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Nemesis

By: lustfuldesires



In Greek mythology the female name for revenge was Nemesis.

Scott could not take his eyes off the voluptuous blonde at the end of the bar. Her wavy hair looked as if it had been styled on a Hollywood sound set. Her blue sleeveless dress hugged her body, showing off every sensual curve. Her breasts (Which he guessed to be a 36DD) strained against the fabric in a lustful manner as if begging to be set free. Her perfectly shaped ass was accented by two long sensual legs. She was simply one of the most seductive creatures he had ever laid eyes on, and resolved by the end of the night, that gorgeously gifted body would be wrapped around his own.

Scott was a quintessential ladies man. He had cheated on nearly every female he had been with, and the latest victim was Amy, whom he had been seeing for nearly six months. During that time he had been with three other women, and she was none the wiser; that is until the evening that Sharon, Amy's best friend caught him at a college bar downtown with his hands down some gals jeans feeling up her ass while kissing her on the neck. She took some photos with her cell phone and the next day had the heart rendering task of showing it to Amy.

Amy was not going to be a victim laying down. The two thought of every possible revenge before hitting on a plan guaranteed to bring the playboy to his knees and make him the laughing stock of every one who knew him.

Room 214B, the Excelsior Motel. 

Amy and Sharon rang the door bell and fidgeted nervously as they awaited the response. The door opened and a ravishing blonde with hypnotic eyes and a smile that would melt butter greeted them.

"Are you Monique?"Amy inquired nervously.

The female smiled and ushered them inside. The room was quite comfy and luxurious with art deco paintings and stylish furniture. Duran Duran could be heard playing low on the stereo in the background as they took a seat.

"So what it is exactly that I can do for you two?" Monique remarked as she slipped into a love seat facing the two girls.

"We want to hire you for a very special project. Not so much a night of sex as some old fashion payback,"Amy informed the curious girl.

"Still going to cost you $150 per hour," Monique replied, fully expecting them to simply leave.

"The money is no object. One hour should be more than enough to pull this off," Amy replied. "I—I hate to sound rude but..."

"Oh yes, you want to see if I have the right equipment, is that it?" Monique remarked.

"Yes, I am really sorry, but this has to work just right,"Amy replied.

The two girls watched intently as Monique arose from the table and sauntered over towards them. She was wearing a white halter top with no bra and her massive breasts were dancing wildly inside. She stopped directly in front of them and quickly removed the top, tossing it to the side giving the girls a clear view of the twins. Her firm midriff was bare and a pair of red shorts hugged her shapely bottom. Slipping her fingers into the elastic bands of the shorts she gently tugged them down, along with the light green panties she wore underneath.

Amy and Sharon stared in awe, their mouths agape and eyes bulging out in absolute disbelief at the 8 inch cock that dangled between her legs. The thick meat and bulging veins put most of the guy's cocks they had known to shame. They both knew that Scott was too much of a horn dog to pass up Monique's charms, and once she had him under her spell the damage would be done before he realized that the female he was putting the moves on was a tranny.

"Oh my gawd!" Amy exclaimed as she practically salivated at the sight before her. "But, your breasts are so feminine. Your ass is better than mine. Does...does that work?" she stammered as her eyes continued to fixate on the girl's cock. 

Monique returned to the love seat and gave a sexy grin as she wrapped her hand around the thick dick and began to stroke it to life. Both girls swallowed hard as they watched the masturbating girl bring the monster to life. In moments she was rock hard and sat in the chair grinning like a Cheshire cat as she viewed their priceless expressions.

"No more show, unless you are paying for it," Monique replied.

The two snapped back to reality and Amy laid a picture of Scott on the table in front of Monique. For the next hour they laid out the plan meticulously and left her place with a sense of impending victory.

Dante's Inferno night club, one week later

Fate intervened as the guy next to the blonde left with a drink in his hand. Scott wasted no time slipping in beside her. The smell of her perfume was as intoxicating as her sex appeal. In a self-assured tone, he leaned over and spoke.

"Can I buy you a drink? A woman with your looks should never be alone," he mused, laying on the charm.

"Sex on the beach then," the blonde remarked without the slightest hesitation.

Scott flagged the bartender and ordered the drink, as well as one for himself. The two found an isolated table and began some idle chit chat. 

"I'm Scott, and you are?"

"Monique," she replied in a quiet tone.

"Nice name. Don't hear that often anymore," he remarked.

"Then you need to get out more baby," Monique replied as she sipped her drink.

The two drank and talked for over an hour before Monique made her move.

"My place is just a few blocks from here. Care to take me home. Maybe I will invite you up," she grinned.

Scott sped the car to her place and turning off the engine leaned over for the first kiss of the night. Her soft feminine lips met his and his libido went into overdrive. His hands found her breasts as if by instinct and began squeezing them firmly.

"Let's take this upstairs lover," she whispered into his ears.

They rode the elevator to her floor and walked down the corridor until they were at 214B. She unlocked the door and ushered him in. The two fell on the couch and began kissing wildly as Scott fought to loosen the straps of Monique's dress.

In the spare bedroom directly behind them, Amy and Sharon awaited with digital cameras ready to capture the most humiliating moment of the prick's life. Monique worked him like a seasoned pro. Letting him loosen the dress until it fell from her bare shoulders. Her thick breasts were no match for his male lust and he began licking and kissin them intently.

Scott's cock was pressing painfully against his jeans. He was going to fuck this goddess into oblivion. Monique rose and pulled Scott up as well. With skillful hands, she began undressing him letting her dress continue to fall to the floor and pool at her feet, leaving her clad in only a pair of panties with the tactfully hidden cock stuffed inside waiting to spring into action. she kissed his chest, seductively running her tongue along his belly button and downward to the top of his jeans.

His heart raced wildly as she slowly unzipped his pants. His cock was rock hard as she slid the jeans down and helped him step out of them. She then slid down his underwear and lowered herself to her knees. Her lips slipped over the head as she began sucking his rigid cock for all it was worth.

"This is fucking great!" Amy whispered as she filmed it through the slit of the open door. She knew the best part was yet to come.

As Monique sucked his thick shaft, she squeezed his balls sending him into sexual overload. He closed his eyes and moaned in delirious pleasure from the warm mouth that was orally fucking him. 

"Shit baby, I gotta have you, "Scott moaned as his hands clutched her ass firmly and began rubbing the soft mounds through her silk panties. As Scott pulled the panties down, he felt the thick cock of Monique rise and slap against his own body.

"What the fuck!" he bellowed out as the sight of Monique's rock hard shaft caught his eyes.

In a flash, Monique grabbed him. Swirling him around, she bent him over a table and spread his legs. With his hands pinned behind him, she pressed her raging hard cock against his ass.

That was the cue. The bedroom door sprang open, the lights came on and Scott was staring directly at Amy and Sharon. The image the camera was capturing was pure gold. Scott naked and bent over a table, his cock rock hard. Monique, naked and rock hard behind him, her cock pressing against his ass while she pinned his arms behind him.

"Smile for the camera you piece of shit This will be on YouTube in thirty minutes ,"Amy smiled sadistically. Sharon was in the background laughing hysterically at the sight of Scott and the deer-in-the-headlight look he sported.

True to her word, Amy uploaded the video and then sent the link to everyone on her e-mail list. Within hours the entire town was logging on to see the sight. Aside from his car breaking several speed limits to get out of the city proper, that video was the last anyone ever saw heads or tails of Scott again.

Nemesis



"NO! Let me go! Please! You don't understand. I must! LET ME GO!"

He was fighting to hold on, because this girl was dead serious about jumping. No ordinary suicide attempt, this one. This wasn't his first experience with a suicide jumper by far, but normally you could talk people down and make them think twice about their decision. Not this time though. She was clearly beyond debating her decision and just wanted to get on with it. If he hadn't happened to be passing by just as she was climbing the railing, she would now be floating dead in the icy water deep below.

"Please miss! Whatever the problem is, this is NOT the solution," he panted desperately through a volley of kicks, punches and scratching nails.

The girl seemed totally lost in hysteria and impervious to reason. She wasn't powerfully built by any means – more on the skinny side really – but insanity may often grant us strength and agility beyond what would seem humanly possible. Despite being close to twice her weight he was losing ground in this fight. 

During his time in the military Owen had extensive training in numerous ways of incapacitating an enemy, lethal as well as non-lethal, but he had never imagined using any of them against a civilian, let alone a young woman. But there was a human life on the line if he lost his grip, so it was no-brainer. His training took over and with a hold around her throat he applied a calculated amount of pressure to a specific point. Within seconds the struggling girl grew limp in his embrace and slipped into unconsciousness.

As he carried her to his car he was surprised of how light she felt. Extraordinarily beautiful too with long black hair, perfect milky white skin and the kind of body men would die or kill for. Could this really be the one they were hunting? And why the stubborn attempt at ending her own life? She looked like somebody who had everything going for her. 

"Of course she could be sick," he thought to himself. "Sometimes you can't tell just by looking. Guess I'll have to ask her when she comes around."

****

Selene woke to the wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee and for a moment her eyes were blinded by the bright overhead lights. As her sight gradually adapted she became aware that she was slouching in a reasonably comfortable couch of made of well-worn red imitation leather, like the ones that can be found in numerous diners all over the country.

She sat up and took in her surroundings. Yes, this was indeed a diner. Odd. How on earth did she end up here?

A tall man was making his way to her table carrying a tray. A quick assessment told her that he was in his early thirties, of powerful build, military-style buzz cut and she noticed that he moved with the relaxed ease of a well-trained person. Obviously a police officer or a soldier or some other kind of action man. He had a kind face though and beamed a nice smile at her with just a hint of crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. She liked him right away.

"About time you came around," he said. "Coffee is ready."

"Where are we?"

"In Joe's Diner two streets from the bridge where you attempted to go for a midnight swim. I'm Owen by the way."

"Nice to meet you Owen. I am Selene."

"GIVE US SOME PUSSY... SQUAWK!" a loud and hoarse voice sounded.

She jerked her head around, still a bit confused; then spotted a large bright green parrot in a birdcage at the end of the bar.

"Oh, that's Beauregard," Owen said apologetically. "As you can tell some of the guests have a pretty relaxed tone with him. I guess the lights woke him. I'll go shut him up."

"HAND ME THE GRUB JOE. NO SPITTING IN THE SOUP... SQUAWK!" Beauregard said happily and moved back and forth on his perch.

Owen grabbed large piece of black cloth from behind the counter and draped it over the cage. Before disappearing from view Beauregard had a few final words of wisdom for them:

"CIGARETTES AND WHISKEY AND WILD WILD WOMEN... SQUAWK!"

... and then he fell quiet as his cage was covered in darkness. 

Despite her situation Selene couldn't stop a giggle, "A charming feathered fellow I must say."

"Yeah Beau is quite a character," Owen agreed.

Then her mood grew somber again. 

"We are all alone here Owen. Where are the other guests? Where is the staff?"

"The diner is closed Selene. You might not have noticed but its two hours past midnight. You've been sleeping for three hours straight since I brought you here. You want sugar in your coffee?"

"No thanks, just black please. If this place is closed, how can we be in here?"

"I work as a security guard for several local businesses, so I have a key. Don't worry - Joe wont mind. I usually take my breaks here."

She took her cup and drank almost half the content in one swig.

"You should not have stopped me you know," she murmured behind her napkin.

"Wanna tell me why you feel that way?"

"Trust me. You do not want to know."

"Listen," he said. "I ain't gonna push you into anything Selene. If you don't wanna tell, it's your business. But sometimes talking about stuff can help a person make sense of the chaos in the mind. And frankly I'm curious about you."

Selene regarded him quizzically.

"You do know a thing or two about emotional trauma, do you not? Soldier? Been in action?"

"Yes, yes and yes," he confirmed with a look of suppressed pain she couldn't quite decipher.

She decided not to go there. At least not yet. And to be fair Owen seemed nice and genuinely interested in helping her. He deserved the truth, if nothing else. Besides he was a stranger. She might never see him again, so there was no reason for pretense. No reputation to worry about. Maybe it was time to come clean to somebody. 

Selene drew a deep breath.

"I have killed everybody I have ever loved or cared for," she said her eyes filling with tears. "I could not help it and it will happen again. The world is better off without me and I cannot bear the pain any longer. Oblivion is preferable to what I have now."

Whatever Owen had expected to hear, that wasn't it.

"Holy crap! Are you serious? How did that come about?"

"My... well... my orgasms... my orgasms are lethal."

He almost choked on his coffee.

"Say WHAT?"

"My orgasm kills people, ok? Now go right ahead and laugh!"

No he did not feel inclined to laugh. This woman was clearly deeply disturbed and ridiculing her beliefs, preposterous as they were, probably wasn't a good idea. He decided to play along with her psychosis for now.

"I ain't laughing Selene. You don't owe me an explanation and I ain't got no right to pry in your business. Sorry I asked, ok?"

"I am not making this up Owen. I am dead serious, pardon the pun. My orgasms are lethal for real!"

"But... how?"

"I do not know. Maybe my mother insulted an old gipsy and got cursed, maybe I am the devils daughter, maybe I fart poisonous gas too... who knows? I am not a scientist. It just happens, ok? I orgasm and everybody in the room die."

"So you are saying that you can't fuck a dude without killing the poor guy?"

"Oh I most certainly can..." she blushed "... f... make love to a man without endangering his life. Nothing ever happens to the person I have physical intercourse with. Apparently men are immune to the effect if they have their penis inside my vagina. Unless they wear a condom of course. Skin to skin contact is crucial."

Owen leaned back and took a sip of his coffee.

"That's quite a story Selene. You must realize how wacky it sounds to other people."

"To me it is perfectly normal. Something that I have lived with all my life. Or rather, ever since I became sexual around other people. When I lived alone and had my own room there was no problem and when I left for college and got a roommate things were fine in the beginning. I was a late bloomer, had never been with a boy and was very focused on my studies."

"Which was?" he enquired.

"Huh?"

"Your studies. What did you wanna be?"

Selene smiled. This man was special indeed. He was actually interested in her as a person. She liked him better and better. 

"A vet. I always wanted to work with animals."

"But I guess that didn't happen?"

"No it did not. My first killing sort of got in the way of that. Although at that time I did not know about my curse. One day a cute boy in my biochemistry class flirted with me, and later in bed I began touching myself while thinking of him. It had been a while so I reached orgasm in a few minutes. It was a powerful one too. I had to bite down on my comforter in order to refrain from screaming and alert my room mate."

She took a sip of coffee.

"As it turned out I need not have bothered. She was found dead in her bed the next morning. Heart failure. The time of death was estimated to have been about the time when I masturbated the evening before."

"And you figured it was your fault?"

"I knew for sure it was my fault. It is hard to explain Owen, but I felt her life-force flicker out when I orgasmed. Or at least I think I did. Keeping a cool head is not exactly part of having an orgasm..."

Selene blushed and looked down.

"... but in retrospect I am almost certain that I felt her die. And, god help me, it excited me. It increased the power of the sensation and the strength of my climax."

"Not quite sure I'm buying it," Owen said thoughtfully. "Experiencing the death of a friend at such a young age must be very traumatic for a young girl. Maybe your mind was attempting to rationalize something that didn't make any sense by creating a link between you doing something surreptitious and her dying. How did the school officials react to your theory?"

"I did not tell them of course. They offered me several free therapy sessions to help me deal with the loss, but I declined and took the rest of the semester off instead. The following year I transferred to a different college and did my best to forget."

She leaned back and stretched her neck.

"It went well for a time. Nobody knew about my past and I was very careful to only masturbate when I was alone. But then I met Ben. Sweet and gorgeous Ben."

Owen smiled at the dreamy tone in Selene's voice.

"God! Ben was such a great dancer. Rather unusual for a football player actually. They are mostly big and strong guys; more power than finesse. But let me tell you Owen; Ben had some serious moves. Of course we soon ended up in his room with our clothes off."

"Sound's like you were finally getting over your previous bad experience," Owen suggested.

"Yes, I suppose I had forgotten at that point. Or maybe simply talked myself into believing that it was all a tragic coincidence."

Selene's thoughts drifted back to her tale.

"Anyway, the night with Ben was my first time ever with a man and it was pure magic. Just like everything you read in romantic novels. We had candles and Barry White and everything. It did hurt a little in the beginning but Ben was a tender and patient lover and I had not had any sexual release for weeks. After a little while I felt the intense joy of orgasming from vaginal intercourse on my very first time. And my orgasm pulled him along so we almost came together. It was... just so perfect."

"And Ben was ok afterwards?"

"For a moment I was scared because he collapsed on top of me like a rag after his release. But then he began kissing me again. He was all right! I cannot tell you how relieved I was."

"There you go Selene. You broke the streak," Owen said smiling.

She continued as if she hadn't heard what he said.

"It turned out that Ben liked to go down on girls after he had ejaculated inside them..."

"A cream pie lover," Owen injected.

"To me it sounded like a very strange request, but at that moment I would have done anything for Ben. He could have asked me for a kidney and it would have been his."

Selene sighed.

"He kissed his way down my stomach, over my bush and down between my legs. I was completely spent after the sex but it was enjoyable never the less. He spread my labia..."

"Pussy lips. Sorry Selene, but you talk like a fucking gynecologist..."

"... pussy lips, and proceeded lick me. When he hit my clitoris it turned out to be much more than merely enjoyable. I was hyper sensitive after my orgasm and the sudden touch of his tongue on my naked nerves felt like flashes of electricity. I hardly had time to realize what was happening before my second orgasm crashed into me like a freight train. It was so powerful I lost myself for a while."

She closed her eyes for a second.

"It took several minutes before I was capable of coherent thought again. Ben was still between my legs and I reached down and ruffled his hair. His head just rolled limply to the side. I sat up in a state of panic."

Owen was silent.

"He didn't move. I kept shaking him and screaming for him to wake up, to not leave me. I guess I kinda lost it because the next thing I recall was a paramedic tending to me while a police officer was waiting in the background. I asked for Ben. The paramedic just shook his head."

"Ben had bought the farm?"

"Yes he was dead. Heart failure. My poor Ben. A wonderful guy who left a life that he loved long before his time because of me. A little piece of me died that day."

Selene hid her head in her hands a took a moment to compose herself.

"I was forced to realize that my worst fears were all true. For some reason my orgasm was lethal to everybody else in the room, except for the person having his pe... cock inside me. And the orgasms I had when causing somebody's death were immensely powerful, which of course made me feel even worse. I felt like I had robbed innocent people of their lives for my own pleasure. Something wonderful had turned into an ugly nightmare in my mind." 

"That's fucked up Selene. I'm so sorry."

"I just wanted to go completely celibate, and for a while I did. But I am a very sexual person and it was an impossible situation. After waking up orgasming from an erotic dream I realized that I needed to come up with a different solution. I could not risk going off spontaneously like that. Somebody could have been near and gotten him or herself killed. I had to remain in total control at all times; even when sleeping."

"In control of your dreams? That was seriously your plan?"

"Not as impossible as it sounds Owen," Selene smiled despite her somber mood.

"I just had to keep myself sexually satisfied so I would not have naughty dreams anymore. And of course always ensure that I was alone when doing it. That worked fine for almost a year, until I met Dex."

"Another lover?"

"Very much so, yes. THE lover in fact. We were not sexual for months though, which lead to me getting more and more scared. Every kiss got me excited and I wanted him so bad. A few times I was afraid that I might orgasm just from making out with him and I realized that I needed to have him in a safe way before my body took control and caused another tragedy."

Owen nodded.

"So we made love. It was wonderful and nothing went wrong. I explained to Dex that the thought of a man putting his finger or tongue anywhere near my vag... pussy was disgusting to me. No foreplay; I only wanted vaginal sex. I knew that was the only way of keeping him safe."

"Sounds like you found a compromise then."

"Yes it worked for us. To be honest I missed foreplay a lot, but I simply could not risk it. Dex had no problem of course. He loved to be able to just climb on, plunge in and get started. What man would not?"

"Hey! Just for the record: Some of us men actually DO love to eat pussy."

"I know," Selene said. "But in general you guys get ready much faster than us girls. In any case it worked well for Dex and me. We made love every day, sometimes more than once, and I always felt satisfied. Over time our love grew and eventually we married. We were happy and I finally felt as if I had a future."

"I'm afraid I can almost guess what's coming."

"Trust me, you cannot Owen. Whatever terrible thing you imagine, the truth is much worse."

Owen said nothing. What could he possibly say to something like that?

"This Christmas we were invited to my parents house. Dex grew up in an orphanage and was alone apart from a sister he had not seen for years, so he was very excited by the prospect of having Christmas with a large family. Our six month old daughter Lori was still too small to appreciate most of the things happening around her, but my parents were crazy about her of course, so she got a lot of attention."

Owen could tell that she was setting up the scene for something bad.

