeks after I planted the bug he made a call to an escort service. I downloaded it the night before he left on the trip. He had arranged a liaison at his hotel but she was to come directly to his room dressed in ordinary clothes, so as to avoid someone "inadvertently" seeing her, as he thought had happened in City X when I confronted him afterwards.

By that time I had established an almost normal relationship with my mother, and she was happy to come to our house to sleep overnight and watch the kids when Brady was out of town. As soon as I talked to Brady on the phone and put the kids to bed I went out.

My slinky dress was covered by a light raincoat so that my mother didn't see it. My high heels and extra makeup were in the car. I drove to one of the busy, high-end hotels in town and went into the bar. My long bare legs, enticing cleavage, and even more enticing look, made it plain why I was there.

I discouraged the first two guys who hit on me since they were obviously single. I also discouraged a really ugly married guy, but the next married guy to strike was good looking. I pretended to drink as he put the moves on me -- he actually did drink. He admitted that he was married; I confirmed that the rings on my fingers were real; yet we were up in his room within an hour of first contact.

I did a provocative strip for him. He was salivating by the time that I threw my wet panties into his face. Once he was where I wanted him I told him that he needed to eat me, and use a condom. I made sure that he saw my hammerless .32 in my purse when I opened it to pull out the condom.

He did a decent job of eating me, but was too excited to give me more than one minor orgasm -- which I played up as a major one. After I rolled the condom onto his cock he quickly buried himself and started stroking like crazy. I put everything I had into it too -- just like during my test with Brady -- including squeezing him hard and often with my overdeveloped pc muscles. As he groaned during ejaculation I groaned just as loudly and pricked his back with my special ring.

Just like Brady, he was out in ten minutes. I rolled him off me, took a shower, got out his wallet, copied down his address, and then injected him with a small amount of the protozoan parasite that causes trichomoniasis, the most curable STD. While if left untreated trichomoniasis can cause severe problems, if treated early with either tinidazole or metronidazole it can be cured completely. I gave him just enough parasite to be sure that he tested positive, but not enough to cause problems if he acted within a week.

I left a note for him telling him "Thanks so much for the great fuck, Bill. I see that it took a lot out of you -- lol. Cheers, Brianna." 

The next day I sent a registered letter to his home address on another STD lab's stationary to his home address. It read:

"Dear William Barns:

Mrs. Brianna _____ (we cannot legally give you her full name) came to our clinic today and was tested for STDs. She has the STD trichomoniasis, and has had it for some time. It can be transmitted both by oral and penile contact with the genitals. She advises that you were a recent sex partner. You need to get tested at once, and if you have had sex with anyone else since Brianna they need to get tested immediately too. Treatment is simple and effective if you act immediately, but there are severe health consequences if you do not."

I typed in the name of the director of the other lab.

Over the next eight years my pattern remained the same. Whenever Brady arranged for a liaison on his business trips, whether it be with an escort or the married girlfriend he was having an affair with in City X after about a year, I went trolling for married guys to demonstrate that there were consequences for cheating. Whenever Brady came back from one of his trips I would fuck his lights out, inject him with tranquilizer, and draw some of his blood to test him for STDs, and I regularly tested myself. He obviously was always using condoms or his girlfriend was clean because he never had a problem.

I only had two incidents, one bad, one good, during my endeavors teaching lessons to married men. The bad one, about three years into my activities, was when a guy who seemed gentle but turned into an animal in his hotel room tried to fuck me without a condom. He underestimated my strength and resolve. After hitting him on the head with the phone next to the bed I got away, pulled out my .32, and stuck it in his mouth. As I asked him why I shouldn't blow his brains out I injected him with the tranquilizer.

When he was out I took photos of him naked, removed all of his cash and credit cards, and got both his business and home addresses. I cut up and threw out his credit cards, gave his cash to a charity, injected him with a double dose of trichomoniasis, and sent letters, with photos, to his wife and boss about his activities.