"We were seated at the large table doing Christmas dinner when a loud crash sounded from the living room. My dad got up but before he could do anything four masked men armed with guns came running into the dining room. One of them – obviously the leader – told us to remain calm. They were going to rob us and leave. They weren't here to hurt anybody, but they would not hesitate to use extreme violence if we forced them to."

"Did you resist?"

"Nobody did. They claimed that they just waned our valuables, and stuff can be replaced. Nothing in the house was worth the risk of anybody's life, so we did what we were told and remained seated while two of them looted my parents home. The other two kept us under guard. I noticed that one of the men – the one that spoke – kept eyeing me."

"Which proves that he had good taste," Owen tried in a lame attempt at levity.

"Well I wished his tastes had gone in a different direction. But I could practically feel his desire and for reasons I still do not understand my body responded. I think he felt it too. This was evidently a predator - a man who was used to take what he wanted - and he had me at gunpoint. So I was not surprised when he told his partner cover for him while he had his way with me. I believe the expression he used was 'gonna bang that bitch'."

She grimaced.

"He pulled me out of my chair and brutally threw me on the floor. I was wearing a dress so he had easy access; only a set of panties to remove. I screamed and fought but he was strong and determined. I never stood a chance. In less that a minute he had his hands where only my husband was allowed and laughed when he felt my soaking wetness. My body wanted him badly and he knew it. I could only see his eyes, but they were wide with desire and raw need. At that point I still clinged to the hope that it would be over quickly, before something I beyond my control was set in motion."

"But then he unzipped and freed his... cock and I knew we were in serious trouble. It was the kind of cock that will send most women into orbit really fast."

"A huge cock?" Owen asked with fascination.

"Jesus Owen! You men are so focused on inches," Selene sighed. "No, it was actually about the same length as my husbands. But it was much wider and that is what truly counts. Having something go in deep is not exciting; it only hurts. But a cock that can really spread you out and make you feel totally filled will get you off quite efficiently."

"I assume you still fought back?"

"Did I ever! But it was an unfair fight. He taped my hands together behind my back and forced himself between my legs. The man must have been over two hundred pounds and I'm barely half that. There was little I could do. I watched that huge thing slowly but inexorably moving closer to my vag... pussy, and my fighting only seemed to excite him. The head of his cock was dark purple and clear liquid dripped from the tip. My body was screaming for it to impale me, but I was screaming for him to stop and let me go."

"What about your husband?"

"Poor Dex was taped to his chair and had a gun against the back of his head. Yet he was still yelling curses at them, as was my dad. They were both so brave, but the two other robbers had joined us so we now had a total of three armed men in the room. What could my family do beyond cursing?"




Nemesis



"I can't imagine how they must have felt."

"I did not have much time to worry about it, because when that cock finally touched the tip of my erect clitoris I barely managed to avoid going off right away. It took all my will power to stop, but I made it. Alas the strain caused me to relax my knees which gave the rapist an opening to get the tip of his cock inside me."

"You were still staring at it?"

"Not any longer. But I could feel it. The moment he entered me I got goose bumps all over and I just wanted to wrap myself around him and pull him all the way inside. It felt amazing! But I ignored my desire, recognising the danger, and fought him every inch. The end-result was given of course and soon he was pounding away in me. Not making love. Oh no. I doubt the guy even understood the concept. He was... well... fucking me."

Owen just listened.

"All the time during the rape – for that is what it was regardless of how pleasurable it was for me - I was looking at my beloved Dex while trying my hardest to keep from orgasming. But it was, as I had feared, an exercise in futility. When somebody is ramming you continuously with a cock of that size you cannot resist for long. Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure up into my abdomen and was like a push towards the edge of a deep chasm. I knew it was only a question of time before I fell in."

"I wouldn't know about that, being more on the cocky side of things..."

Selene smiled weakly at his feeble attempt at humour. Then she grew somber and continued her tale.

"After a few minutes I was like a pressure cooker ready to explode. I took one last look at my family and locked eyes with Dex again, continuously mouthing: "I'm so sorry."

Her voice became shaky.

"I could tell that he had forgiven me already, but of course he thought I was apologising for being raped. He had no way of knowing the magnitude of what was going to happen. Neither of them did. In a way I am grateful for that. They never saw it coming." 

"A flood of buzzing warmth started spreading from my pussy to my entire body and as it reached my brain my universe exploded in a big bang of pure pleasure. I was vaguely aware of my body contorting and my mouth screaming. Even time lost its meaning as I rode my orgasm through fields of ecstasy and I had no way of knowing how long it lasted or whether I had more than one in a row. Maybe it was one of those moments where time stood still and a second feels like an hour. Who knows?"

"As I once more became aware of my surroundings I found myself sprawled on the floor drenched in sweat. My legs were spread apart and something white was oozing out of me. My panties were next to me so I slipped them on and got up. The house was deadly quiet."

She laughed in a mirthless way.

"'Deadly' being the operative word. There was nobody left alive. My darling Dex sat slumped in his chair; head hanging limply forward mercifully sparing me the sight of his dead eyes. Mom and dad had fallen against each other as if wanting to hold on even in death and my sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles had died in their chairs. The three armed robbers were sprawled on the floor next to their weapons. I stepped on one of them on my way to the far end of the room. They were nothing but garbage to me anyway."

"The far end of the room? Where our daughters crib was?"

"Yes Owen. My little innocent Lori who had never done anything to anybody. Who never got to experience life. Who had a mere six months of existence before her light was extinguished by her own mother."

Tears were flowing down Selene's cheeks.

"I had killed everybody. I have nobody now. I'm all alone!"

"It wasn't your fault Selene. You were raped, remember?"

"But I enjoyed it! Don't you see? I didn't just rob them of their lives. I did it while rolling around on the floor with some lowlife having the best orgasm of my life! Even now the thought of the feelings I experienced makes me quiver inside."

"What about the guy who raped you?"

"I never saw him after I came to. He must have panicked and taken off."

Owen nodded.

"So now you know why I chose to jump Owen. Thank you for caring enough to save me and listen to my story – it means more to me than you could ever know. But you must realize that you have only postponed the inevitable. I cannot go on living after what happened. The pain must end. Besides the world is better off without me in it."

"Stop talking like that Selene. Every life has value and you can't just throw your own away like yesterdays newspaper. God doesn't play games; we're all here for a reason. And now it's your turn to listen."

Selene looked at him, a taken aback by his assertive tone.

"First I have a confession to make. I immediately suspected who you were when I saw you on that bridge."

"Huh? How? Why?"

"I've got a radio and listen to the police dispatch when doing my rounds – helps pass the time y'know – and just before I interrupted your little midnight swim they reported a botched home invasion robbery leaving a total of fifteen dead, three of which were identified as perpetrators. The police are looking for an African-American male and a young Caucasian woman in connection with the crime, and the woman matched your description. In case you didn't know, you are kinda hard to confuse with an average girl."

She smiled at the compliment.

"Then why did I not wake up at the police station instead of here with you?"

"They didn't mention whether they were looking for you as a witness or a suspect, but when I saw your determination in trying to kill yourself I knew you weren't a murderer. As you said earlier, I'm no stranger to the way the human mind works under extreme stress and you were clearly in no condition to face the police."

He took her hand and continued.

"Listen Selene. I think you just saw your entire family massacred during that robbery. Maybe your dad or your hubby lost their cool watching you getting raped and attacked one of the robbers. Who knows? But if a group of armed robbers are forced to kill one person, they'll often proceed to kill everybody else too in order to eliminate witnesses. Because you felt indirectly responsible for the massacre – it's common for rape victims to feel guilt - remorse overwhelmed you. Your mind couldn't cope because you're fundamentally a good and decent person. Instead it insulated you from the pain by constructing a fictional story explaining the occurrences."

Selene sat quiet for a while, reflecting on what she had just heard. Then she looked at Owen with a strange expression.

"So I am basically crazy? Is that what you are saying?"

"No Selene. You are in the process of working through a horrible tragedy is all."

"But everything I just told you is a figment of my imagination?"

"Based in reality, yes." Owen said. " You were in fact raped and your family was in fact killed at that fateful Christmas dinner. But they were not killed by you or your orgasm, but by a group of murderous thugs with guns. You are not to blame for anything. You are one of the victims Selene."

"I see. So did they say on the radio that my family was shot?"

"No," Owen admitted. "They didn't actually reveal the details; they rarely do on open radio. But consider this: What sounds most plausible? That they were shot by armed criminals or 'orgasmed to death' by you?" 

She was forced to admit that he had a point. Death by orgasm wasn't exactly prominently placed in the murder statistics of the city.

"But my memories are so vivid Owen. I can recall every second of the rape until I passed out, and I never saw or heard a single shot fired. And afterwards I never saw any blood. There must be blood when people are killed with guns, right? A lot of blood." 

"Your mind wont let you remember those details until you're ready to face reality. It's a built-in defense system in your brain. When that happens you'll probably have a total breakdown before you can truly begin healing. I hope you'll be in therapy by a qualified professional by then."

"So everything I think I remember about my... curse... is basically all in my mind?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

Selene grew silent and appeared to be considering his words. Owen took another sip of his mug, waiting patiently. She needed to push through to reality on her own in order to initiate the healing process.

She wiped away a few tears with her napkin and looked at him.

"Ok Owen. I will admit that I have a hard time grasping all this myself, and I am the one who has lived it! My family is forever gone either way, but in your version I was not the cause. I like that a lot better than my own, despite the fact that you imply that I am crazy. However I cannot discount my memories that easily."

She took a deep breath and her gaze grew intense. 

"How certain are you Owen?"

"Completely certain. Listen Selene..."

She held up her hand and stopped him. Then she pulled up her dress and spread her legs. No panties! He hadn't noticed that before. Then again, it would have been rude to peek. Besides, he was married. Married men don't peek under the skirts of strange girls.

"Are you certain enough to stay here with me for the next ten minutes?" she asked while slowly moving her hand down between her legs.

"Selene!" Owen said desperately.

She wetted her middle finger in the moist vaginal well and started circling her erect clitoris.

"Actually it will probably be more like five minutes," she added with a voice that sounded a little breathy already. "You turn me on, you know."

"Selene! This is silly and you're weirding me out. There is no reason for you to do this."

"But if you are correct, there is no reason to NOT do it either. Am I right?"

"Come on!" Owen tried again desperately. "This is not only ridiculous but also very inappropriate!"

"And very nice," she said dreamily giving no sign of stopping.

Despite himself and the strangeness of the entire situation Owen felt his cock struggle against the confines of his pants. Selene might be as batshit crazy as they come but she was also the hottest girl he had ever laid eyes on. And currently this super-model look-a-like was sitting right across from him masturbating.

"Do not worry Owen. If you are right I promise I will forget all about ending my life and come with you to the police and the doctors. In a few more m... minutes... we s... shall know..."

She opened her eyes and sent him a hungry smile.

"By the way, please feel free to assist me in any way you like. Your zipper looks as if it is having big problems."

Owen watched her with fascination. Oh boy! This sight was enough to make a fucking jellyfish hard! He was never this tempted by anything or anyone before in his life. But he had to remember that he was dealing with a seriously disturbed girl.

"I mean come on!" he mused to himself. "Killer orgasms? Even for a psychosis that's some far-out shit to make up."

Talking about orgasms, Selene was definitely getting closer to hers. Her glistening wet finger moved rapidly between her legs and her breathing was shallow.

"I can't fucking believe this is happening," he sighed shaking his head.

But he still couldn't take his eyes off her and the show she was giving him. He had watched Peggy masturbate a few times, but always in the comfort and privacy of their own bedroom. This however was a strange girl he'd barely known for a few hours going at it like crazy right in front of him in a public diner.

The strain of chasing that elusive release was beginning to twist Selene's face into grimaces of intense concentration and every now and then she shivered accompanied by little moans. Wouldn't be long now.

"Yeah she's is obviously a very sick woman, but there's something about her that's hard to resist. Shit dude! If weren't married to Peg..." 

She was almost there if he interpreted the signs correctly. Her pace was frantic now and she appeared to be tensing every muscle in her body.

Suddenly Owen had a series of rapid mind-flashes. For his inner eye he saw Peggy in her wedding dress. Flash to little Sarah smiling at him on her first birthday. Flash to a young girl graduating – maybe a future Sarah? Flash to the same young girl at an altar with a handsome young man. Flash to an elderly couple – looking a lot like Peggy and himself – playing with a small child on a sunny beach, the young couple from before watching smiling from a distance. Flash to Peggy – once again her young self - holding little Sarah on her arm. With a tear-streaked face she's staring at a fresh grave with a simple headstone in rough-hewn granite: "Beloved husband and father Owen Smith..."

A fear like none he'd ever felt before exploded inside his head and a wave of pure panic rushed through his body and cauterised him of any semblance of sexual arousal. For a heartbeat he sat paralysed in his seat like a deer caught in a set of headlights, staring at the beautiful masturbating girl right in front of him. Yes, she was indeed beautiful, but so is a class four hurricane, so is an attacking tiger or an exploding super nova. So is death, some say.

He heard Selene utter an urgent whisper, "Owen. C.. can't s... stop... it. Fuck me... now... please... fuck... m..." 

Owen got to his feet and like a leaping gazelle, vaulted over the neighboring row of tables and sprinted for the kitchen exit, crashing through the spring-loaded door just as Selene screamed out her climax like a banshee from hell.

Breathing rapidly from the sudden influx of adrenaline Owen slid to the floor with his back against the tiled wall and buried his face in his hands.

"What the fuck just happened to me?" he chided himself. "I'm a goddamned decorated SEAL. I've got special training in crisis psychology. I'm an experienced security guard. I'm as fucking bad-ass as they come and I can't even REMEMBER when I last faced something I couldn't handle. Yet I just fled in wild panic from a hundred pound masturbating girl! Maybe I'm the one who's fucking losing it."

He stood up slowly, feeling a slight pain from his left knee. Apparently he bumped it on something during his wild escape.

"Great!" he murmured. "Just fucking great."

He limped back inside the dining area and checked on Selene. She seemed to have passed out – thank god – and moaned like somebody just waking up from a long nap when he stirred her. She opened one lazy eye and focused on him for a moment. Then recognition set in and she was wide awake.

Owen was almost knocked over by the impact when she jumped out of her seat and dived into him for a violent hug.

"You are ok," she cried into his shoulder. "You are ok. Thank god you are ok. I thought I had killed you too, but you are ok. Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

Owen returned the hug and stroked the back of her head.

"Now now Selene. You should know by now that it'll take a hell of a lot more than one beautiful masturbating woman to do me in. Don't worry. I'm here."

Selene lifted her head and looked at him with a teary gaze.

"Owen?"

"Mmm?"

"Why didn't you fuck me? You were supposed to. Don't you find me attractive?"

"You are gorgeous Selene but I'm married; simple as that. I love my wife very much and could never betray her."

"No I guess you couldn't. Not even to save your life, eh?"

"Sounds like you still believe in that wild story of yours."

"Yes I do. And I'm not the only one it seems. Or did you take off in a wild run to the kitchen because of a sudden urge for a hamburger?"

Shit! She HAD noticed. Owen blushed like a schoolboy.

"Suppose the overall atmosphere got to me," he admitted sheepishly. "Guess I'm not the hero you gave me credit for Selene."

"You are that and much much more Owen. Any other man would have been unable to resist making love to a willing women masturbating right before his eyes - wife or no wife. But not you. Never you."

She let him go with a sniffle.

"You are a good man Owen – a very rare find this day. I could easily fall in love with you, you know. I hope your wife is aware of how lucky she is. I envy her."

Owen smiled. "I appreciate the praise, but please don't put me on a pedestal. I'm flawed in many ways. Talking about which, what are you gonna do now Selene? Will you come with me to the police and get treatment?"

She dubbed her face with a napkin and smiled at him.

"Do not worry for me. The suicide is off. Our talk made me reflect on my life and I have come to the realisation that we are indeed here for a purpose. You and I and everybody. And my purpose does not involve getting myself locked up in a padded cell and spending the rest of my life trying in vain to convince men in white coats that I am not crazy. So no Owen – I will not be accompanying you to the authorities."

Owen nodded.

"My next destination lies inside gang territory where people like those who robbed my family lives. I am going to offer gangbangs and masturbation-shows to anybody who wants them. I have got a feeling there will be plenty of takers. At least until I run out of bad guys."

"I can't let you do that Selene. You're not being rational. There are dangerous men out there and they'll hurt you. Hurt you bad and maybe even kill you. Forget all about the police – I will not betray you. But you're coming with me. I will help as best I can. You can hide out with Peg and me until you're well, and then we'll talk about what to do from there. A private care-facility abroad maybe..."

She lifted Owens gun and pointed it at his leg.

"I snatched it while we hugged. I will leave it on the ground a few blocks down. So sorry, but I cannot let you stop me. This is something I MUST do."

Selene walked to the front door and opened it.

"Farewell my beloved Owen and thanks for everything. You have saved me in more ways than one on this night. I will carry you in my heart always. Please do not forget me."

With those words she stepped outside and disappeared from view into the night.

"Fat chance of that happening," Owen sighed and walked after her to retrieve his gun.

****

The Glock was on the ground as promised, but there was no trace of Selene. He called out her name a few times but heard nothing but an echo of his own voice. Resigned he walked back to the diner and began straightening up. 

As he passed the bar with Beauregard's cage he pulled off the dark cloth.

"Guess it's just you and me again Beau..."

... and froze in his tracks. Beauregard lay sprawled on the floor of his cage, unmoving claws clenched in stiffness of death and a pair of foggy eyes staring at nothing.

An icy fear crawled up Owens spine and he grabbed his phone and pressed speed-dial with a shaky finger.

"Hi Peg. No don't worry.... nothing's wrong.... I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you how much I love you..."

****

There's an urban legend circulating among patrons of the seedy clubs and dingy bars of the underbelly of the city. You may have heard it told through a fog of cigarette smoke over a glass of stale beer late at night. 

The details may vary depending on who's telling it, but the story always features a waify young girl drifting aimlessly through the seediest parts of the city at night. Hauntingly beautiful with long hair as black as a raven's wing and skin as white and flawless as porcelain, she stands out like a pearl in a junkyard. Yet even the cruelest of pimps and most violent gangs fear her and give her a wide berth.

Despite wearing a perpetual sad expression on her face she is nice and approachable and will offer herself freely to anybody who asks. Yet those who accept her offer are never heard from or seen again. In the streets she is known as 'Nemesis'.

To one happily married security guard she is known as 'friend'...



Nemesis – Allison



 Some years ago, I was lying on the back seat of my coach one night waiting for my passengers to return from their night out on the town. The lights were off, but I had left the door unlocked so that I wouldn't be disturbed should anyone want to come back to the coach early. Around twelve o'clock two ladies came back on board, but they didn't notice me laying there in the dark. They proceeded to have what I thought was a humorous conversation about the size of their husbands' and apparently their lovers' equipment. For some reason something brought that conversation into my mind the other day. The following is what I made of it.

I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. As always I must also add, that I can't leave a story alone. I could well have added some cock-ups after they have seen it and before it gets posted. This little tale is very tongue in cheek I hope you enjoy it. 

*

I'd got back into Heathrow on a late night flight. The traffic on the way down west had been awful, as it was the August bank holiday, the worst day of the year for holiday traffic. Accidents had caused jams that stretched for miles and I was dead beat and not in a good mood by the time I reached my home.

"Hi, honey," Allison, my loving wife of ten years said as I walked through the door. "Would you like some breakfast?"

I thought I might as well, before I went to bed to hopefully sleep off the jet lag.

Over a fry up of bacon and eggs Allison gave me a run down of her week; although I wasn't exactly listening as I was really half-asleep. Then out of the blue she dropped the bombshell. 

"Robert, have you ever thought about swinging?"

Feigning ignorance I replied. "I'm not with you, babe. What do you mean by swinging?"

"You know, swapping partners for sex."

"No, that's not something that I've ever contemplated. What makes you ask?"

"Oh, a couple of the girls were talking in the changing room, down at the tennis club. I just wondered if you've ever thought about it?"

"My love, you're the only woman I need. I don't need to try any others."

"Ah, I suppose you would say that. After all you had other women before we were married. I was a virgin on our wedding night. You're the only man I've ever experienced. I was wondering what being with another man would be like."

"Wonder no more, my love. We've all got the same equipment and those women I went with before I met you did a good job of teaching me how to use it."

"But I can't help but wonder if another man would be any different in bed."

"I don't think I like where this conversation is going Allison. Are you trying to tell me you want to bed another man?"

"I think I am. Would you mind?"

"Of course I would. It's not something I could countenance."

"It would only be sex. There would be no love involved. Don't you trust me?"

"I'll be honest, baby. I trust you but I don't trust myself. I'm not sure that I could handle the thought of you with another man."

"You don't really love me then. If you did, you would trust me not to fall in love with him."

"Him! Who are we talking about here? It appears you've already picked out a stud for yourself."

"Well, I was thinking of Tony Marsh." 

"Who? Tony Marsh, that bloody great prick. He's an arsehole of the forth Dan. He doesn't know how to treat a lady as she should be treated. Why the hell do you think he's never got married?

"The girls were saying he's a real stud and he has an enormous thingy."

"An enormous thingy. Is that what you are looking for, an enormous thingy?"

"Be serious, Rob. The only one I've ever seen is yours. They say Tony's is really big and gets to places that a normal sized one doesn't. I want to know what it feels like." 

"And are you telling me I don't get you in those places?"

"How do I know? You're the only man I've ever had sex with. I'd like to know how you measure up?"

"Well, if you ever try to compare me with another man in bed, you could find you've made a big mistake."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, men don't like to be compared to others when it come to our prowess in bed. It hurts our ego."

"Oh, don't be silly. I just want to experience another man. I can't see how that can harm you."

"Well, I'll warn you. Experiencing another man could be a big mistake. You could find you're not happy with my "normal sized" thingy as you like to put it, afterwards."

"Now you are being silly. I love you. How could I not like having sex with you?

"Ah, now super-stud Tony's thingy could well have touched those parts of you that my normal sized thingy can't. You could find you don't get the same enjoyment from sex with me after you've tried that great big monster thingy, like Tony's."

"I think you're jealous of Tony's great big thingy."

"Allison, Tony's thingy is one thingy that I'm definitely not jealous of. I'm quite happy with what the good Lord chose to give me, thank you, and I would hope that you would be happy with it as well."

With that the conversation ended and I went to bed. Over the next week or so Allison kept returning to the subject but I told her as firmly as I could that I did not like the idea of her having sex with Tony Marsh and I wasn't sure I would tolerate it.

In the end she told me that she intended to get laid by him no matter what I thought. She said it was her body and she could do what she liked with it. What right had I to deny her the experience of a big thingy?

When I came home from work on the Friday evening, I found Allison getting ready to go out. "Are we going somewhere?" I asked.

"I am. But you aren't."

"Pardon."

"I'm going out with the girls. If I'm lucky, we'll meet up with Tony Marsh and I'll get to try out that big thingy of his."

Angry, of course I was! But at least I knew what she was up to. She could have sneaked out to meet him, when I was away on a trip and without me knowing. But she didn't have that much sense.

I busied myself a while with a few little chores that needed doing and then I settled down to watch the box.

I heard a car pull up outside about half past twelve and then Allison staggered through the door in a very dishevelled condition. Her blouse was undone to the waist and the tights she had on when she went out were in her hand.

"Did you have a good night, Allison?" I asked.

"No, I didn't! Tony's thingy is nowhere near the size of yours and he has the finesse of a pig."

"Yeah, I'm told he always used to brag about it at school until I moved here. Then he went quiet once he saw me in the changing room showers one day. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?

"That you had a big thingy which was even bigger than Tony's. All the guys call him Big Thingy. I assumed he must have the biggest one around."

"No, Allison, the guys all call Tony 'A Big Prick' and by that they mean he has about as much brains in his head as can be found in the average Prick, or thingy as you like to call it." 

"But you never told me you were bigger than him."

"That would be bragging Allison. You know the only thing that I brag about is how beautiful my wife is. Such a shame that I won't be able to do that anymore."

"And why not? Have I suddenly turned ugly or something."

"No, Allison, you've suddenly gotten divorced. Your clothes are already at your mother's house. I took them over earlier. Now please get out of my house!"

"But you can't do that. You can't throw me out of our house."

I picked Allison up and carried her to the front door. I carefully placed her outside on the porch and then closed the door. "Who says I can't? Good-bye, Allison, let me know if you find anymore big thingy's," I said as I did so.

Then through the door I called out. "I think I'll go the tennis club tomorrow, I hear there's a shortage of big thingy's up there. I don't suppose I'll go short, do you? 

 Sometimes you don't what you've go until it's gone!

Life goes on. 



Nemesis - Amy



As Always first things first. I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. I might add that we don't always see eye to eye, so I take full responsibility for any cock-ups in this story.

*

When I married Amy, I didn't really know what I was letting myself in for. I didn't realise I was virtually marrying her sister Jill as well. Well, that's what it felt like.

You see, when I first met Amy, Jill's husband Ron was on a company posting in Singapore. Ron works for some bank in the city and they had sent him out there for a few years. Apparently he was in for a big promotion when he returned. Jillian had gone with him, of course, so when I met Amy and fell in love with her, I had no idea how close the two sisters actually were.

I knew that just after I had met Amy she had gone out to Singapore to visit her sister for a month or so and when she came back she did nothing but talk about Jill and Ron for weeks afterwards. Anyway Amy and I had been happily married for nearly two years when Ron and Jill returned to England.

I thought nothing of it when they found a nice house in the next street to ours. And in the beginning I didn't notice just how much time they spent at our house or how often I came home to find a note from Amy telling me we were eating at Jill's house that evening. She would never give me any warning like a phone call at work or anything. Just a note on the fridge saying "Dinner's at Jill's".

Okay, Jill is a nice girl, but to be honest with you Ron is a complete waste of space as far as I'm concerned. He encapsulates everything I don't like in life. He is, or rather was - he's getting on a bit now - a Yuppie. He works for a bank. No, not the sort of bank you find on the High Street. No, he works for one of these banks that buy and sell money on what they like to call the international money markets. 

I didn't know. I think there's something immoral about buying and selling money and making huge profits out of it. Anyway this isn't the place to air my prejudices. Suffice to say I had to learn to tolerate Ron and his business associates.

Mind, he had to put up with the friends of mine whom I could still persuade to attend Amy and my parties once they had met Ron and his chums. Once I got used to the bugger, he wasn't all that bad. He just had a high opinion of himself.

Life with Amy was quite good, but after Jill and Ron returned, our sex life took a bit of a dive. There was no more slipping up for a quickie when I came in from work. No more sex anywhere any time, mainly because Jill was always there. When she was at our house, she rarely left until midnight and if Amy went around to Jill's place it was after twelve before she returned. With me rising at five every morning to get to the office, there wasn't much time for sex, except on the weekends.

Hold on, I suppose I'd better give you a few details about Amy. Thirty-two years old, she stands about five-six in bare feet and she has long blond hair. Slim with just the right size Bristol's' (she'll never need an implant). Could be she carries a little too much weight on her rear-end sometimes. But she keeps a close eye in it and when she feels it's required she'll spend some time at the gym correcting things. For Jill, read a twin of her sister and they always visit the gym together. Christ, I don't think they do anything apart. That includes going to the loo when we are out. But you all knew that, women always hold each other's hands when they go to the loo.

Anyway by the time we had been married six years I was just a little pissed off with having Jill and Ron's company "all" the time. Oh, I didn't say that Amy had been married once before I met her. I wonder now whether her first husband wasn't as tolerant as I am and got pissed off with living with Jill and Ron in his bloody pocket all the time.

I was looking for any way I could to separate the two girls, even if it was just for the odd weekend, when fate played me what I thought was a lucky hand. An old aunt of mine passed away. To be honest, I had almost forgotten the old dear existed. But the old girl was kind enough to leave me her little cottage in South Wales in her will. It was a tiny place with one bedroom and bathroom upstairs and small lounge-cum-kitchen on the lower floor.

Ideal, I thought for a holiday retreat and of course there was no room for Jill and Ron. I'm not sure that Amy was over-enamoured with the place at first but she soon fell in love with it.

At first I thought things were going well for us again. Could be we would get on and start a family. Amy, having had one marriage collapse, had been a little reticent about having children. We started going to South Wales about one weekend a month. Then one Friday I came home from work and on the Fridge door I found the ubiquitous note.

Cowboy

Jill and I have gone down to the cottage for the weekend. You boys behave yourself whilst we're gone. Don't you and Ronny go getting up to any mischief? I've seen the way the girls look at you down the Golf Club.

Amy

Oh, the cowboy bit? I'd rather not say, but I will to keep you happy. When I was younger, I used to ride horses. I gave up when I married Amy, because she could never see the fascination in riding. The only folks she ever saw riding horses were cowboys on the TV. So she claimed I was a frustrated cowboy. Hence the name and, unfortunately, quite a few people have taken to using the name for me. Well, if you can't beat them, join them; I answer to the name Cowboy nowadays.

Well, Ron turned up at my house once he had gotten home from his office and had discovered a similar note from Jill. I could tell he was about as enamoured as I was that the girls had gone off without us. To keep myself from having to put up with just Ron's company that evening I suggested that we go out to the Golf Club to eat. 

We darned near spent the whole weekend there. Mind you, that had its drawbacks, as Ron is bloody useless at snooker. But then again, he's better than I am at golf, so I managed to win back the money that I had lost to him on the greens.

Did I show my anger that Amy and Jill had gone off to the cottage without warning me in advance, when they returned? Like a bloody idiot, no, I didn't! I loved Amy so I played the loving husband when she got back on that Sunday evening. Oh, and Amy tried to kill me and wear the bed out that night. Hey, kinky - Amy couldn't get enough of me that night. Every time I climaxed she'd go down on me to get me back on duty. I had to take Monday off of work because I was so knackered.

Amy, of course, was off to see her sister at what seemed to me like the crack of dawn that Monday morning. I was still in bed at 3 o'clock in the afternoon when Amy returned with Jill. They had Ron in tow. Apparently Jill had tried to kill him as well, so he had taken the day too.

Two weeks later Amy and I had another weekend at the cottage. We had a great time. Being at the cottage without Jill and Ron was like being on honeymoon again. I really looked forward to our little breaks there, even if the drive was a pain in the arse.

I must admit I was surprised, and pissed off, again a fortnight later, when I got home on the Friday evening to find yet another note from Amy. Once again, she had taken off with Jill to the cottage for the weekend. I can't say Ron was very happy either. But like a numskull, I let it pass again. However I noted that Ron wasn't taking it as easily as I was. He never said anything, but I knew the guy quite well by then and I could almost hear the little cogs going around in his head.

But you've got to understand Ron and the way his mind works. As I said, he's an arsehole. Well, maybe I didn't say that, but he is. He wasn't so much annoyed that Jill had gone off to spend a weekend away without him. I think it was where she had gone that irked him. 

The cottage belonged to me and Ron didn't like that. That's what his problem was. He was the big man who worked in the city and made all the money. Whereas I missed my wife and had to put up with the Pratt, he was more upset that it was Amy and my cottage the girls had gone to.

It was the same when the girls returned. Both of them tried to kill us with love and after that it became a regular thing. Every other weekend either Amy or I or Amy and Jill took off for the cottage.

That is until Ron dropped the bombshell on us that he'd splashed out and bought a villa in Spain. I could see his reasoning - he had trumped me on the cottage. There was no way I could afford a villa in Spain.

The trouble was, nipping down to Southern Spain isn't quite as easy as driving down the M4 motorway. Jill and Ron (all right, often with Amy and I in tow) would fly over there for a week or so at a time.

It didn't make too much difference to Amy and my getaways to South Wales. And it didn't make too much difference to the girls' trips down there either.

Alright, some of you less trusting individuals might ask, what are the girls getting up to in South Wales without their husbands? Well, to be honest I'm damned sure my Amy didn't get up to anything she shouldn't. The cottage was in a small village and Amy and I had become quite well known there. The trouble with small villages is that everyone knows everybody else's business and they couldn't keep their mouths shut.

So don't worry, in the village pub I heard about every little indiscretion, no matter how slight (what there was of them) that went on. If somebody had brought the girls a drink at the dance in the hotel in town, I heard about it in the pub. I knew the name of every guy they danced with and actually which taxi driver drove the girls home after the dance. Any strange car parked at the cottage would be reported back to me sometimes before the next time I went into the pub. So I had no worries there.

God, there was nothing that I didn't hear about. From the actual time that they arrived, to the time they started to pack the car for the journey home. I not only knew what jumble sales or antique shops they visited, but what junk they had brought there and how much they paid for. Interesting that one, how things somehow got cheaper by the time they arrived back at the house in London. 

So you see I had no worries about what was going on in South Wales. But I can't say the same for the next shock Amy dropped on me. The announcement that Amy and Jill were popping over to the villa in Spain for a couple of weeks was dropped on both Ron and I, whilst we were all eating dinner in a restaurant one evening.

I'll give it to Ron, he took it in his stride, and encouraged the girls to go. Could be he was trying to rub my nose in it. Now he could play the big man with the second home in the sun.

The girls flew out the following weekend. Two weeks later they were back and saying what a great time they had had. That evening Amy tried to kill me yet again and once again I missed going to work on the Monday morning.

A few weeks later Jill and Ron slipped back over to Spain for a week of so. It was nice to have my loving wife to myself for a while. But I could tell she was missing her sister. For the rest of the year things were back to normal, with the girls or Amy and myself going down to the cottage every other weekend.

Jill and Ron went off to Spain for Christmas. Much to Amy's annoyance, I refused to go saying that I wanted to see my family over the holidays. In the end, Amy agreed with me and we visited her folks as well. 

It was around the following Easter time that Amy announced that Jill and she were going over to Spain for another couple of week's break. Neither Ron nor I could go along as we were both too tied up at work.

The girls came back sporting really nice sun-tans and revelled in telling us how they had both spent nearly all their time out in Spain sunbathing, whilst Ron and I had been at home with the rain. 

Yes, once again Amy tried to kill me with sex. I was beginning to think that it was about time I checked on my life insurance policies, to see whether Amy had increased any of them lately.

Ron and Jill went out to the villa for a week about a month later. I was really beginning to enjoy it when they went to the villa. I'd get my wife back for a whole week at a time. But Jill and Ron had only been back a couple of weeks when Amy and Jill said they were going out there again.

To be honest I was really pissed off about it and I let Amy know in no uncertain terms. Her first excuse was that her suntan had almost completely faded and she was jealous of Jill's. Then she said that Jill was going to go even if Amy didn't and she couldn't let her sister go out there on her own. So in the end I relented and they left on the Saturday morning.

It was on the Monday at work that I really flipped. Some of the younger guys were crowded around one of the computers making the kind of comments that young guys make when they are looking at porn. Out of interest I strolled over to see what all the excitement was about. The youngster had brought up a porno site and they were making comments about how far the girl in the movie had this guy's massive cock down her throat.

But that wasn't what caught my eye. What I saw were the two little triangles of white skin on the girl's chest. She was sporting a bloody good suntan; as good as Amy's had been when she came back from Spain at Easter. But somehow I didn't remember those triangles where her bikini top should have covered her breasts.

Come to that I didn't remember seeing the triangle where Amy's briefs should have been either. Now that bloody villa had a communal pool and there was nowhere that the girls could have sunbathed in the nude. Well, not in private anyway, and I did not like the idea of my wife being in the nude in public.

I went back to my desk but I didn't get much in the way of work done that afternoon. Amy was not one to have lain by that communal pool naked. Christ, I doubt the other residents would had stood for it anyway. So just where had she been when she got that all over tan?

The problem worried me all afternoon. Later that afternoon I came up with the only answer I could think of. The girls were going to someone else's villa, one with a private pool area. The silly thing was the only person I could remember that we had met over there who had a private pool was the Major. He was an old guy; he must have been at least sixty-five or seventy if he was a day. But then I remembered something else - I remembered Ron commenting about the bulge the Major had in his shorts.

"I'll bet he was a right Casanova, in his day." Ronny had said to me. Now I was suddenly beginning to think, "I ain't too sure about the 'was' bit, Ronny my boy". He had looked pretty fit to me and could still be very active at sixty-five. And then of course there's always Viagra nowadays.

I called and booked the flight from my desk, then went in and told my boss I was taking a few days off. For some reason he never questioned why. It could have been because of the look on my face. After rushing home and throwing a few things into a bag, I just managed to make the afternoon flight out of Gatwick.

My mobile phone rang whilst I was at the car hire desk. It was by then half-past seven London time. When I checked the caller ID, it said it was Amy calling. I let the call go to voicemail because if I had answered it she might well have heard voices speaking Spanish around me. I still had a long drive to the villa ahead of me. If Amy suspected I was in Spain, she and Jill would then have plenty of time to make any necessary arrangements; you understand what I mean.

I listened to the recording after I was safely settled in my hire car and there where no untoward background noises that could interfere should it be necessary for me to call Amy back. I pushed the play message button.

"Cowboy, where the hell are you? Ronny just called and says you're not home from work yet. He's waiting to go to the Golf Club, poor dear. Give him a call, will you? I think he's worried."

With that she hung up. No "I love you" and she didn't say that she was worried about me. Just that Ron was worried. I was really pissed off at that. I just turned my phone off and started on the hour's drive to the villa.

I arrived there just in time to watch Amy and Jill come trotting out of the front door and join the Major in his Mercedes convertible. Jill sat in the front with him and Amy in the back. They drove off with me following at a discrete distance in my hired Seat. Out on the coast road they pulled into a rather touristy restaurant-cum-night-spot. Handy for me as the place was crowded with coach parties.

After giving them time to get settled, I followed them in. The bar in the place was on a higher level than the main restaurant with its dance floor and stage. When I got inside, the cabaret of traditional Spanish flamenco dancing was going on. I spotted the girls and the Major sitting at a table down by the dance floor. Their meal was just being served.

At first I was relieved that Jill was sitting beside the Major and Amy was siting opposite them, but then I noticed that the fourth place setting hadn't been removed. Then some guy turned up and sat alongside Amy. I sat at a table by the edge of the balcony that the bar was on and watched them eat their meal.

When the dancing started, I watched Jill and the Major get up first. It looked to me as if Amy was telling the guy she didn't want to dance. But later, after she had had a couple more drinks, she got up and danced with him to the faster numbers. But she quickly returned to her seat when the slow numbers started.

As far as Jill was concerned she was canoodling with the Major like a bloody teenager. It was apparent to me that Amy was trying to prevent the guy she was dancing with getting too close. I was just getting to the point where I was going to go down and interrupt the happy party when all hell broke loose. Spanish police came running in and there was pandemonium for a few minutes, before like everyone else I realised that there had apparently been a bomb threat and for safety the place had to be cleared.

You wouldn't believe it but the girls and the Major walked right past me without recognising me. I did keep me face averted while they passed but I made sure to bump into the guy that Amy had been dancing with as he followed them out.

In the car park the four of them stood and talked for awhile. I know I'm not a lip reader but I somehow got the idea that Jill and the Major were trying to talk Amy into riding with the other guy. After maybe ten minutes I saw that Amy had acquiesced and she started walking over to the guy's car with him.

Now it was time for me to act or my marriage would be over. Assuming, that is, that it wasn't over already. I got into the Seat and drove it across the car park and stopped in front of the guy's Mazda just as he was about to pull away.

I just sat there looking at Amy as the guy shouted obscenities at me telling me get out of the way and waved his arms about. I watch the look of horror come over Amy's face as she realised who was driving the Seat. She screamed so loud that both Jill and the police heard her.

Within moments the Spanish police were heading in our direction. Strangely the closer they got the more agitated the guy seemed to get. Amy opened the car door and got out, I could see a look of apprehension on her face. As she started to walk towards me, I slipped the Seat into gear and drove out of the car park. Down the road a little way, I pulled into a side turning and sat there watching the main road.

Shortly the Mazda drove past very fast, followed a little later by the Merc. I noted that both the girls were sitting in the back seat of the Merc now, whereas Jill had travelled in the front seat with the Major on the journey to the restaurant. 




Nemesis - Amy



I didn't follow them closely this time. I figured they were returning to the villa. As I arrived there, the Major was just driving away in his Merc, alone.

I drove up a turning that allowed me to park and look down onto the villa. Then I settled myself down for the night. Out of interest I turned my mobile back on. Hey, the thing went crazy, Amy called me six times before she gave up and apparently went to bed. I spent an uncomfortable night in the little Seat.

About eight in the morning, the Major pulled up in his Mercedes. I must say things got a little comical then. He knocked on the door and Jill answered. For a moment it looked like he was going to go inside the villa, but Jill stopped him. Then the pair of them started looking around. I realised they were looking for me, but for some reason they didn't look up the hill to where I was. I think they thought I might have been in one of the other villas. That would really have been the easiest place to spy on them from.

Amy joined them and obviously an argument occurred inside. I watched a couple of the neighbours earwigging. There was lots of walking up and down and a lot of finger pointing. Then I saw Amy get her mobile out of the pocket of the jeans she was wearing, and punch a couple keys. The sudden noise in the car as my mobile rang again surprised me; Amy was obviously trying to call me again. I let it go to voice mail; but Amy didn't leave a message. She put the phone away and started on at Jill again.

I don't know but they must have been out there for an hour before a taxi pulled up and to my surprise Ron got out of it. God, I wish I could have heard what they were saying to each other. Ron took Jill off to one side of the yard for a few minutes and then came back and talked to Amy. The Major was looking a little uncomfortable to me. Then Ron completely surprised everyone and walked over to another villa and talked to a guy who had been watching the charade for most of the morning.