The good incident occurred about five years into my endeavors. I was sitting in one of my favorite hotel bars -- there are dozens in the large city that I live in -- when three guys came over. All were married, two were creepy, one was the best looking guy I had encountered. The two creepy guys were drunk, and getting drunker. They got handsy and aggressive and since I wasn't interested in them, I shut them down. The good looking guy -- Jensen -- seemed to be embarrassed by their actions, and tried to gently intervene on my behalf. Finally he convinced the two creepy guys to get to bed saying "We need to be in top shape for our meeting tomorrow," and escorted them away.

After noticing no other candidates, I resigned myself to striking out for the first time ever, and got up to leave. Just them Jensen came back.

"Brianna," (the alias I always used) "I'm so sorry for the actions of my business associates. I would have punched them out for some of the things they did or said, but they're from the main office of the corporation that I work for here in town and I can't afford to be on their bad side. Can you please forgive me?" Jensen said in a very sincere voice, while holding my hand.

"If you buy me a drink," I replied, thinking that this might be one of the relatively few guys that I could actually have a good time fucking, in addition to teaching a lesson.

We really seemed to hit it off. We had talked for an hour without him making any suggestive comments; the time really flew by. I decided that I needed to subtly prod him if we were going to fuck.

"So, Jensen, your married friends were all over me trying to get me to their room; why aren't you trying?" I inquired, with a grin.

"I don't know if I should burden you with my problems," he solemnly replied.

"Hey, I'm a good listener, go ahead," I retorted, gently touching his hand with mine, and then removing it.

"My wife cheated on me and I'm in the process of divorcing her, although I'm torn about it. It was her second affair but she's begging me to give her another chance, saying how much she loves me. I don't know what to do, but what I do know is that I won't cheat on her. I'm not going to bed with anyone else unless and until the divorce is final," he haltingly said.

"Wow, a guy with integrity," I said to myself.

We talked for another hour. Finally we both had to go home and get to work the next day. We exchanged email addresses and hugs, initiated as much by me as him. At lunch a week later I told him my real name and gave him a great bullshit story about why I was in the bar -- research for writing a book.

Over the next few years I saw Jensen an average of once every two weeks, for lunch or even some evenings when I would meet up with him rather than trolling for married guys to teach a lesson to. The true test of his character was when I went out with him a night Brady was on one of his trips and Jensen's divorce had become final a few days before. Despite the fact that he was no longer attached, and I pretended to be high, he treated me with dignity, respected the fact that I was married, and never attempted to get me to bed. When he drove me home and I acted like I was passed out I heard him mumble "God, I wish that she wasn't married. I'm so hot for her!" Then he did the only "inappropriate" thing ever around me. He gently grabbed one of my boobs and mumbled, "God I'd love to suck on that!"

I was secretly pleased when after his divorce Jensen would tell me about his inability to find someone else that he could get attached to. I commiserated with him but never gave any advice except "Be patient, the woman of your dreams will eventually become available," and then I would change the subject.

After eight years I was anxious to conclude my plan. Both of my kids were in good places in their lives, Brady had become less involved with them over the previous two years, and it was more and more difficult for me to be with him when I knew about his cheating. Also, I was getting tired of teaching other married guys lessons; I wanted Brady to pay.

Brady was about to go on a week-long business trip to City X, undoubtedly which would involve several days just with his honey. The weekend before Brady left I met Jensen in a park, both of us with our dogs, while my kids were at friends' houses and Brady was golfing.

In a secluded area I interrupted Jensen in mid-sentence, put one hand on his chest, and said "Jensen; I have something life changing to discuss with you," then got almost nose-to-nose with him. He is about three inches taller than my 5'11 ¾" height, but I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to my level.

"I'm in love with you. I'm divorcing my cheating husband as soon as possible and I want to know how you feel about me and if we have a future when I dump him?" I said, with fire.

After a few seconds delay the confused look on his face vanished. He grabbed me, and for the first time in our relationship kissed me on the lips. His kiss was filled with lust and desire. It was long and delicious, maybe my best kiss ever.

"Ashley, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in my life," he stammered. "I want to spend the rest of my days with you!"