After maybe ten minutes Ron came striding back like a man on a mission. He walked right up to the Major and landed one right on his nose. The Major went down like a sack of coal. I get the feeling that he had no right to use the title of Major. Any army man would have seen Ron's punch coming a bloody mile away.

Ron shouted something at the girls and then got back into his taxi that had waited for him and left, only moments before the police arrived. The whole scene then turned into complete pantomime. Two officers got out of their car to find Amy and Jill crying on each other's shoulders. The Major was staggering about with blood pouring from his nose. Whilst a couple of the neighbours were apparently attempting to render first aid to him, at the same time they tried to explain to the two Spanish police officers what the hell had happened.

Once an ambulance arrived the two policemen threw their arms in the air and got back into the police car and left. The ambulance took the Major away, and then Amy and Jill were accompanied back into the villa by some of the neighbours. A little later a guy came out and brought his car over. I watched as the girls' cases were put into the car and the girls were driven away. I assumed to the airport.

That left me with a problem. If I went to the airport now I was likely to run into the girls and probably Ron as well, something I wasn't in a hurry to do. I wanted Amy to stew for a while. My only option was to drive to another airport, which I did. The next nearest one with scheduled flight to London was a hundred odd miles away so the journey on unfamiliar roads took me some time.

I had to stay over another night, as I couldn't get a flight. So it was Thursday afternoon when I caught the transfer bus from Heathrow to Gatwick so that I could collect my car. Once in the car I could charge my mobile again as the damn thing had gone flat on the previous afternoon. I had a long list of voice mail messages and I was about to start going through them when the bloody phone made me jump as it started ringing.

Caller ID told me it was my father calling me. Trouble I knew, because Dad doesn't like mobiles but he was calling me from the one I insisted he kept in his car in case he had a break down.

"Hi, dad. How are you."

"What the hell is going on, son?" my father demanded. "Amy was around here this morning asking if we knew where you were."

"Amy and I are having a few problems, dad. Now don't you and mum go getting all upset about it."

"Upset! Amy's crying her bleeding eyes out. What the hell have you been up to?"

"I haven't been up to anything, dad. It's Amy who has got something to hide. Tell me, was Jill with her?"

"No, Amy was on her own. But what do you mean Amy has got something to hide?"

"Well, that's the problem, dad. I don't know what she's got to hide. But I figure if I make her sweat long enough and don't tell her what I know she'll either tell me the truth or leave me and, to be honest, I'm beginning to think I don't care which she does."

"Come on, son, you can't be throwing a good marriage away over nothing."

"Where did you get the idea it was a good marriage, dad. My marriage to Amy has been very one sided. The most important person in Amy and my marriage up to now has been her sister Jill."

"Oh, I never realised. I knew they were close, but not that close."

"Well, Amy has got to make a decision on who she wants to spend her life with - Jill or me. Mind, I need to know exactly what they've been getting up to together first. So if Amy's still there, don't tell anything or we've got no chance of salvaging anything."

"All right, son. I promise you, your mother and I won't stick our noses in. When will you be home?" 

"Well, I'm at the airport now. You can tell Amy she had better be home when I get there or I'm just going to pack and leave again."

"Don't go doing anything silly, son."

"I need to keep the pressure on her, dad. I need Amy to think she's about to lose me. I need to know if she wants our marriage to go on."

"I think I understand what you're up to, son. But you're playing a dangerous game. You could lose her."

"It could be I'm late on the playing field, dad, and the game's half over before I started playing. I could have lost the game already." 

My dad hung up and I started my journey home. My mobile rang several times on the journey. Twice the ID said it was Amy's mobile and the last time it was our home phone calling. I didn't answer.

As I pulled into our drive, Amy opened the door and just stood there. I got out of the car and pushed past her into the house without saying anything to her.

I made my way directly to our bedroom and picked up the case Amy had just used on her trip to Spain. Tipping the remaining contents on the floor I proceeded to pack some of my own clothes in it.

"What are you doing? Oh, god, please can't we talk about this?"

"Go on then, Amy, start talking."

"I only danced with the man, honestly."

"So where were you going in his car then?"

"You saw they closed the night-club because of a bomb threat. Sean was just driving me back to the villa."

"Why weren't you going back with Jill and the Major? That's how you got to the night-club, wasn't it?"

"Because Jill and the Major were going back to his place. That's why."

"And you didn't want to go?"

"No, Jill was going to sleep with him. But I think you know that." 

"So you planned on sleeping with the other arsehole at Jill's villa then."

"No, how could you think I would do such a thing. I wouldn't do anything like that and you know it!"

"Wouldn't you?"

"No, you know I wouldn't."

"Do I? Do I have any idea what you would do behind my back Amy? Tell me, would I expect my loving wife to lay around some arsehole's swimming pool in the nude, sunbathing. Would I expect my wife to show her most private parts off to all and sundry?

"Oh, my god, how did you know?"

"Come on, if you showed him your body, how far did you let him go? Did he rub your sun screen on for you?" 

"No, he didn't, Jill put it on my back for me. Jeff, the Major put it on her. Look I know it was wrong to sunbathe in the nude at Jeff's place. But the first time I did it, I was drunk. We had gone up there for the afternoon. I didn't know that Jill had a thing going with Jeff."

"Are you sure about that? Listen, Amy, I've had just about as much as I can take. If I catch you lying to me, I'm out of here and we are finished. So make your bleeding mind up what you want. Are you going to be honest with me or am I leaving?"

"I'm sorry, that was a lie. Jill's had a thing going with Jeff since last year, when we first went out there. Christ, she even told me that she got to spend some time with him when she was out there with Ron. Ron went out on a boat, fishing or something. Jill gets seasick so she slipped away to meet Jeff." 

"So who were you with, when Jill was with Jeff?"

"No one honestly. I just played gooseberry most of the time. Christ, they never had sex or anything in front of me. But, of course, I knew what they were doing. They would go into Jeff's bedroom whilst I stayed by the pool."

"So no one else saw you in the nude besides Jeff then?" I asked that question in what I thought was a threatening tone. I hoped I was hinting that I already knew the answer.

"Well, yes, a couple of Jeff's friends came around and saw both Jill and I in the nude on occasions. Look, the first time I took my bikini off, I was drunk and there was only Jill and Jeff there. Jill took hers off and persuaded me to take off mine. I knew I shouldn't do it but I was drunk. Once I'd done it the first time, I couldn't see the point in being coy. It was only Jeff there and he had seen me naked by then anyway.

"Then one day I was nude and I fell asleep under the sunshade. When I woke up, there were two other guys there. Christ, I had a bloody fit and covered myself up with a towel.

"One of them came over and said I had a nice body and I shouldn't hide it. I think he wanted to chat me up. I told him it was your body and only your body. I think he got the hint."

"He didn't say or do anything else then?" Amy didn't stop to think she just blurted out.

"Yes, he did. He snatched my towel away from me and said he didn't want to touch just look. I put my bikini back on and told him that was all he was allowed to see from then on."

"And that was the only time?"

"No, I think you know it wasn't. A couple more times guys and girls showed up at Jeff's place. The girls all stripped off, the moment they got out by the pool. I don't know. I think I'd got used to the idea of being naked. No one seemed to take any notice so I just stayed naked as well, but honestly no one ever touched me. Except for when Jill and another girl put sunscreen on my back for me. No men ever, I swear."

"I find it hard to believe that any man could keep his hands off your body. I know I have difficulty."

"Ah, well there were occasions when some of them did require a little persuasion to keep their hands to themselves. But I've got my little friend here." Amy reached into her hand bag and pulled out what looked like a short metal bar about six inches long with a round knob on one end. 

"God, what the hell's that, a bloody dildo?"

"Don't be silly love, it's my leveller." Amy gave a flick of her wrist and the bar sprung out until it was about twenty inches long. "It's the same cosh as the police use nowadays. Small discrete but extremely effective, I got hold of it in Barcelona. When the guy's see this, they soon keep they're distance. One blow can break an arm."

"Jesus, is that legal in this country?"

"I don't know, but it works. Jeff had a party one night and some guy said he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Jeff told me later that I broke his arm. After that I had a reputation and all the guy's have always behaved like gentlemen around me."

"Why the hell were you mixing with these arseholes, anyway?" 

"I couldn't leave Jill on her own. I love my sister, but she's a fool to herself sometimes. God, if I didn't try to keep her in check, she'd have been working for some pimp by now. Jill never has been able to keep her legs crossed."

"Does Ron know what she's like?"

"I think he must do. I believe he's caught her a few times in the past."

"Jesus Christ, you can't go through life as her minder." 

"Don't you think I realise that now. I'm not daft. I knew what you thought when you saw me with Sean in that car. At that moment I thought I was going to die. But Sean was just giving me a lift home honestly. Oh, he would like to get friendly with me, but I put him straight on that, last year. Now he just flirts with me and then plays like I've broken his heart.

"The party was going to be at Jeff's place later that night and I was tired. I have tried never to take any risks; there would have been a lot of drink at the party. I try not to get drunk around Jill's friends. 

"Sean's a bit flash but he knows me quite well. Christ, the poor sod nearly shit himself when you blocked him in. He thought you were a police car at first. I don't think he wanted to be around the police."

"So you are trying to tell me that you've never been unfaithful to me."

"Yes, since we've been married, I haven't done more than give the odd kiss to another man."

"Are you sure? I told you I will not stand for any lies." Amy thought for a moment.

"Oh shit, no, that's wrong. Thomas. Thomas Evens. Jill has a thing going with his brother, David."

"You mean she's shagging him?"

"Yes."

"In my bed at the cottage?"

"Oh, God, no, that's my bed as well you know. I think they use a blanket on the floor in the lounge. I always went to bed so I'm not sure. Jill would have a shower before she came to bed."

"And Thomas?"

"Oh, shit, yes, Thomas. Well, I had a couple of drinks too many one evening. Something I've made sure never to do again around Jill. I was dancing with Thomas at the hotel. David drove us home in his car and, on the way, Thomas and I, well, we were kissing. Look, I was drunk, and for a moment I thought I was with you. Don't ask my why, I don't know, I told you I was drunk. God David looks so much like you."

I have to admit he does, but I didn't say that to Amy

"Thomas got his hands into my blouse in the back of the car and got my tits out. Then Jill said something that brought me to my senses. I pushed Thomas off and smacked him around the face. Then I wouldn't let David come into the cottage that night. David made sure that no one tried it on with me after that, as he never got into Jill's knickers that night."

"Go on, Amy girl. Its about time you let your hair down!"

"Pardon? Oh, my God, how do you know what Jill said to me in the car that night?"

"You'd be surprised at what I know about you and your sister, Amy."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I love you, please don't leave me?"

"Well, one of us has got to go." Amy's face was aghast. "It's either your sister or me. You choose and please make your mind up quickly."

"I made my mind up outside the villa in Spain and I told Jill I wanted her to get out of my life on the plane home. I told her if she had cost me another husband I'd most likely kill her."

"You had the same thing happen with your first husband?"

"Well, not exactly, no. I found him and Jill in my bed together."

"Jesus Christ! And you forgave her?"

"Yes, she convinced me that he had seduced her. Like a fool I believed her."

"Jesus, girl, are you stupid or something? Your sister jumps into bed with any guy who comes along. And you take her word for it that your husband seduced her?"

"Well, not exactly. But he cheated on me, so I would never have been able to trust him again, would I? But Jill was my sister, so I forgave her in the end."

"You know, I think the first thing we've got to do tomorrow is take you to a bloody shrink. Amy, I never thought I would say this to you, but you can be one dumb bitch sometimes."

"I know, But I'm your dumb bitch. Look, in the future, will you tell me when I'm doing something stupid? Hey, hold on a minute, if you knew about Jill and David. Why the hell didn't you do something about it?"

"Maybe I'm dumb as well, but I never could stand Ron. The bugger has always got right up my nose. Whilst you were behaving yourself, I wasn't worried. But I know everything you did in South Wales, don't you worry.

"Bill?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it about time we started that family?"

"It could be."

"I love you."

"Well, then, get your bloody clothes off and let me see that tan then."

===========================

I've got to say I'm not very proud of what I did, but I had little choice. I have to admit that it was touch and go there for a while. I'm as sure as I can be that Amy, besides sunbathing in the nude in Spain, behaved herself. 

After all her fidelity had been pretty well tested in South Wales. I never did tell Amy that I had spent a lot of time down there as a child. I'm damned if I'm going to tell her the guy who picked Jill up the first time they went down there was a distant cousin of mine and one of my oldest and best friends. 

And I'm definitely not going to tell her that Dave's brother, Thomas, was not the only guy whom I had charged with the job of testing Amy's resistance to being seduced. Mind, Thomas did get the closest, and I was pretty worried that week, I'll admit. But all of the others, Amy shot down well before they were anywhere near close. 

I suppose Amy's story about thinking Thomas was me when she was drunk that night, could hold water because Thomas and I were often mistaken for brothers in our younger days. We still are come to that.

Okay, what else could I have done? I suspected that Jill was a slut, and Amy was sticking to her like glue. What the hell would have happened if I'd told Amy outright to stay away from her sister? Yeah, she would have liked that, wouldn't she? Try coming between two close sisters 

No, it was a decision she had to make for herself. Amy had to distance herself from Jill. 

I let Thomas and the boys loose on Amy because I needed to know what she would do when I was not about. I think she proved herself to me.

Oh, in case your wondering. I trust David and Thomas with my life and my wife. I saved David's life once when he was thrown from a horse when we were young. He says can never do enough to repay me.

Life goes on. 



Nemesis Ch. 01



Author's note: This rather sexless introduction is necessary to bring the reader to an understanding of whom and what Marcia has become. The chapters that follow will be ample reward for your patience. I promise!

*****

Her weight had always been a problem. No level of portion control would work as long as she couldn't find a form of exercise that she could enjoy long enough for it to become part of her life style.

5'9" with shoulder length blond hair, sizable 38D breasts with quarter size areolas and responsive nipples, and not big boned but truly chubby. Lack of exercise meant she was droopy and saggy almost everywhere. Good teeth and, when she experience fleeting happiness, a marvelous smile. Her eyes where startlingly purple and could smile when her mouth did, straight nose, ears that were decorated with only one earring per, and a strong but very feminine chin. Long legs, with strong ankles, had to be at her weight, and feet of a style and shape that could lead to rabid adoration if she ever straightened out her other issues. 

She had always been heavy so boys were to be admired but normal ones never came around. She dreamed of their touch and of what sex might be like but she never so much as saw a live cock or could even imaging what two women might do with each other.

Her early college years were sexually self-active by virtue of her use of a simple, small vibrator she had borrowed from her roommate but she had never so much as inserted it. She was so sensitive that when once or twice a month she reach a self-induced release she did so by rubbing her nipples and just stimulating her clit with the vibrator.

As a philosophy major at a large mid-western college she spent her non-study time, reading about what other people did with their lives. She knew about the good and the bad of being pretty or handsome, of being poor, and even the ups and downs of being rich and popular.

After the Internet had started to proliferate some really bizarre fetishes she had a period of fending off tubby chasers. She so deplored her size and lack of moral will power to correct it that the thought of someone who appreciated her for her weight turned her completely off.

Her parents had loved her deeply but had succumbed to first disease, her father to a diabetic coma he never recovered from and then serendipity, when her mother died from a car accident. The insurance from the later is what currently sustained her through her college career. She would never cross into beautiful or even pretty territory because of her size unless something or someone intervened.

He saw something in her that sealed her fate. For years she struggled to understand what but at the time she could only lament her fate. Plans had been made, long term living spaces had been prepared and once she was in his grip she had but one thing to do...bend to his will.

Her trip to the mall started out normally. She needed things so she went. It was on the way out that it got interesting. The man who approached her was unusual in the way he walked and the way he dressed. A floppy hat pulled down over his face hid all of his features and the baggy clothes he wore masked his physique. She became nervous when he came up to her quickly and became frightened when he took her roughly by the arm and stuck a sharp object into her ribs. "Come quietly or I WILL gut you." He whispered, with more than a little menace in his voice. His massive strength lent credence to his ability to do so and she went along to the beat-up van that waited. 

As she was pushed inside he pulled a canvas bag over her head and upper body which was intended not only to blind her but to deafen her as well. A ball gag was in the upper quadrant of the bag and as she breathed through her mouth, a quick pull by her capture snugged it into place. It worked extraordinarily well and as the trip went on for hours she could not tell what direction, speed, or by any sound, where they were going until the vehicle crossed some fairly substantial threshold and came to a stop.

Rough hands dragged her down a set of stairs, she was pushed into a confined space and the door was closed. Hands extended thru a slot and removed the bag and the gag and she saw for the first time one of the chambers that would become very familiar to her.

This one, which she later learned was the upper body room, was less than 100 square feet of timber lined confinement with...well what appeared to be wall mounted exercise equipment. Not the commercial kind found in professional gyms but pulleys and ropes of undetermined reason separated as systems by scant inches from one set to the next. So close that moving between them would be a simple matter of leaning and sliding from one to the other.

She would find out later that there were four other chambers, the lower body exercise room, her bed chamber (little more than a pallet on the floor and a small cupboard for her few workout clothes), the cooking area, and the sex education room.

A voice thinly disguised by a cheap voice changer was powerful but not just from the amplification system that made him seem to be everywhere, he had command of the environment with a military like timber that was easily associated with that of drill instructors. She knew instinctively that this was a man she would not be able to resist.

The Voice explained to her in simple terms that she would exercise when told, eat what she was taught to prepare, and study the books that she would find in her bed chamber. It was a simple but hard existence that seemed to go on for years but in reality was but 18 months.

All of her first six months in captivity had been spent in the upper body and lower body training rooms. The upper body room was designed to be a round robin of exercises that stressed every muscle group front and back as she moved from seat to seat. Her first days were driven by the Voice which was relentless with instructions that were designed to make her self sufficient as quickly as possible. Lack of understanding or not reacting to instructions fast enough resulted in electrical shock administered through the seats that ringed the room. 

Sometimes strong jets of water were administered nearly drowning her. She acquired strength while maintain a feminine appearance with great sensual power. Even her jaw and tongue received an education and strengthening that made them formidable in action but beautiful to behold. 

The lower body machines were complex and of an apparent amateur design, yet they stressed every muscle in her lower extremities including those in her ass and vagina. The same seat arrangement made moving from machine to machine a simple slide. The difference was that these seats also had oddly shaped openings for various devices that exercised muscle most women don't use and most men never feel the action of. As her legs thinned and shaped, her internal muscles became Olympian in control and strength. 

The studies gave her a celibate's understanding of sexual depravity beyond any one person's normal ability to comprehend. But it was intellectual; the next step in her education would be practical application. 

The Voice started this period of her life simply. Her virgin body responded to the tentativeness of her masturbation with a surprising amount of lubrication and a tingling hollowness in her stomach she had never experienced before. Her mind wasn't sure she liked it but her body responded to it as if her life had always been centered on her sex. Yet this was still a non-human contact celibate's level of understanding.

Her education continued with human shaped vibrators, butt plugs, dildos in every orifice, some of her exercise machines fucked her until she couldn't stand and there were tiny adhesive devices that adhered to her erogenous zones and low-voltage shocked and buzzed for days until she needed quarts of fluids to replace the juices that flowed nearly unceasingly from her vagina. She had never thought very sexual thoughts but now she was forced to experience things at a level of sexuality that caused her orgasms to be nearly blinding in intensity and seemed to last forever. All this was controlled by the Voice and designed to make her the most sexual woman man has ever known.

The exercise hardened her body and was aided by the steady diet of macrobiotic and vegan styled meals of a design only the Voice new the origins of. Her diet in captivity was controlled by starving her until she ate what the voice decreed. It wasn't provided to her, she had to prepare it herself. It gradually became more and more edible and as she gained in skill it became a delicious and an appreciated part of her life. Fresh ingredients, flash cooking, and extreme portion control while she was trained in the macrobiotic lifestyle which she would have had no possible chance of self-enforcing in her previous life.

She had become what her inner beauty had only been a suggestion of. She had become a high breasted, long, muscular but feminine legged woman with hips instantly recognizable for what the exercise had been aimed at making her. 

She awoke one day to find all the doors unlocked. A wardrobe, that was designed to dress her as a sophisticate with obvious wants and desires, was packed and ready for travel. A printout showed her that while she had been in this school her net worth had grown to the point of being able to support her at a level of permanent independent living in a grand style. 

The Voice gave her an address and she demurred but a second before realizing that despite her apparent freedom she would be a tool of the Voice for as long as he desired. And he desired quite a bit from and for her. She was no longer a shy, chubby, college girl; she was re-born as NENISIS.



Nemesis - Dave?



I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. I'd also like to add that we don't always see eye to eye, so I take full responsibility for all the content and any cock-ups in this story.

Hold on a minute. Nemesis - Dave? Now come on, play the bloody cards right! Nemesis - Victoria. Ah now, that sounds much better. Or maybe this one should be called "He who dares, Wins!" Okay, now read the bloody story.

++++++++++++

I'd finally pulled up at my house at three o'clock on the Saturday morning. The traffic had been atrocious on my drive back from Aberdeen to London. It always is on Fridays and there had been a multi-vehicle pile up on the motorway that had delayed me for several hours. I figured Vicky (Victoria), my wife, would have been in bed hours ago, but I was surprised she hadn't left a light on for me.

Extracting my bags and briefcase from my car's boot I just about managed to carry them all at once, I waddled up to the front door. Letting myself in I immediately knew something was very wrong. The house was cold, obviously the heating was turned very low or off. This was unusual because Vicky is a cold old stick; she always has the heating on much too high for my liking.

Putting my bags down, I turned on some lights and was shocked to see that some of our furniture was missing. My mind in some confusion, I rapidly made my way upstairs to our bedroom where, in theory, Vicky should have been in bed asleep. The bed was empty, wardrobe doors and dresser drawers were open, and almost all of Vicki's clothes were gone.

I stood there in shock for a few moments. Just what the fuck was going on here? Thinking that a little shot of something would be a good idea I made my way back to our lounge. I grabbed a bottle of rum from the bar, then collapsed into my recliner to contemplate the position I found myself in. It was plainly apparent that my loving wife had left me. But why?

Vicky and I had been married for almost nineteen years. We had two wonderful eighteen year-old twin girls, who both were in their first year at Bristol University. Er, don't try and do the math bit - Vicky was five months gone when we got married. Look, I'll be honest when Vicky and I were married, I don't think we were head over heels in love with one another. We were just dating and having a good time, but you know how it is, we messed up, big time! Vicky fell pregnant with Susan and Sandra and I did the gentlemanly thing.

Shit, I couldn't do much else; my old man would have killed me if I hadn't. But love is a strange thing; I soon found I was completely smitten with Vicky and my girls. Almost my whole life revolved around them. Anything Vicky wanted I'd break my back to get her. I don't care what anyone says; I'm as devoted to her as any man can be to his wife. And since the girls had been away at Uni, we had been making up for the time we lost when they were children.

Everything wasn't completely roses though. Victoria was a strong willed woman and to be honest I did normally give in to her wishes, just to keep the piece. Generally I was happy with most things in my marriage. But now it looked like I'd been living a lie, or at least Vicky had. 

It certainly looked like Vicky had left me. I just couldn't figure out why. She was always telling me how much she loved me. We had discussed the fact that neither of us really thought we would have gotten married to each other had she not become pregnant. But we had both agreed that it was probably the best thing that ever happened to us, and how deeply we had fallen in love with each other since we had married. It looked to me like someone had maybe had second thoughts.

Damn, my emotions took command; I suddenly got angry and jumped up to pace the room. Then I stormed out into the back garden to light up my pipe. Vicky doesn't like the smell of my pipe tobacco in the house so I always go outside to smoke. I was out there for ten minutes before I realised that Vicky wasn't there to complain and it looked like she wouldn't be in the future. Still for some reason I finished my pipe outside.

As I came back through the back door, I noticed the letter lying on the kitchen table. For a moment I stared at it. 'David' it said on the envelope; it was certainly from Vicky and when she wrote it she had been annoyed with me. The only time she ever calls me David is when she is upset with me.

I sat down at the table picked the envelope up and turned it over in my hands. I don't think I really wanted to open it; I knew I wasn't going to like whatever was written inside. Slowly I tore the envelop open, then unfolded the letter that was inside.


You bastard.

You lying, cheating, self-centred bastard, I am leaving you. I thought you loved me, but now I know different. You have been carrying on behind my back with that little tart and I can prove it. I'm going to a solicitor on Monday. I'm going to divorce you and take everything I can get.

I'll teach you to mess around on me. Didn't you at least think about the girls when you were swaning around with that little tart? She can't be much older than the twins?

I'm going to take you for everything I can, you bastard! So you had better look for somewhere else to live, as you won't be able to keep the house when I've finished with you and if I ever see that little slut; you can tell her I'll gouge her bloody eyes out.

Victoria.

"Interesting!" I said out loud to myself, "I wonder just whom this little slut is that Vicky thinks I'm laying? I think there's been a cock up in the intelligence section somewhere along the line."

Look, do I look like the kind of guy who cheats on his wife. That kind of guy would surely have walked away from Vicky when she got pregnant. I'm the kind of guy who appreciates what he has and definitely doesn't want to lose what he's got. Yeah, there have been times when I've been tempted. What guy hasn't? But I've always known which side of the toast has the butter on it and I've always been very careful about what I do. Still, it was apparent that Vicky was convinced I was playing around.

So what do I do? Well, there was only one thing to do really and that was, go to bed. Look, I'd been up since before six Friday morning and now it was four-thirty Saturday Morning. So to bed I went.

Yep, just a calmly as that. Look, I got where I am in business by not letting my emotions get the better of me. Once I knew what the problem was, I could relax a little knowing that I could quickly put Vicky's mind at rest. All I had to do was prove to her that she had got it all wrong and - bingo - crisis over.

+++++++++++++++

But when I got into bed I found I couldn't sleep. Questions came into my head that I didn't expect. If Vicky thought I was cheating on her, why didn't she challenge me about it? Now that was a good point. Could it be because she had expected me to be cheating? But why would she do that? One thing I had learnt over the years was that people expect others to behave as they do. Now hang on a just minute, could Vicky think I was cheating on her because she had been playing around on me and then having got suspicious of me for some reason she had assumed I was cheating on her.

I was out of bed like a shot at that thought. This was serious stuff! Before I knew it I was tearing the bloody house apart looking for anything that would give any hint that Vicky had been unfaithful to me. I turned her sewing room upside down. There wasn't much point in searching her bedroom drawers - they were all empty.

Then I hit the computer. It took me hours to search that. I broke her passwords for her e-mails pretty quickly and then spent hours going through the Internet history files. A complete waste of bloody time, but necessary. I found absolutely nothing besides Vicky's hunt for a divorce lawyer; she had made that on the Thursday. But I could find no sign that she had actually contacted the solicitor she had apparently chosen. 

I got a wicked idea; the only way to win a battle is to take the offensive. It was an off chance but I thought I'd give it a try anyway; at just after 9 Am, I e-mailed the people she had obviously chosen asking them to act on my behalf in a divorce case. There was a faint chance that Vicky hadn't actually spoken to them yet. I was lucky; within minutes of my e-mail going off, they replied asking me to come into the office ASAP, so that's what I did.

Just after 10 AM on the Saturday morning, I handed Maria Grant a cheque and she was from that moment on my solicitor. Vicky couldn't have realised that some solicitors work on Saturdays. After I told Maria what I had found at home and showed her the letter, she asked me whether I had ever cheated on my marriage. I told her that I loved my wife and done nothing since we had been married that I thought would put my marriage in jeopardy. Maria told me to sit tight; I should try to find out where Vicky had gone and have a talk to her. Maria thought it was probably just a misunderstanding and that everything could all be sorted out with a little communication between us.

I went back home and started the hunt for Vicky. I called her parents and brother but they both said they had not heard from her and she wasn't with them. Apparently she hadn't told them anything. The same went for her sister, but I had figured she lived much too far away for Vicky to have gone there anyway. Vicki's family, although she had apparently kept them in the dark about having left me, immediately took sides and clamed up on me once I told them why she had left.

The next call I made I wasn't looking forward to but I knew it was really my best bet. It was to Vicki's friend Chantelle. Chan has been divorced twice, and to be honest I don't blame the guys; Chantelle can be a sweet as a peach one minute but can turn into a complete bitch the next. Vicky and Chan had been friends since their school days. Whenever Chantelle wasn't with one of her many suitors (she was one good-looking man-eater) she would normally be with Vicky.

Vicky and Chan would have a girl's night out every couple of weeks or so and it wasn't unusual for Vicky to call me up, and ask me to pick her up as Chan had scored. Vicky and I would often laugh about it. You see, I had always thought I could trust Vicky. The moment Chantelle found herself a guy, Vicky would call me in as backup.

I dialled Chantelle's number and immediately knew I'd hit pay dirt. Chantelle started sounding off at me the moment she heard my voice. I quietly demanded to speak to Victoria, but Chan denied that she was there. I felt sure she was, as it was the only place left that she could have gone to and Chantelle's rant told me she knew all about Vicky having left me. After about five minutes I gave up and hung up the phone.

The old emotions rose again, so it was outside again for another pipe full. Whilst out there I got myself under control and started thinking again. Vicky was playing games; this running off bit without talking to me was designed to wind me up. Well, it wasn't going to wind me up anymore. I'd done nothing I had to be ashamed of. Right, Vicky, if you wanted to play games; I'll bloody well play games.

I stormed back into the house and phoned the twins. They were totally flabbergasted when I told them that their mother had walked out on me. Of course I told them that I had done nothing that I could think of to cause Vicky to leave me and I'm pretty sure I had them convinced. I also told them that I thought Vicky was staying at Chantelle's and then I said that as far as I was concerned she could stay there. The girls said they thought it was all just a silly misunderstanding and that their mother would soon come to her senses.

I know I really shouldn't have brought the girls in on this. But it was silly games we were playing and I knew they would give their mother a good dressing down over it. Then I went hunting in the garage. 

When we bought the house, I had changed the barrels in the outside door locks, for two reasons really. One was we didn't know if we had been given all the keys to the house and the other so that we had a matched set of barrels. All the outside doors had the same key. It saves having lots of keys to carry around. Euro-lock barrel only takes a few minutes to fit. Now I changed all the barrels back to the originals, then disabled the garage door opener and bolted the shutter down.

Vicky wanted out! Well now she was bloody well out now and she couldn't get back in. Whilst I was fiddling with shutter on the garage, old man Blake, my neighbour from across the road, came over to me. He and his Mrs are a nosy pair of buggers, so I guess they'd seen Vicky moving and had come across to see what gossip he could pick up.

He got very little out of me, but I found out that a Ryder's rental truck had appeared Friday morning and two guys and a woman helped Vicky take a lot of stuff from the house. The two guys drove off in the truck and Vicky followed in her Saab. The other woman drove off in a pink VW Beetle. I was right - it was Chantelle! That obnoxious little pink Beetle belonged to her.

That night I drew all the curtains downstairs in the house and closed the blinds in the garage windows. From the outside no one could see in, but I could look out from the upstairs windows, and I could see the front door and drive through the security CCT system. I'd put that in a few years back so Vicky could see who was at the door when I wasn't at home.

Then I called Chantelle again.

"I told you, David! Victoria is not here. I don't know where she is and, if I did, I wouldn't tell you anyway, you cheating bastard."

"That's perfectly all right, Chan, I understand. I just want you to give Vicky a message for me; if you should happen to see her, that is. Tell her that as she has chosen to believe some stupid rumour without even speaking to me, I don't think I want to know where she has gone. In fact I don't think I want to see her again. If by any chance you do hear from her, can you ask her to let me know where I should have my solicitor send the divorce papers? I'm intending to divorce her for desertion. We'll just see who gets the short end of the stick in her little game now."

"You can't do that. She going to divorce you for adultery."

"Before she can do that, Chantelle, I actually have to have committed adultery with someone and as I know I have and haven't done, I think I'm pretty safe on that score. Now don't you go fretting that little head of yours, the divorce will be settled in my favour because Vicky has taken it in her head to desert me. I've got a stupid letter here from her saying she is doing just that. My solicitor tells me that's all I'm going to need."

"But! I, you, you were seen..."

I hung up and then pulled the plug on the phone. That little slip of the tongue by Chantelle was all I needed to hear. She had said "I" and then changed her mind and said "You were seen," from that last half a sentence. I figured it was Chantelle who thought she had seen me with another woman somewhere. Now, would Chan tell Vicky exactly what I had said and would that put doubt into Vicki's mind?

I went into the kitchen and made myself a meal. Then after it was completely dark outside I slipped out the back door and walked around the house to make sure that no one could see inside. Vicky wanted to play games, so games we would play. Then I settled myself on the computer to entertain myself until the fun I hoped was going to start actually did.

It was eight thirty when I saw Vicki's Saab pull into the drive on the CCT. Vicky must have had a change of plan. I could see her sitting in the car watching the house for a while. Then Chantelle walked up and joined her in the car. Chantelle must have arrived in her own car and parked it in the street where I couldn't see it; it appeared Vicky was hedging her bets. I hoped she was thinking that maybe she didn't have enough evidence if it came to a court battle or that maybe she had it wrong. In any case I guess she was hoping she was back to stay, if she were living in the house I wouldn't be able to claim she had deserted me.

After waiting about fifteen minutes, Vicky got out of the car and tried to unlock the front door. I realised she had probably been trying to get the garage door to open with the remote control, but had finally given up. Of course her key wouldn't fit the lock. Vicky rang the doorbell a couple of times and even called out to me through the post box. Chantelle got out of the Saab and joined her. I could hear them talking but other than hearing Chantelle say, "Try the other door," nothing else was clear enough.

They both passed out of the CCT's range and shortly I heard them at the kitchen door. Then the patio doors not five feet from me. The next minute they were back at the front door. After trying the front door yet again, Vicky went over and tried to pull up the garage shutter by hand. After giving that up as a bad job, the two of them went back to the Saab and stood by it for sometime having an animated conversation. That ended when Chantelle walked away and Vicky got back into her car. 

For the next half an hour, Vicky sat there apparently making repeated calls on her mobile phone. But not actually talking to anyone. I could only assume she was making alternate calls to the house phone, but the line was tied up because I had the computer on the internet, and my mobile phone that I had switched off. Then Chantelle returned carrying a McDonald's bag. She joined Vicky in the Saab and they stayed there until well after midnight when quite suddenly they drove away.

Sticking my head around the curtain I saw that they had left Chantelle's VW parked in the street. So I assumed they planned on coming back the following morning. All day Sunday they sat out there in the drive with Chantelle making numerous trips to Macdonald's, which is not too far away. Once again they left just after midnight but this time they took Chantelle's car as well. I assumed that Chantelle needed it to get to work the following morning.

I was up and out of the house very early on the Monday, just in case Vicky turned up again. I went out to the Motorway service area where I got myself a questionable breakfast. Then I sat reading the daily papers until it was time for me to go to work. Unusually for me, I was the first one in that morning. I figured the game would come to an end today. Vicky was bound to call me at the office. But I figured I'd got some payback for her giving me the fright she had on the Friday night.

Sure enough, five past nine my phone rang.

"David, where the hell have you been?" Vicky demanded, "I've been trying to get into the house all weekend."

This verbal attack upset me again. To be honest I was expecting a very contrite Victoria that morning.

"I wouldn't suggest you try to get into the house again, Vicky. You don't live there anymore, remember, and as the house is much too big for me alone I've rented it out." A lie of course but it had the desired effect. Vicky went loopy.

"Are you mad? You've can't have rented it out. Why the hell would you do that?"

"Now look, Vicky, we've got a very expensive court battle coming up, the rent on the house will help pay for it."

"You've gone bloody crazy."

"No, Vicky, you went bloody crazy when you started all of this! You accused me of cheating on you. You called me all those names in that stupid letter. And you wouldn't talk to me while you were hiding at Chantelle's house."

"David, we have to talk."

"It's a bit late for talk now, Vicky. Talk time was Friday evening. Now it's the lawyers' make money time."

"So that's it. You're not even sorry for what you've done. You're just happy to see the back of me after twenty years?" 




Nemesis - Dave?



"Wow, hold on there, girl. First off I've got nothing to be sorry about; you were the one that did the walking out bit. You were the one who left the stupid note that nearly gave me a bleeding heart attack. And it was you who started talking about divorce. Now I suggest you go and see that solicitor you were so quick to threaten me with and find out what he has to say. Then call me back and give me his details so that I can pass them on to mine. Good bye, Victoria."

I hung up the phone. Was I pushing things too far? Well, yes, I suppose I probably was. But as far as I'm concerned there is only one thing worse than finding your spouse is playing around behind your back and that's when the person you love doesn't have the trust in you that they should have.

I made a couple of telephone calls that I thought were necessary, the first to Ryder's truck rental; there were a couple of things I needed to check out with them. They gave me a number and I had a long conversation with a very contrite little man. I'd meet him once at one of Chantelle's parties; I think I scared the shit out of him. Then I made an international call and covered that angle.

Half an hour later I got a call from Maria Grant. She was a little annoyed with me.

"Mr Polson, we've just had a visit from your wife and I very much suspect that you knew she had intended to retain me today to act on her behalf."

"Well, yes, I did suspect that was what she was planning to do. But as you are the best divorce lawyer around here, I thought it would be much better if you were acting for me instead."

"My clerk has sent her to another practice. I'll warn you they are very good and expensive."

"Maria, no offence intended, but can you tell me of a solicitor who isn't expensive."

"No offence taken David. It's your money; you can say what you like. But why aren't you talking to her and sorting this mess out."

"The answer to that is all in a name. Victoria is calling me David. That means she is angry with me. She would not hear what I say when I tell her I did not have an affair. She doesn't want to believe me. If she did, she would have called me Dave. It's as simple as that. Victoria has never called me David."

"I'm not sure I understand your logic. But I really think you two should get together and talk."

"Well, I am prepared to do that when Victoria is willing to listen. But then I've got some rather important questions to ask her. If I don't get the answers I want, you will be handling our divorce anyway."

"David, do you have reason to believe your wife has been unfaithful to you or something?"

"Not really, but she appears to have been pretty quick to believe that I would be. I've always found that people expect others to behave as they do themselves. I just got to thinking, has Victoria been as faithful to me as she expects me to be to her. She appears to be condemning me very quickly."

"I think I see your logic now. But it's not one I've come across before."

"Well, we will see what happens, shall we? I'll call you later, Maria."

I didn't get much work done for the rest of the morning and it wasn't until going on twelve that Vicky called me back.

"Dave, we have to talk."

Straight away, I came off of the offensive and agreed to meet her at two o'clock in the pub down the road from my office. At first Vicky appeared surprised at what she thought was my sudden capitulation. But when she returned to calling me David, I realised I still had a fight on my hands.

I was sat in a quiet corner when Vicky entered the bar. She came directly over and sat down opposite me although I had left her room in the booth to sit beside me.

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink?" she asked.

"No, you can buy your own bloody drinks. Remember you walked out on me. You don't need me!"

Vicky was taken aback. I think she still thought I had cheated on her and would therefore be the one on the defensive. She got up and went to the bar to buy herself a drink.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" she demanded when she returned.

"Victoria, I haven't got the foggiest idea what has got into you. Just what you think I should be apologising for, I don't know."

"You were in Blackpool last weekend with some little tart. You were seen so don't try to deny it."

"Victoria, last week I was in Edinburgh. You know that, I spoke to you several times."

"I know nothing of the kind. I spoke to you on your mobile phone; you could have been in bloody Timbuktu for all I knew. And I've been told you were in Blackpool with a woman."

"Victoria, I was working. You know my itinerary; it's the same four times a year. Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen. Three days in each. I've been doing the same thing for nearly five years now."

"But you were seen in Blackpool."

"Okay, Victoria, who saw me in Blackpool. Whoever told you they saw me there is either mistaken or lying to you. Why would anyone go to bloody Blackpool at this time of year anyway? It must be bleeding freezing up on that coast at this time of year."

"To see the lights! Chantelle went on a coach trip last weekend to see the Blackpool illuminations and to do some shopping for Christmas. She saw you and the little slut you were staying with. She said you were so engrossed in her that you walked right past her a couple of times and she followed the pair of you up to your room."

"Chantelle. I thought as much. Vicky, how long have I known Chantelle?"

"Since you've known me I suppose."

"And do you think I would not notice Chantelle if I was staying in the same hotel as her for ... oh, yes, how long was I supposed to be sharing a hotel with her?"

"The weekend. She went up on a weekend trip. Friday to Monday."

"Where is your logic, Victoria? Chantelle is not my favourite person. But she does have presence. Do you think that any man would not notice those sexy short skirts she wears? Or that pair of Bristols that come around the corner ten minutes before she does."

I think I told you Chantelle was a looker. No guys ever miss Chantelle. Unfortunately quite a few guys have found that out, to their cost.

Victoria looked slightly confused. I think the argument was about over and she was about to capitulate and start apologising, when the door flew open and Chantelle strode into the bar. She made a beeline for our booth and then to my surprise plonked herself in the seat next to me trapping me in. With a look of triumph on her face she produced a small folder of the type they put photographic prints in.

"Right, you bastard, explain this away!" She demanded as she pulled a print out of the folder and shoved it under my nose.

I did a quick double take on the print and then started smiling. I took the print from Chantelle's hand and turned it towards Victoria.

"Oh, didn't you recognise May-Ling, Victoria? Isn't that kind of Chantelle? Look, Victoria, Chantelle has taken some nice photos of May-Ling. I hope you took some of my brother as well Chantelle. Do you know, Chan, I really didn't know they were in the country; did you, Vicky? I suppose their ship must have docked in Liverpool and Philip must have taken May-Ling up to see the Blackpool illuminations as well. You know their ship normally docks in Amsterdam."