We kissed again, I massaged his erection through his pants, and he manipulated my tits through my blouse, in an embrace that had to have lasted five minutes.

I broke away, stared into his eyes and snickered, "The day that my divorce is final I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. You'll be lucky if you don't walk bowlegged the rest of your life when I'm through with you!"

"You're on, babe," he fake scowled.

We walked hand-in-hand back to the main part of the park, then broke contact and sat on a bench. We resolved that we would not meet again until my divorce was final, although we would continue to talk on the phone.

That night, when I fucked Brady with everything that I had, I again injected him with tranquilizer. When he was out I injected him with the spirochete bacterium that causes syphilis. I removed the bug from his phone. I had already arranged to have a P. I. film and record him and his girlfriend in City X, paying for the whole week.

I made sure to stay around the house or work the entire time that Brady was away, and had friends over, or went to lunches with co-workers, to chronicle all of my activities that week.

By the time that Brady got home Saturday morning I was ready for him. Josh had taken the kids to an amusement park. 

When Brady came in I had photos of him and his girlfriend -- some in compromising positions -- all over the house, and a video of them fucking that was playing in a continuous loop on the TV.

The color drained from his face, he muttered "What's this?"

"What does it look like, asshole. The end of our marriage; I'll be filing for divorce next week."

After a long pause, during which I ignored him, he said "What about the kids?"

"They don't need a philandering, cheating, jerk for a father. They'll be much better off without you," I sniped.

"I'll fight you for custody," he stammered, with no conviction in his voice.

I laughed heartily. Then I got a scowl on my face and said "From the looks of that whore that you're fucking on the T. V. -- without a condom I notice -- I'll bet that you've contracted a venereal disease. You're certainly never going to fuck me again. But I'll tell you what, asshole; you move out today, and go get tested so I see if I need to, and I won't send the video and photos to your co-workers and family."

"Why you bitch," he snarled, walking toward me in a threatening manner.

I pulled my .32 from a thigh holster hidden by my skirt and said "Make this easy for me Brady; save me the money for a lawyer and keep coming toward me in your threatening manner. By the way a camera is filming us now," I said pointing to a video camera on a counter with its "on" light clearly visible.

I've got to hand it to Brady. At least he knew when he was beaten. He took the suitcases that I had already packed for him with all of his clothes, jewelry, and favorite things, and brought them to his car. I handed him the address of another, besides the one I ran, STD testing lab in town, gave him my lawyer's name and address, and told him to send the results to my lawyer. He was served with divorce papers on Monday at work. In the hopes of facilitating matters the papers cited "irreconcilable differences" as the reason for the divorce.

Of course there was a shit storm when he tested positive for syphilis. He accused me of infecting him, so my attorney arranged for me to go to the same clinic that he was tested at with both his attorney and mine present as witnesses. Not surprisingly my results came back negative.

I heard from various sources that his girlfriend's husband was beyond ballistic when both he and his cheating wife also tested positive, and he filed for divorce the day after he found out. After the STD tests Brady gave me everything I wanted in the divorce: full custody of the kids, the house, 70% of the other marital assets, and reasonable child support. I didn't ask for alimony, and I gave him reasonable visitation rights as long as he got STD testing every three months and if there was a positive test he couldn't see the kids until there was a negative one.

Even with Brady's cooperation it took four months -- the longest four months of my life -- for the divorce to come through. Every time I started longing for Jensen's cock -- even though I had never seen it -- I did more pc muscle exercises, including with an exercise assisting device, and by squeezing a dildo.

My divorce was final on a Friday. Saturday morning Jensen and I were on a flight to Bermuda where we -- literally -- fucked each other comatose every day for a week, until we both were so sore that we could barely walk. We were exceptionally pleased with each other's naked bodies. How fantastic our physical relationship was made our already existing love even greater.

Jensen and I have been married for three years now, and my kids love him almost as much as I do. It is so wonderful to know that we're not cheating on each other, and never will. I've finally got it good, and have taught many philandering husbands that there are consequences for cheating!