My twin brother is married to May-Ling, a beautiful little Chinese girl he met in Singapore some years ago. They live on a container ship where he holds the post of first mate. The ship spends so little time in port that a lot of the married members of the crew have their spouses with them. Oh, and by the way my brother and I are identical twins, just like my daughters. Twins runs in my family, handy that! Vicky was crying then and Chantelle was sitting there with her mouth open. So I continued.

"Did you say hello to Phil, Chantelle? If I remember correctly you had the hots for him at our wedding. But that was a long time ago, wasn't it."

Now both of them were crying. Vicky because she had fucked up big time and Chantelle I supposed because she was upset that she'd dropped Vicky in it. I sat and sipped my beer whilst the two of them regained their composure.

After a little while, they stopped crying, but it was obvious that they had no idea of what to say. Chantelle was the first to pluck up the courage.

"Dave, I'm sorry I forgot all about Phil. I really thought it was you. The pair of you are so alike," Chantelle finally said.

"Well, we would be alike; we are identical twins after all. And I wouldn't worry about not remembering Phil though, Chan. I doubt he would remember a slag like you." That was a little uncalled for, but I was still playing very angry.

"I'm so sorry, Dave!" Vicky now appeared to have regained her courage. "I just didn't think of Phillip. Can you forgive me for being so stupid? You must see how it looked."

"No, I bloody can't!" I said angrily, both girls suddenly had very shocked expressions on their faces. "I've got a question for you, Vicky. Why? Why would you even think that I would cheat on you? We have been married for nineteen years. During that time have I ever given you reason to doubt me?"

"No, Dave, you've been a wonderful husband and a great father to our girls."

"Then, what made you so damn sure I was running around on you? And before you answer that, think; don't go telling me it was because Chantelle had told you. That would mean you trusted her more than you do me. I was your husband, the guy who has clothed you and fed you for the last nineteen years. The guy who came running to find you when you're so called friend here found herself a stud for the evening on your night outs together. Which I have never objected to, by the way."

Vicky sat there and stared at me. Obviously she'd taken in my warning and was thinking before she spoke. I waited for a little while before I continued again.

"Why were you in such a hurry to believe I would cheat on you? Could it be because you have been getting up to things you shouldn't behind my back in the past? You know, people tend to assume that others will behave as they do themselves. You see, the idea had never struck me in the past. I might be dumb or something but it never dawned on me that you would cheat on me when you were out with this slut. Because I could never imagine myself cheating on you, so I always believed you wouldn't cheat on me either.

"But you've moved the goal posts, Vicki, and changed all that now! I'm thinking I was being bloody naïve. Without a second thought, you assumed that I was cheating on you. You never bothered to challenge me or anything. Your friend told you I was cheating and you accepted it as fact, without question.

"Alright, now convince me you have never cheated on me. All those times you came home at two or three in the morning. And the times you stayed over at Chan's place. Come to that, what did you get up to whilst I was away?"

"Oh, god, Dave, I've never cheated on you. Honestly!" Victoria finally exclaimed.

"Oh, so you say. But if that's so who were those two arseholes who drove that bloody Ryder truck on Friday and why did you kiss the little prick."

I saw Vicky literally jump when I said she had kissed the guy.

"They are a couple of guys from Chantelle's office. She asked them to help me."

"Oh, yeah, and how did you pay them for their help when they got your stuff back to Chantelle's house? The same way Chantelle pays for her favours?"

Vicky knew what I was on about. Chan had often told us how she pays to get her car serviced. I'd warned her many times that the garage owner's wife was one tough woman. I saw her in action once. Entertaining but a little demeaning – come on, most guys enjoy a good catfight. I'd never seen the girl she had caught her husband with again. 

"No. No! I wouldn't do that, I just gave Mike a little kiss on the cheek to thank him for his help that's all. It was nothing just a little peck." 

"Yeah, but that was in public, where the whole world could see you. What did he get in private back at Chantelle's place?"

"Nothing, Dave, you've got to believe me; they just unloaded the van and left. They had to get the van back."

"If that is so, can you explain just why you were surcharged then? That van wasn't returned until ten on Saturday morning. When you book a van over the internet, girl, they send the paperwork back by email. I've read that email; that van was not returned until ten o'clock Saturday morning. So just what really happened? Now I've got to get out of here before I lose my temper. Let me out of here, Chantelle, before I push you out of the bleeding way."

Chantelle stood up and I pushed past her. I turned back to Victoria. 

"I'm going to accept nothing but the whole truth from you. I've got plenty of friends out there who go to those same clubs you and the slut here have been going to. You had better decide very quickly whether you wish to try and save our marriage. At the moment, I don't give a damn either way. But if someone comes up with any stories about what you have been up to in the last few years, you had better make sure you have told me about it first. Be at the house tonight at eight tonight. I'll give you an hour to explain anything you need to." Then I walked out of the bar. 

Look, I'm not daft and I don't think Victoria is really. Although I had never asked them to, my friends had always kept a very good eye on Vicky and Chantelle when they were on their nights out. Well, they would keep a good eye on Chan; it's common knowledge that she's a slapper. But I had been told that Victoria had got herself a nickname in the clubs. She was known as the Ice Maiden. Vicky was known to be great for a laugh on the dance floor but that was as far as it ever went. Vicky's trouble now was that she didn't know just who all my friends were and what kind of a slant they would put on what they told me. If she had been misbehaving, she would have to tell me herself tonight.

Having taken a late lunch I decided that there wasn't much point in going back to the office so I began to make my way back home. Once home I'd plugged the phone back in before I'd gone out that morning and I was greeted as I entered the house with the answer-phone message light flashing at me. There were a couple of messages early in the day that Vicky had obviously left before she called me at work. They were of the demanding to know where I was and why couldn't she get into the house variety.

Then there was a call from Ricky Morris. Ricky and I had been at school together. We weren't exactly friend's back then, but let's just say that on the quiet, it was with my help he got such good marks for his home work. Ricky liked to play the tough man when he was with his mates. But really he wanted to do well at school and I kind of acted as a private tutor for him.

"Dave! I've been trying to call you all the bleeding weekend. What's the story, mate? Victoria and Chantelle were at the club Friday night. Chantelle was telling everyone that you two have separated. Give me a call will you? I need to know how you want to play things?"

I returned Rick's call, but before I had a chance to say anything he announced he was coming over straight away and hung up on me. Within ten minutes his car pulled into my drive.

As I said Ricky is a hard man who, in his younger days, had gotten into quite a bit of trouble with the police. He'd sorted himself out quite nicely once he joined a good gym where he'd gotten into amateur boxing. That somehow had led to him becoming a bouncer at one of the bigger local nightspots and over time he had finished up as the manager of the place. Some say that he is also part owner of a couple of the local nightspots, which I wouldn't put past him.

Anyway Ricky has a soft spot for me as I said; he has always looked after my interests as far as Vicky was concerned. He would often call me at work or sometimes he'd pop into the pub where I had lunch and without my asking he would subtly tell me just who Vicky had been dancing with and who if anyone had tried to get it on with her. I'm pretty sure that if any guy had ever persuaded her to go outside, Ricky or his bouncers would have had something to say about it. It had been Ricky who had told me that Victoria had the nickname the Ice Maiden.

Rick turned down my offer of beer as he was working later, so we settled for some coffee.

"Right, Dave, what the fuck is going on between you and Vicky? She was in the club Friday and Chantelle was telling every one that the pair of you had separated. She said that you were bonking some little chink bit in Blackpool last weekend or something."

"Don't tell me. Chantelle went up Blackpool last week and apparently Phillip was up there with his misses. Chantelle thought it was me and the bitch told Victoria. I came back from Aberdeen to find that Vicky had moved out on me, without a by your leave."

"Oh, fuck, but you soon put her right, didn't you?"

"Well, not exactly, Rick. Let's just say we are playing mind games at the moment. I got pretty pissed off that Vicky hadn't spoken to me about it first. I was wondering if she has been playing around behind my back."

"Hey, no chance there, man. No one gets into Vicky's pants, I'm 100% on that one. When some of the studs heard there was trouble between you two, they thought they might get lucky Friday night. But from what I heard the ice was a damn sight colder than usual. Vicky and Chan left well before closing time. Oh, and the taxi took the two of them straight home to Chantelle's place. I had a word with the driver; I thought you would want to know."

"Thanks Ricky, it's good to have friends."

"All part of the service, Dave. Hey it's about time you came down to the club anyway. You never come in to see the boys nowadays."

From then on the conversation dropped back into what old friends were up to and that kind of thing. Before we knew, it was almost eight o'clock and Ricky said he had better to get to the club. Ricky was just leaving, when Victoria pulled into the drive.


I saw Victoria do a double take on Ricky as he reversed out. She had a confused look on her face as she had obviously recognised him, but she had no idea that I knew him. I was standing in the doorway as she walked up the steps.

"Wasn't that, Morris, the manager at the Star-light?" she asked. "What was he doing here?"

"Ricky Morris, you mean? Yeah, he's an old friend of mine. He came around to commiserate with me over our upcoming divorce. Come in and sit in the kitchen, I've got some coffee on the go."

I followed Vicky into the kitchen and managed to beat her to the coffee pot. This was my house now and I'd poor the bloody coffee.

"Look, Dave, this is silly. I realise you're annoyed at me, but you're being childish about it. Chantelle was sure it was you she saw. How was she to know that Phillip and May-Ling were in the country? What else would you have thought in my situation?"

"I would have thought that Chantelle had made a mistake, until I had checked up on things myself. But you didn't check up, did you? You decided to leave me."

"Look, Dave, I was wrong. I'll admit that. But why did you lock me out of the house?" 

"Because you decided it was no longer your house and left it. When you walked out that door on Friday, you effectively ended our marriage."

Don't be silly, Dave. I was angry and I was trying to teach you a lesson. I realise it was a stupid thing to do. Look, I'm sorry and I want to come back home.

"Well, you made the bed, now you had better get used to laying on it." 

"You mean you're not going to let me move back in."

"No."

"But why not."

"Because I don't believe you or at least I don't trust you. Tell me when did Chantelle tell you she had seen Phillip in Blackpool?"

"Tuesday when she came back. Why do you ask?"

"Before I spoke to you on the phone that night or after?"




Nemesis - Dave?



"After."

"So on Wednesday when I called you, you knew that Chan thought she had seen me or rather Phillip."

"Yes."

So why didn't you challenge me on Wednesday evening? Better than that, why didn't you call me back on Tuesday after Chan told you? Why did you act as if nothing was wrong?

"I don't know. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about it then."

"But you made up your mind, didn't you? You decided life would be better without me. You thought you were going to get it all, didn't you. All our savings and a good chunk of my pension as well. I didn't matter; it was only the money you were worried about."

"Oh, my god, no, Dave. Where the hell did you get that idea? I just wanted to throw a scare into you. Honestly."

"So if you were just throwing a scare into me, why take all that furniture? Just you not being here would be a scare. You didn't have to empty half the bloody house."

"You are right, it was overdoing things but Chan said it would make you think I was serious."

"Oh, Chan again. It always comes back to Chan. Do you know that nearly all of the disagreements we've had over the years have come down to Chan and the ideas she puts into your head? And there's one other point. If Chantelle had told you she had seen me with a Chinese girl, what would you have thought?"

"I would have immediately thought of Phil."

"But Chan never told you the girl she claimed she saw me with was an oriental, did she?"

"I suppose she didn't notice. You have to admit May-Ling's features aren't that strong."

"So why the bloody hell was Chantelle telling all the guys down the club that I was shacked up with a little chink bird?"

"She can't have known. She said she didn't know that the girl was Chinese until you pointed out on those photos in the pub and she only got those back from the laboratory this morning."

"Don't ask me. Ask Ricky next time you see him, or any of your fancy men down at the club. They'll tell you what Chan was telling everyone. I think Chantelle knew it was May-Ling and Philip when she saw them. I just can't figure out why she told you she didn't recognise them."

"But why would she do that?" 

"I don't know, Victoria. She's your bloody friend. You tell me what she was trying to achieve and why."

"But she seemed so sure. It was her idea for me to move out of the house."

Vicky sat there silently staring into space for a long time. I got up and poured myself a drink.

"Can I have one of those?" she asked. I poured her a Scotch and soda.

"Dave, can I ask you something?"

"Anything you like?"

"But will you be honest with me"

"I've always been honest with you. Well, there were a couple of times when I had to lie to you when I was planning surprises. Like our tenth anniversary honeymoon."

"No, this is serious. I need you to tell me the truth. Have you ever made a pass at Chan since we've been married?"

"Now who's trying to be funny? Of course I haven't. Do I look daft? God knows what you could catch off her. She never has been choosy."

"And what about Fran Cooper, your old secretary?"

"Fran? Are you mad? You've met her husband. What do you think I've got - a bloody death wish?"

"So you've never made a pass at Chan and you never had anything going with Fran."

"Don't be silly! Why do you ask?"

"You definitely never kissed Fan."

"Well, of course I kissed her a few times. If I remember, I thought her old man was after your tonsils a few times under the mistletoe at those Christmas do's."

"No, I mean beside at the Christmas parties. Everyone kisses under the mistletoe."

"You're being silly again! Only a fool would mix business with pleasure and besides that I was very happy with the woman I had."

"Bugger, I've been such a fool."

"I'll make no comment on that, but it's cost you more than you'll ever know."

Vicky looked at me with the look that should have sent me dashing over there to comfort her. My heart went out to her, but I was still trying to retain the moral high ground. I was still playing the put upon husband.

Then she turned on the tears. Oh, fuck, I lost the battle! I'd had a hard enough problem walking out of the pub earlier in the day when she started crying. A bad tactical mistake Vicky had made there. If she had sat beside me, I would have capitulated then. I moved over and sat beside her putting my arm around her shoulders. After what seemed like an age she stopped crying.

"You never have done anything that you're ashamed of in our marriage, have you?"

"What do you think babe?"

"Then why?"

"Why what, Vicky."

"Why would Chan tell me you had? Why would she tell me she had seen you with Fan?"

"You had better ask her that one, Victoria. She's your friend."

"No, she's not. Not anymore, she isn't. I don't know why but every doubt I've had about you in our married life I can trace back to Chan."

"What bloody doubts?"

"Oh, suspicions about you playing around when you're away from home, and that you had something going on with Fan."

"Do bloody what? Why the hell have you never said anything in the past?"

"Because I love you. I didn't want to bring anything to a head. I thought I'd let things slide and you would come back to me."

"I'd never leave you, Vicky. I love you too much."

"I know that now. I should have always known it. I'm sorry, Dave, I haven't been a very good wife. I haven't given you the trust I should have. Can you forgive me?"

"Ooh, now there's a question. But I don't think it's for me to answer. I think you need to answer that yourself. Look into your heart and work out why you thought I would be unfaithful to you. When you can figure that one out, I think you'll have your answer."

Vicky reached into her bag and retrieved her mobile phone. Deliberately she dialled a number.

"Chantelle, you are no longer a friend of mine. I never want to see you or hear from you again...Shut up and listen, you bitch. I'm calling you because if I met you in person I'm not sure I could control myself; I might kill you or something. All my life I listened to you. Now I realise you have always been trying to drive a wedge between me and my husband. You've lied to me so many times I can't count them. No, stay out of my life from now on."

Vicky looked up at me. "Can I bring my bags in out of the car now?"

"No, we'll go straight to bed. I've missed you for the last couple of weeks and you'll definitely not need any night clothes tonight."

We went up to bed and spent the night trying to relive our honeymoon. I think it was one of the best nights we ever had. In the morning I made arrangements to have our furniture collected from the storage unit Victoria had hired.

We dropped back into our old life. Oh, there were the solicitors' bills to pay but at least Chan was out of our lives. I think it was worth every penny. 

It was some time before Vicky figured out what Chan's problem was. Vicky ran into an old friend one day who told her that before Vicky and I were married. Chan had told her she had a crush on me and she intended steeling me from Victoria. Well, that never happened. I do remember Chan coming on a bit strong but, as I have said, I always figured her to be a slut so I steered clear.

Vicky and I intend to grow old together. And we talk about our feelings lot more nowadays. Oh I'm a regular at Ricky's club most weeks now. But the Ice Maiden dances a lot more than I do.

As for Chantelle, I don't think either Victoria or I have seen her since. 

It was the night of our next anniversary. I'd been away on one of trips. Vicky attacked me as I entered the front door. She then started dragging me up to the bedroom discarding her clothes as she went. Once in the room she pushed me down onto the bed and attacked my belt, within moments she had removed my trousers and underpants whilst I removed my shirt. I must add I don't remember her removing my shoes and socks, maybe she removed them after her lips clamped down on the old John Thomas. But by that time I was beyond caring.

I watched her head rise and fall as she tried to force as much of me as possible down her throat. What's the old comment she could suck a billiard ball down a hose-pipe? Well, that's what it felt like she was trying to do.

God, Vicky gives bloody good head. Far better either that Fran or Chantelle. Maybe not quite as good as that little Chinese bird up in Blackpool though. Mind you it was bloody lucky for me that she looked so much like May-Ling. I nearly cocked things up in a big way there.

Oh, by the way, I did try Chantelle out just before I got married Vicky. Come on, there are advantages to being an identical twin, but really Chan was all show and not much action. I think she must have gotten a little pissed off with Phil when I told her she wasn't that good in bed. Well, I never did like the bitch. I'm just wondering if Chan ever worked out that Phil and I pulled the switch on her. If she did, she was the only one, well I think? But it might explain why she tried to put the boot in.

Look, I have said that I consider myself a bloody gentleman. But I've never said anything about having a flawless character though.

He Who Dare's Wins!

Life goes on. Just a little more carefully.



Nemesis - Fiona



Nemesis - Fiona

The Wanderer

As always I must thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for proof reading and editing this story.

"Damn this bloody rush-hour traffic," I thought, as I sat in the queue of cars and buses. All I wanted to do was get home and go to bed. I'd been called away with my two assistants to deal with a major breakdown at one of my company's production plants up north three days ago. After working around the clock, we had finally gotten the line up and running again on Thursday afternoon. The three of us who had gone up to sort out the problem had gotten our heads down in an office for a few hours whilst the workers on the line got back to earning some real money. At about four in the morning, we figured that this time we'd finally cured the problem so we decided to drive home. 

I'd dropped one of my assistants off at his house and was now trying to force my way through the morning traffic to drop Ronnie off. But something had brought the traffic almost to a standstill in the High Street. As I got closer to the hold-up I realised that some Pratt had parked on the double yellow lines. 

The High Street in our town is quite old and very narrow; just one thoughtlessly parked car can cause all kinds of problems. Especially at that time of day! As I got closer, I noted that the car was one of those bloody great "Shogun's."  Mary, my wife Fiona's best friend, drives one of those and I wondered if that was who it was. It was just the kind of ignorant thing Mary would do; I never had been too keen on her. She thought her shit didn't stink.

Then suddenly I became aware of Fiona walking back towards the Shogun from the Pharmacy; carrying one of those little paper bags that they put medicine's in. Fiona went over to the Shogun and after giving some guy, who honked his horn at them, the finger, she got into the front passenger seat and the Shogun drove off.

I was still some distance away and Fiona hadn't apparently seen me but I was bloody curious as to what Fiona and Mary were doing out this early in the morning. I didn't say anything to Ronnie as I was sure he'd have made some stupid comment. After I dropped him at his house, I made my way home.

As I walked in the front door, I got the shock of my life; Fiona walked up to meet me wearing her dressing gown and looking, to the world, like she had just got out of bed. Even her hair was a mess.

"Hi, darling," she said as she put her arms around my neck and kissed me, "I'm assuming you'll want something to eat before you get your head down!"

Now I'm not the smartest guy in the world. But I didn't get off the fucking boat yesterday; somehow I got the feeling that something was just not kosher about my welcome home. Twenty fucking minutes previously, Fiona had been standing in the High Street dressed in a short black skirt and that purple blouse that I always thought she looked so nice in. 

Now she was standing in front of me looking for all the world like she'd just crawled out of bed, there were even traces of that bloody skin cream she puts on her face at night. And she had been brushing her tangled hair as I came through the door. Oh, and her mouth tasted of toothpaste. Not unusual I'll grant you; but Fiona is a creature of habit, she brushes her teeth after she has had her morning shower and her hair was still dry, so she couldn't have showered yet.

What to do? That was the question I was asking myself. Do I say something or do I wait and see what develops. Now I spend my life sorting out problems for my employer. I'm the cat's whiskers as far as my bosses were concerned when it comes to solving problems. My method is simple: when a problem comes up, you say and do as little as possible until you really understand what the problem is. Going off half-cocked rarely solves anything. As a matter of fact, it can often make things worse, if you do the wrong thing. 

No, you sit back and gather all the information you can before you commit yourself.

"No, don't worry yourself, Fiona. I'll just have a shower and get my head down for a few hours. Then I'll grab something later, on my way into the office. There's a couple of things that I had to drop on Tuesday that I need to get finished before the weekend."

"OK, babe, if you use our on-suite, I'll grab a shower in the guest room."

"Oh, aren't you going to join me? I've missed you the last couple of days. We could have a little fun." I'm not exactly sure why I said that; it could have been that I just wanted to see what Fiona would say.

"You'll be lucky, cowboy. I over-slept a bit this morning and I'm running late as it is. Once you get started, we'll in bed until lunchtime and I've got to get to the office! Don't forget we're going to Mary and Jim's engagement party tonight. I don't want to get there late."

"Don't worry, babe. I haven't got much to finish at the office. I'll probably be home before you are."

I've got to admit I was pleased with myself for my self-control. Inside I was bloody fuming but Fiona hadn't the slightest idea about that. I was pretty damn sure she had been out somewhere with Mary all bloody night and that when I had seen them, they had been on their way home. 

Fiona's high-speed change into her robe convinced me that she had most likely not been playing the contented and faithful wife while I had been out of town. Well, at the very least she must have been out all bloody night clubbing it. Not something a wife of eight years should do without her husband's knowledge.

We went to our respective showers, then I crawled into bed. Fiona came in and kissed me before she went off to her office. I lay there trying to get some sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. You know, when you get the idea that the person you trust most in the world is – well, l have to give her the benefit of the doubt, so I'll just say - not behaving as you would like, all sorts of scenarios go through your head. Most of them are very upsetting.

After an hour or so of not getting to sleep, I got up again, made some coffee and cooked myself some breakfast. Which promptly went down the waste disposal unit, as it appeared that for some reason I'd lost my appetite; as well as the ability to sleep.

The pictures of Fiona crossing that pavement and of her standing in the hall in her robe as I'd walked in the door kept going around in my mind. And then there was something else that was very odd; the chemist shop doesn't normally open until nine. How the hell had Fiona managed to buy something at 7:45 AM when I had seen her there. Then I remembered her friend Gemma. Gemma's parents owned that chemist's shop and Gemma had taken over as Pharmacist when she came back from UNI.

It was as I finished washing up my breakfast things that my mind turned in the direction it should really have gone a lot earlier. There on the crockery draining rack was a glass. What was so strange about that? Well, nothing really, but it was there. I'd managed to give myself a bit of a headache thinking about what the hell was going on with Fiona. So I took a couple of aspirins and that glass was just the right size for taking a drink to wash down some pills.

Suddenly I found I was thinking what the bloody hell did Fiona have in that paper bag I'd seen her carrying that morning. What was it that she'd been able to persuade Gemma to open up shop early to give her? What the hell could have been so urgent?

A search of the house was called for. The chemist's bag turned up quite quickly in the paper-for-recycling sack down in the cellar. Fiona really is one for saving the planet, a mistake, I think, on this occasion. But my search of the rest of the house proved fruitless at first. 

Then I thought about opening those unpleasant little bags that Fiona, – like most ladies – have reason to deposit in the trash bin for a few days every month. Luckily I didn't have to open and search any of them. The one I was after was conspicuous because it was the only one there. Mind you it would have stood out like sore-thumb anyway, as it appeared to have very little in it. Fiona, you should at least have had the sense to wrap the contents in a towel. 

When I opened the bag I found a little cardboard box and the push-out packaging that had contained two Levonelle pills, along with the usual side-effect warning sheet that came with them. For those of you who have not had reason to come across Levonelle pills before, they are more commonly known as "The Morning After Pill."

Well, there it was: Game, Set and Match. The end of my marriage all nicely wrapped up in a little paper pharmacy bag. After all, there is only one reason for taking the morning after pill and if you don't know what that is, boy, are you in trouble! All I had to do now was find out who the hell the other player in Fiona's little game was?

Ah, but the more sceptical of you might ask, "How do you know it wasn't Mary who had taken those bloody Levonelle pills?" Well, one-word covers that question. "Hysterectomy", and Mary's one of those women who loves to tell everyone and anyone about hers. She had some problem (no, I never did listen) when her second child was born. At the drop of a hat she will spend most of the evening going through the gory details. 

I've heard the start of that tale so many times I sometimes wonder if she isn't using it as a come-on for the guys. You know the idea - I can fuck until doomsday and never get pregnant again. Thinking about it, I wonder if that's what really happened to her marriage. Maybe her husband caught her playing the field and not the other way around as she tells the tale. It would explain why her ex has the kids.

Convinced that my marriage was soon to become history, I called into the bank on my way to the office and made a couple of subtle changes to our bank accounts. Nothing too drastic but enough for me to know my assets were safe. Luckily the mortgage on our house was in Fiona's name. The mortgage on our cottage in the New Forest was in mine. To be honest I think I was going to finish up with the better end of the deal on that one. 

As soon as I got to my office I called the big cheese. For some time he had been trying to talk me into taking over as the manager at the company's plant in Southampton. Really handy for the New Forest is Southampton. That day, I told him I was ready to make the move whenever he liked.

"Good man, Nick. That job is made for you," he said, "But I thought Fiona didn't want to move since she would have to give up her job. Have you persuaded her to change her mind?"

"Not really, Roger. I think Fiona's decided she would like a change of husband. Either that or she's of the opinion I'm the sort of bloke who will put up with her shagging someone else when I'm not around."

I could see that Roger was shaken for a moment and he didn't quite know what to say.

"Oh, Christ, Nick, are you sure? I wouldn't have thought Fiona would do anything like that."

"Neither did I, boss, that's why I married her. But I'm pretty sure some cunt has been shagging the arse off of her whilst I was in Preston this week."

"Bugger, I'm sorry."

"What the fuck are you sorry about? Unless you fucked her that is."

"Don't be bloody stupid, Nick. You know I wouldn't do anything like that. I mean I'm sorry, that I had to send you up there. If I hadn't you would have been home and she probably wouldn't have.... You know."

"Now that's not the way I look at things, Roger. If she cared so little about me that she went off and shagged some Pratt when I wasn't around for a couple of nights, she could do it anytime it took her fancy. Think how many times I have been away in the last couple of years. A dozen, two dozen nights maybe? Every time I've been away she could have been out partying for all I know. All I've got to discover is just who she was partying with last night." 

"You appear to be taking this very well, Nick. I think I'd be climbing up the bloody wall if I found out that my wife was cheating."

"Ah now, you see, boss. That's what you pay me for. When the shit hits the fan, I'm cool, calm and collected. I find what's got to be done and do it. But I'll be honest with you on the outside I'm cool and calm, on the inside I'm fucking-well pissed off."

"Well, you keep that cool, Nick, and don't go doing anything stupid. But can I do anything to help you?"

"Just clear a couple of weeks leave for me, and arrange my transfer to Southampton ASAP."

"You're on, Nick, the guy running things down there is on loan from the Salford plant. He can't wait to get back home. Say the word and you're in the chair."

"Shall we say two weeks on Monday? I'll go down now and clear up anything on my desk. What I leave, the boys can handle. Roger, I don't know whom you've got in mind to take over running my department. But I think Ronnie is your best bet. He hasn't been with us as long as some of the others but they all respect his judgement and listen to him."

"Reading from your appraisals of his work, he's in the frame. If you think he's the man for the job, I'll offer it to him. And Nick, you know this position in Southampton gets you a seat on the board, don't you?" 

"I sure do boss." I said as I left his office.

The rest of the day I spent clearing up some of the outstanding work on my desk and putting Ronnie in the picture over what remained. I couldn't tell him he was going to be offered my job. But I could make sure he didn't get any unpleasant surprises.

Things took a little longer than I expected and Fiona had gotten home before me.

"I thought you said you'd be home early tonight. I got off at four as I thought you might want to play a little before we went out tonight." 

"Sorry, babe I've had some things come up that I didn't expect. Look, babe, there's no time to play now if you want to get to the party on time. I'd better go wash and change."

"We could shower together." Fiona had that naughty look in her eye.

"Not now, babe, there will be plenty of time after the party." I still had no idea about who she had been shagging the night before and I had no intention of catching anything she might have picked up. So sex with Fiona was the last thing on my mind. 

On the way to the party I thought I'd see if she had any intention of coming clean and telling me what had happened. I figured that what ever had gone on the previous evening might have been a mistake on her part. Maybe it was something that she regretted now and she might want to clear her conscience.

"How'd it go while I was away?" I asked.

"How did what go?"

"Well, what did you do in the evenings while I was crawling around that bloody factory?"

Whether Fiona had worked out what she was going to say in advance or not, I don't know. But she wasn't caught off guard. I suppose she had taken into account that, although she'd called me during the afternoon on the Thursday and asked how things were going, I could well have called her at home in the evening and gotten no reply. 

"Oh, nothing much. When I told Mary you were still stuck up north, she suggested we go for a meal straight from work. Then we went for a drink before she drove me home. I think I over-did the gin and It's a bit. I was dead to the world this morning."

Very well done, Fiona, even if I did say so myself. She covered it all quite nicely. If I had called she could have been out with Mary and when Fiona's had a few, she sleeps like a log; the telephone has no chance of waking her. Now if I hadn't seen her outside the chemists I might have believed her.

"What pub did you go to?"

"The Plough. We had a meal in that little Indian place and then walked back to the Plough. We didn't plan on staying very long but they had the karaoke on last night so we sat and watched it. Poor old Mary couldn't drink much as she was driving. But I'm afraid, I over-did the hard stuff a bit."

All very plausible except that the Plough was the pub they all go to from Fiona and Mary's office. I doubted that they were in the Plough alone. Jim would have definitely been there anyway. Christ, the bugger almost lived in there. But Fiona hadn't mentioned Jim. I figured that Fiona went to that meal with both Jim and Mary and as Fiona hates playing gooseberry, I figured that someone else went along as well. I just had to work out whom?

Mary and Jim's engagement party was a big affair, held in a function room at a hotel on the edge of town. Well, it had to be - that was Jim all over; everything was over the top with Jim. He planned on being the head honcho at the office and he lived like he already was. 

Personally I thought that his company would be mad to put Jim in charge. Jim likes his drink a little too much. That's why Mary always did the driving. Jim had lost his driving licence to the dreaded breathalyser.

The party went off very well. The whole place was packed with people from Fiona's company. They are a crowd who likes a lot of socials and parties. This party was more like a company social. Fiona and I had been to so many gatherings with this crowd that I had gotten to know them all pretty well. I thought if I watched closely, somewhere along the way, I was going to spot who Fiona had been with the night before.

Actually it didn't take me very long to pick out the guy that I figured was the most likely candidate. Bruce Campbell had taken over as Fiona's supervisor a few months back and Fiona was always harping on about how she wasn't very keen on him. 

But in the past, that had never stopped her from dancing with him. That evening Campbell never came anywhere near Fiona; an unexplained change in behaviour. That was my first clue. My second clue came when I was standing at the bar waiting to be served. Campbell was standing behind me and in the mirror behind the bar, I watched him nudge the guy standing next to him and then smirk in my direction. 

Tenuous, I'll admit, but it was enough for me. Now all I had to do was bring the curtain down. I had been socialising with this crowd of arseholes for some years now, so I knew a lot of them. As the evening went on I figured I had to search out one particular guy. 

Ralph was a pain in the arse but he was going to be useful to me that evening because he's a guy who can't keep his bloody trap shut. I waited and watched him until I saw him go outside, I assumed for a smoke, so I followed him out. But when I got out on the veranda Ralph was nowhere in sight.

Curious I looked around for him but at first couldn't locate him. Then I heard a giggle come from somewhere. I went over to the balustrade and there below me was Ralph with one of the young secretaries. "Christ, are they all at it in this fucking firm?" I thought. But suddenly a new and better plan formed in my head.

I pulled out my mobile phone, then pretending I was unaware that Ralph and the girl were standing just below me, I made a call to my answering machine at home. The giggling stopped the moment they heard me push the first button on the keypad. Then I had a conversation with myself.

"Hi, Donny, how's it going?" 

"No, not to good. I heard the results this afternoon. They reckon it's quite serious but with time and luck they can cure it."

"No, no, it's not as bad as that. It's gonorrhoea! The only trouble is, it's a bloody penicillin- resistant strain. It's gonna take some time to cure it."

"Yeah, some special super strong antibiotic stuff they've got." 

"Well, I pity any silly bugger who's been banging her in the last few weeks. Mind, she must have picked it up from one of those arseholes in the first place."

"Fucked if I know how many she's been banging when I'm out of town. I know I wouldn't advise anyone to go near her with a bloody barge pole."

"Well, divorce is the only way out of it that I can see. Would you forgive her if she was your wife and you found out she was fucking anyone and everyone behind your back?"




Nemesis - Fiona



"I don't know. I should imagine the shit will hit the fan either sometime this evening or tomorrow morning. No, I can't do anything at the moment; we're at a friend of Fiona's, engagement party.

"Right, okay, mate, I'll speak to you tomorrow and let you know how it goes."

I walked back into the function room, hoping that Ralph had overheard everything I had said. If he knew or suspected that Campbell was shagging Fiona, I hoped he would fill in the blanks, put two and two together and come up with five. That's the trouble with nosy gossips - they will make the facts fit the story.

Fiona was sitting with some of her friends chatting, I doubt she had even missed me so I went over to the bar to get another soft drink. I don't drink alcohol when I'm driving.

I watched Ralph and his bit of stuff come back into the hall. The young woman went off to join her friends and they went straight into a little huddle. I assumed that the Dutch whispers had started. Ralph looked around the hall and located Campbell who was dancing with some woman. I watched Ralph circle the dance floor until he got to a point near Campbell from where he, not very subtlety, beckoned to him. But Campbell ignored him.

In the meantime I had managed to locate old man Gordon, the current big cheese at the company. Still watching Ralph I made my way over to him.

"Mr. Gordon."

"Oh, how are you, Nick? How are things going at Vitasound? You know, you would have done well to have taken that job I offered you with us. I'm retiring this year. I think you would have been the ideal candidate for my job."

"I've got a question to ask you, sir. Do you still have that non-fraternisation clause in the company contract?"

Old man Gordon's whole demeanour changed. "Nick, is there a problem I should know about?

"I'd like you to watch Ralph and Bruce Campbell for a moment, sir. I think Ralph is just about to tell Campbell something he is not going to like to hearing."

"Please don't talk in riddles. Nick, if something is going on, I need to know about it." 

"At the moment I have no proof sir but I think I'm just about to get some. Would you like to come with me?" 

Ralph and Campbell had been talking and I had watched Campbell suddenly draw himself up to his full height and spin around to look at Fiona. All the colour had drained from his face but as he stared at Fiona he began to turn very red. Bad news, alcohol and anger. Not a very good combination. Campbell had begun to walk towards Fiona as I had asked Mr. Gordon to follow me.

We arrived at the table just behind Campbell and he definitely wasn't aware of our presence.

"You fucking little tart!" Campbell shouted at Fiona, "If I've caught the fucking pox off of you, I'll fucking fire you, you little slut."

Fiona had turned bright red and just didn't know what to say.

"Mr. Campbell, do I take it from your statement that you and Mrs Blackie have, have ... er, been fraternising with each other?"

Campbell swung around and saw Mr. Gordon and myself standing there.

"Um, no sir, I was just saying ..." Campbell was trying to think of a cover story.

"From what I just overheard, it sounded to me very much like you were just accusing Mrs. Blackie of infecting you with an STD. There's only one way that can happen Bruce. Do you think I'm bloody stupid or something? I don't need to hear anymore. Not that I needed it, but I've just been reminded that there is non-fraternisation clause in your contract. You and Mrs. Blackie are both married so that invokes that clause. Both of you will be out of job on Monday morning."

"You can't do that!"

"Oh, can't I? Just you watch me. I'm sure quite a few of your colleagues as well as Mr. Blackie here heard your outburst. Take it to a tribunal and they will laugh you out the door."

Mr. Gordon turned to me. "I'm sorry about this, Nick, it must be all very upsetting and embarrassing for you. If I'd suspected anything, I would have taken action sooner."

"I realise that, sir, but I only found out myself today. I think I'm going home now if you don't mind."

As I turned away I saw that Fiona was sitting there with her head buried in her hands, sobbing loudly. The music had stopped and everyone in the place was watching us. I collected my coat and walked out through the hotel lobby.

When I got to my Discovery, I knew I was too hyped-up to drive. Don't you all go thinking that I'm a cold-blooded bastard; the whole day had been an emotional one for me. But I had managed to keep my temper in check. I lent against the car and lit a cigarette, whilst I cooled down a little.

Then I noticed Campbell and his wife came out of the hotel. Well, heard them really, Mrs. C. was giving Campbell a rather large piece of her mind and he was swearing back at her. When Campbell noticed me standing there, he forgot his wife and strode in my direction.

"You, you fucking bastard, you set me up didn't you. I'll fucking kill you, you little wanker."

"Oh, dear," I thought. Campbell, because he was somewhat bigger than me, thought that he had found someone to take his anger out on. His trouble was, Campbell had consumed quite a bit of alcohol that evening where I hadn't consumed any. Well that did give me a little bit of a problem, in that with his senses were somewhat dimmed and he wasn't going to feel the pain as much. So it would take him longer to realise that staying down was his best bet when I put him there. But on the bright side his co-ordination should be crap.

It was. His first punch hit the car door pillar when I side-stepped it. I don't actually think he landed another one anywhere. I caught him with one to the kidneys and a chop to the throat. The fun was over, as Campbell lay on the floor struggling to breathe. His wife walked over and kicked him a couple of times, whilst making disparaging remarks about his parenthood. Then she smiled at me and walked off. I climbed into my Disco and drove home.

Half an hour after I arrived, I heard a taxi pull up outside. A few moments later the doorbell rang; Fiona hadn't taken her keys with her. I toyed with the idea of leaving her outside but thought better of it.

"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing telling everyone I had fucking VD?"

Fiona was using the old 'first to attack will win the argument' technique.

"I didn't tell anyone you had a sexually transmitted disease, Fiona. Can I help it if your colleagues get hold of the wrong end of the stick and make the wrong assumptions? Your boyfriend did sound very upset though. What was he saying about you having given him the clap? 

"For you to have done that to him, you had to have been fucking him. How long have you two been playing bunny rabbits, Fiona? And I believe that you've been letting him fuck you bareback, as well, haven't you Fiona? Just what kind of a silly bitch, are you? Did you ever think about what you could catch from him?"

Fiona was just standing there looking at me. Then she lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Well, Fiona, come on. Isn't this about the time you are supposed to tell me it was all my fault. That I mistreated you or I didn't satisfy you in bed or something. You're not answering me, girl. Come tell me why it was my fault that you let that fucking arsehole fuck you?"

"I didn't mean to do it, honestly. It was an accident."

"Some fucking accident. What happened? Did you two just happen to be naked? Then you accidentally walked into one another and Campbell's cock just happened to find its way into your cunt. Don't talk so much fucking crap, Fiona. You went to dinner last night with the Pratt, didn't you?"

"Yes, but you weren't here."

"Oh, fuck here we go, this is where it was my fault. For fuck's sake, girl, you called me to make sure I wasn't going to be home. What kind of a fucking fool do you take me for?"

"No, Nick. I didn't mean it like that. You weren't going to be home and Mary asked me if I wanted to eat with them."

"So you took Campbell along for company."

"Well, you know I don't like playing gooseberry."

"Then after the meal you went to the pub where you had too much to drink and the next thing you remember was waking up in bed with Campbell."

"Yes, that's exactly what happened. It was just like that. I didn't mean to sleep with him. I just had too much to drink. It was an accident, Nick, honestly."

"Bollocks, Fiona. First you've done nothing but moan about Campbell ever since he took over your office. You moaned about him to me because you thought that by doing that, I wouldn't suspect you were attracted to him. Yesterday afternoon he asked you out for a meal. Probably after Jim told him I was out of town. That's why you called me. You didn't want me turning up and catching you. You went to the pub alright but I doubt you stayed that long and you certainly didn't get pie-eyed."

"Don't you think I know how hangovers affect you by now, girl? There was no way you'd have been able to go to work today if you'd been that drunk. No, you planned to go back to Mary and Jim's place and get laid. But tell me how was Jim on the nest? Was he any better than Campbell?"

"What?" Fiona was looking at me wide-eyed now.

"Come on, don't try to tell me you never swapped partners. I saw the look on Mary and Jim's faces when Campbell accused you of giving him VD. They were shitting themselves; they think they've caught it as well, don't they?" 

A look of total defeat came over Fiona's face and she slowly sank into a chair.

"You know it all, don't you?"

"I think I know most of it, yes. I don't know how long it's been going on though."

"I'm sorry, Nick. It was just last night honestly. I really don't know what came over me. Is there anyway we can get over this?"

"Oh, I'm already over it. girl. I was this afternoon when I accepted that job I was offered in Southampton. I'll be moving into the cottage tomorrow. If we go for an agreed divorce we should have this all over and done within a couple of months." 

"Surely you're not going to divorce me just because I made one silly mistake?"

"Where do you get the one silly mistake, Fiona? You've been lying to me for months when you said you hated Campbell. If you thought you were attracted to him and wanted to stay faithful to me, you could have encouraged me to take the job in Southampton when it first came up. That way you would never have had to see him again. But no, you didn't want to leave your job, you said. But I'm thinking, maybe you didn't want to leave Campbell."

"Now, fucking one guy could be thought of as a mistake. But swapping partners with your friend Mary? Now that's never a mistake. That's called swinging and I don't go in for that. Tell me, I'm just a little curious, has Jim been getting a three-way out of you and Mary in the past, when I've been away?"

"Oh, shit, no. Oh, my god, what have I done to us?"

"Not to us girl, to yourself. You're on your own from here on in. I'm leaving now. I'll be back to pick up my stuff over the weekend. You had better tell Jim that if he sees me coming he had better start running."

"No, please wait, Nick, can't we talk...?" I slammed the door behind me as I walked out of the house. 

++++++++++++++++++++

Well, things didn't quite go as smoothly as I would have hoped. Fiona waylaid me when I went back to collect my clothes and personal belongings. We were to have many unnecessary long and protracted discussions around the table at both her and my solicitor's offices during which she repeatedly asked me to change my mind and give her another chance.

During these meetings she was often surprisingly candid about the whole affair and its consequences. Apparently Mr. Gordon called Fiona into his office on the Monday morning and asked her to explain exactly what had occurred. As a result both Jim and Campbell had been dismissed. Although Jim wasn't married, Fiona was and that had been all Mr. Gordon required to act. 

Actually Fiona was offered a position with another company within the organisation. I can only suppose they were thinking that as two managers had been involved in the sorry mess, a good lawyer could probably make a case for sexual harassment. Not that I even think that idea crossed Fiona's mind.

At the last meeting we had, both of us signed the papers that would bring our marriage to an end. It would not be necessary for either of use to attend any hearings since the divorce was all down to the paperwork. But, as I said goodbye to Fiona for what I thought would be the last time, she looked at me and said, "Its not good-bye if I can help it, Nick. I'm not giving up the fight that easy. I made a mistake, I know I hurt you very much and I'm sorry. But I pray that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I'll be waiting for that day." 

The next six months of my life were really taken up with my new job. I spent many hours getting to know everyone who worked at the site. From the security guards and cleaners to the staff who did the three shifts on the product lines. Of course I didn't remember all their names but they all got to know my face and I could recognise most of them.

I'm not much of a cook so I tended to eat breakfast and lunch in the company cafeteria and take my evening meal in the Foresters, the village pub. It was only a couple of hundred yards from the cottage.

Just as I thought I had settled down to my new life, one of my old neighbours called in to visit me. He and his wife were on holiday on the south coast; they said they thought they would make sure that I was all right. By the time they left I had been informed that Fiona had sold the house but they didn't know where she had moved to.

I really should have been taking notice of what was going on in the village, because when I came home from the office on the following Monday morning there was a removal van outside the little cottage opposite the Foresters.

As I came home from work on the Tuesday evening, the sight of someone standing outside the cottage wearing a black skirt and a purple blouse greeted me. Damn it, Fiona knew I though she looked wonderful in that get up. Every damned evening after that she was standing there and would wave to me as I drove passed. She would still be standing there when I walked down to the pub for my evening meal, although she never embarrassed me by coming in whilst I was there.

Every one in the village had known Fiona and I for years and I was soon to discover Fiona was roping everyone in on her quest. On my arrival in the pub or anywhere else in the village the subject of discussion would soon turn to poor Fiona. Hey not with me, and they never mentioned her by name. No, they would talk her to each other, about how sad and alone she was. But they made damn sure I overheard them.

After months of convincing myself that I wasn't going to let them get at me, I wasn't going to eat my meals elsewhere so I didn't hear them. I was going to show them all I was a man of my convictions. I realised something. It was me who was the poor lonely bugger.

So tonight I'm going to have a meal in the Forester's with Fiona. What is going to happen? I don't really know. I know that I have always loved her. But will I be able to get past what she has done? That's the unanswered question.

Life goes on.



Nemesis – Joanne



Once again I must thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. Without those two wonderful people I don't think I would still be posting. As always I must also add that I can't leave a story alone. I could well have added some cock-ups after they have seen it and before it gets posted. Well we must keep the GPs happy.

*

The alarm function on my phone went off at 8 AM and that galvanised me into action. I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs to put the kettle on, then back up again, to have a quick shower. I was expecting the shit to hit the fan just after nine so I wanted to be ready.

My wife Joanne was still sound asleep. We had not arrived home until four in the morning after dropping our youngest daughter Michelle off at university. Why Joanne should be so tired that she was sleeping in, I couldn't fathom as I had just done all the driving on the five hundred-mile round trip whilst she slept most of the way. Joanne and I had been married for almost twenty-five years. We had three wonderful children, whom I am very proud of; as they had all made it to university. The oldest, Estelle, had graduated last year and was now, in theory, backpacking around the world. David was about to start his final year at Oxford and finally there was Michelle whom we had just ferried up to Newcastle.

Having had my shower, I rushed back down, made some coffee and took it back to the bedroom.

"Here ya go. Coffee, sleepy head."

"God, what time is it?"

"Almost nine, time you shook a leg"

"Why, we've nothing on for today?" she said as she pulled herself into a sitting position so she could drink her coffee.

I, in the mean time, slapped two suitcases on the bed and began to put my clothes in them. Joanne watched me for a few moments before her curiosity got the better of her.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, my love? Let me give you a hint. I'm taking my clothes out of my wardrobe and dresser and putting them into these suitcases. I would call that packing. Wouldn't you?"

"Why are you packing? Are you going somewhere?"

"Well, I would have thought that was obvious!"

"Where? Why?"

"Why! You sit there and say! You don't know why?"

"No, I don't know why?"

Joanne had gone very pale. She had taken me for a fool for many years and did not suspect that I had any idea of what she had been up to behind my back.

"Joanne, what do I do for a living?"

"You run a security company and look after people's security for them, I suppose? I don't really know. You travel around meeting people a lot but you never talk to me about your work so I'm not sure."

"Wouldn't it be more honest of you to say you've never cared what I do. Providing you have had the money to spend, you have never showed the slightest interest in how I acquired it. For all you know, I could be a bank robber!"

"Don't be silly. When we got married you told me you worked for a big security firm! Then you started your own company. I know you work long hours but you have never told me what you do."

"Yes, Joanne I do run a security company. When any of our friends or acquaintances asks, I tend to be a bit vague with them. But what I really run is a detective agency! I've twenty freelance detectives who work for me. They all specialise in different fields. Some work on company fraud and do background checks on prospective employees. Some work with security of computers and some work on what we like to term domestics."

Joanne had suddenly turned very pale and I think I saw her stomach give a couple of lurches.

"Are you feeling alright, Joanne? If you're going to be sick, please make sure you do not make a mess on my clothes. Would you like me to get you a bowl?"

"Don't be stupid. I'm not going to be sick. But I don't know what your job has got to do with your packing? Are you going on a trip that you haven't told me about?"

I went over to the dresser where my laptop was lying; lifted the screen and hit the touch pad key. The screen flashed into life with a picture of Joanne on her knees naked. A man's cock was jammed down her throat. The man's moans of pleasure came out of the speakers

"Well, I was bloody sick! The first time I saw film of you behaving like that!"

Joanne was quick and went straight on the attack.

"What did you expect! You haven't made love to me in years. I had to find satisfaction somewhere. Just because you lost interest in having sex with me, did you think I should give up sex as well?"

"Joanne, I stopped making love to you when I found out you were having threesomes with Tony and Greg, the two trainers at the health club. Because they were fucking any slut they could get their hands on, I didn't know what you might catch from them. On the subject of those two, have you heard from Tony lately?"

Joanne didn't reply she just sat there looking at the screen.

"You haven't answered me! Have you heard from Tony lately? No, I don't suppose you have. Well, for your information he was admitted to an A.I.D.S. clinic last month. If I were you, I would go and have some tests done."

Joanne was openly crying now.

"You bastard, you knew and said nothing."

"Nothing about what? Nothing about you fucking any guy that takes your fancy. Or nothing about Tony having A.I.D.S. I honestly don't know how long he has been infected. As you haven't fucked him for about three years you most likely are safe. But that doesn't mean you haven't picked up something from one of the other arseholes you've been screwing."

"Why didn't you say something? If you had said something when you found out about Tony and Greg, I would have stopped fooling around."

"What would have been the point? You have been fucking around on me ever since we were married. You surely didn't give a shit about me or my feelings. If I had challenged you, you most likely would have run off with one of your arsehole lovers and left me with the children. No, once I found out you were sleeping around I decided to wait until the children had flown the nest and then leave you."

"You cold hearted bastard. Do you mean to tell me that you have been planning to leave me the moment our children have left home?"

"Not our children, Joanne! Your children! Only Estelle is mine. David and Michelle have two different father's."

"Don't be so silly, of course you're their father!"

"I doubt you have any idea which of your lovers fathered them. But you know DNA is a wonderful science. It can tell who fathered which child. It took my people some time but I know who their fathers are now and have taken steps to rectify things."

"This is ridiculous. You are the father to all three of our children."

I put my hand up to silence Joanne.

"For fuck's sake woman! You have been cheating on me since we first met. Both before and since our marriage. For years I worked myself to a frazzle to buy you whatever you wanted. You have taken the piss out of me for years and in the end I caught you. Stop trying to pretend that you are anything but a slut. Now from today you are a single woman. You can fuck whoever you like with a clear conscience."

At that moment the phone began to ring.

"That will be for you Joanne. I'm surprised they haven't rang earlier!"

Joanne glowered at me as she picked up the phone. Then I listened to one side of what I thought was an entertaining conversation.

"Hello."

"Yes, it's me!"

"He's doing what?"

"How much for?

"£300.000! You've got to be bloody kidding. He can't do that. Can he? I'm sorry, Dave. I didn't know he knew. He has just told me he is leaving me."

"How the hell do I know? He said something about DNA."

"You tell me how I can stop him. I told you he's leaving me!"

"Well, you appeared to enjoy yourself enough at the time."

"Fuck you, too! You arsehole!"

With that, Joanne slammed the phone down and started crying again.

"That was David Tucker; he says you're suing him for £300.000." She mumbled through her tears.

"That's right. I have fed and clothed his son for twenty-one years. Paid for a private education and supported him through Oxford. I think he's getting off quite lightly, don't you? But now I think I want my money back from his real father and if I'm lucky it will fuck up his marriage."

"You are going to destroy his marriage. Haven't you got a conscience?"

"Come off it, Joanne. Where do you get off talking about my conscience? Where was your conscience when you fucked him, and where was Tucker's conscience when he was fucking my wife? He chose to fuck you and that left you pregnant. Now he can pay for the privilege of fucking you. The pair of you chose to let me believe that David was mine."

"I thought he was yours, honestly!"

"You were probably fucking so many guys you didn't know or care who was David's father. But I know and so does David now!"

"You told him? How could you do that? You callus sod!"

"Of course I told him. He has the right to know who his father is. To tell you the truth he suspected what kind of woman his mother was. Why do you think he has spent so little time at home since he started university and did not come near here this summer." 

"You've driven him away from me."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this but it was he who didn't want to come here and see you. I tried to make him at least say good bye. But I should imagine you will see him at the divorce court.

My cell phone played its little tune to say I had a text message. I read the message then turned back to Joanne.

"Ah, perfect timing. David has just informed me that Michelle no longer wishes to know or be in contact with you. Her father also will also have got my summons by now."

"You bastard, you've turned them all against me. Hold on, that message can't be from David; he's in New York."

"You wish. Neither David nor Estelle left the country this summer. They have both been staying at my new house; well, its Estelle's house actually. We didn't want your lawyers to be able to try to make any claim on it. The children don't wish to see you anymore. David and Estelle were in a car parked behind us when we left Michele's lodgings last night. They have explained to her what you have been doing and why I am leaving you. Michelle was given the choice of which parent she wanted to go with. It appears she has opted to go along with her siblings. Joanne, it looks like you are alone."

"You can't do that. They're my children!"

"All three of your children have had a completely free choice. They know who has looked after them all their lives. And they know who has spent her time living it up and behaving as a whore."

"I'll stop you. You can't take my children away!"

"Your children have had a free choice, Joanne. I know I can trust them to make the right decisions. Oh, when you contact your solicitor tell him that my company actually belongs to Estelle and has for the last few years. No sense in them wasting time and money trying to claim a share in something I don't own."

"Bastard!" Joanne shouted at me as I left the room with my suitcases. They were the last words I ever heard her say. 

Joanne didn't contest the divorce and I pay her no maintenance. David and Michelle's fathers settled out of court. Not for the £300,000 I asked for, but enough to give both of them a good start in life. What happened to the arseholes' marriages is no concern of mine. The children refused to see Joanne and officially we don't know where she is. One of the staff reported to me that she was charged with prostitution a few months back. But I have managed to keep that from the children.

I am marrying my ex-secretary Samantha in a few weeks. No, we didn't have anything going between us whilst I was married. When I first found out about what Joanne had been up to, it was Sam in whom I confided. She left the firm to have a baby, several years ago. Whilst she was still in hospital after having the child, she found out her husband was shacking up with some tart. Naturally she turned to me for support. Sam is ten years younger than I am but my children encouraged us to go for it.

Life goes on.



Nemesis - Oops



This is a short tale of infidelity that has no end. The premise I was working on when I started writing these Nemesis tales, was the discovery of infidelity, not really its consequences. Okay with some of them I have strayed into that area as well, but not on this case. So if you are looking for everything to be all tied up in a neat little parcel, you'd better give this one a miss.

My thanks go to SH for proofreading this one for me.

Oh yeah, an old mate of mine is into what he describes as "flash stories." I think this one might just fall into that category, but only just!

Nemesis - Oops

It had been a real bastard of a week and was I dying for a decent pint of beer by that Friday evening. So I'd slipped into the pub for swift one, before I made my way home from work.

The "Farmers Arms" was right next door to the office, and I'll happily admit that it wasn't unusual for me to slip in there for a quickie on the way home. Hey, they served a bloody good steak as well, so I'd often grab a meal there whenever my wife Beatrice was away for the evening, on business, or off visiting mys.

I tended to avoid going with her to visit her folks if I could. They never had been members of my fan club. The second best thing they'd ever done for me, was to retire down to the south coast. Of course I'd always figured that the best thing they'd done was to manage to produce Beatrice in the first place. To be honest, probably my only real gripe with the buggers, was the fact that when they moved away, they left Beatrice's brother Bernie behind.

"Long time no see, Doug. Been burning the candles at both ends again?" George (the Farmer's Arms Govner) commented with a grin, as he studied my pint for a couple of seconds -- to make sure it was up to the standard I expected -- before placing it on the bar before me.

"Busy week George. Been dashing around like a bloody blue arsed fly!"

"Yeah I bet. Which one was it, the redhead, or the little blond?" George asked with a wink.

"George, I'm a married man; I don't go putting it about with the young talent in the office, you know that."

"Oh yeah, who's going to believe that, those girls were making very clear that you only have to say the word, at that party they had the other week. Hey, Betty (Georges barmaid) heard that new one, you know the married bird with the big knockers? Well, Betty said she heard her tell those other two that she'd jump your bones for you; all you got to do is give her the nod."

"George, give-over will you; have you ever seen me behave inappropriately with any of the girls from the office?"

"No Doug, I can't say that I have. But then again, there's times I don't see you for a week or so at a time, not even for lunch. Who's to say who you're with, or where you take 'em?"

"Give-over George! I told you, I'm a married man!"

"That don't stop many of my customers sniffing after anything that's going spare ... and some that ain't. Here, you know what, I'm not sure who are the worst, the married blokes or the married birds. Once they got a kid or two behind them, some women get really out of hand."

"Change the bloody subject George, I really didn't come in here tonight for a discussion on modern attitudes to fidelity within marriage."

"Yeah okay." He said with a disbelieving tone to his voice, "I just thought that a guy with your obvious ... magnetism for the opposite sex, would be an expert on the subject." George grinned again.

"Well I ain't! Regretfully I'm a man of high moral character. I will admit that we do have some bloody good scenery working around the office at the present time though." I replied and winked back at George.

All right, I wouldn't go near any of the girls in the office with a ten-foot barge pole, but there was no need for George or anyone else to go through life believing that I was too much of a goody-two-shoes. Christ, he'd probably construe that, as me being a hen-pecked husband or something. There's a fine line that all married men tread, that retains ones social standing with the guys down the pub. You never say that you "do", but then again, you leave all the guys under the impression that you might "do", if the mood took you right. Or might even do "do" anyway, but you keep it strictly to yourself. Sorry girls, it's all to do with stupid male ego.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, I'd just asked George to change the subject.

"Where you been lately anyway, Doug? You ain't been in here since last Friday, we almost came to the point of renting your stool out."

"Been very busy George, new contract. All a little hush-hush I'm afraid, can't say much about it. But if it comes off, I'm up for a bleeding great bonus and no doubt a promotion or two."

"Good on ya, Doug. 'ere by the way, I weren't the only one missing you. Betty was asking if I'd seen you. You know that brother of yours has been in most nights this week looking for you? He seems in a real panic to find you"

"Bollocks, what does he want?"

"Dunno, he wouldn't say. But he's been dashing in here and out of here, bugging Betty and me about where you were all bloody week nearly. Little shit, didn't even stop to buy a drink."

George never had been too enamoured with my brother either. But then, Bernie was nearly always short of ready cash, and very rarely could afford to buy a drink even when he did call in the pub.

"Fucking short of cash I suppose, and his bookie is probably after him again. Yeah, I'll bet he's lost all his bleeding readies on the ponies. Stupid arse! He'll be shit scared of going round the house and asking Beatrice for a loan; she'd chew his fucking ears off!"

George and I smiled at each other. He didn't need to say anything; George had heard Beatrice go off at Bernie many times in the past over his gambling.

Actually my brother Bernie was an all right bloke really, just -- to my mind -- a little too slow on old the up-take and a little too attached to his sister. He was pretty boring to talk too as well, unless the subject was horse racing, or the dogs.

For some reason (probably his gambling) Bernie had never been able to find a woman of his own. Well, they'd never hung around for long anyway! So as you might guess he had never got married and consequently he spent far too much time around our place, for my liking; driving me up the wall. Okay, maybe Bernie had never found a woman he could hang onto, because -- besides his gambling habits -- he was a mummy's boy, and since his mother had moved down the south coast, Beatrice appeared to have become his surrogate mother. Most women don't like playing second fiddle to the man in their life's mother.

Luckily I didn't really see too much of the bugger by then. About a year before, Bernie, after sampling just about every dead-end job within a twenty-mile radius, had taken advantage of the local bus company's driver training scheme and become a bus driver. Whether he enjoyed the job or not, he was roped into a three-year contract and the buggers could give him any shit awful split-shift they fancied.

To be honest I felt sorry for the bugger in a way. Driving service buses all bloody day and dealing with the charming British general public; ain't my idea of having a good time. I work to live and prefer to at least not dislike my daily tasks. I happen to know that Bernie hates trying to stick to schedule in all that bloody traffic.

I suppose I'd been in the "Farmer Arms" for about fifteen or twenty minutes when Bernie came charging in the door. Yeah, I did say charging! He came through the door at the trot and once he'd spotted me he aimed straight for my perch.

Now, I ain't exactly slow. From the moment the door crashed open and I saw Bernie standing there -- breathing heavily as he nearly always did, dragging all that weight of his around -- I'd had it figured that he had a fire up his arse about something.

The problem was -- for some unknown reason -- I kinda doubted that it had anything to do with last night's curry, because he didn't head to the karzi. He'd launched himself across the bar in my general direction.

At that stage of the game Bernie's unnecessary bulk didn't do him any favours. Like those big heavy American cars with their sloppy suspension, Bernie didn't have very much of a chance of changing direction, without a resultant pile up. I'd slid off the stool and taken a couple of paces away from the bar before Bernie ploughed into the vacant seat with an almighty crash.

He then lay on the floor on top of a little pile of firewood that had once been a bar stool, whilst he tried to figure out what had just happened. I think I told you Bernie weren't all that quick on the old up take.

Figuring that now was the opportune moment, I bent down, grabbed Bernie's arm and rolled him over onto his back. Then swinging my leg over his bulk, I settled my arse on his chest, trapping both his arms with my legs and looked down at his crimson face. Bernie, I figured, was well pissed off about something.

"What the fuck is your problem man?" I demanded.

"You, you arsehole! How could you do that to my sister?"

"How could I do what, Bernie? I have no idea what you're are talking about."

"Hey arsehole, I want you out of here before I call the old Bill!" George's voice came from over my shoulder somewhere.

I switched into conciliatory mode, I liked the "Farmers Arms" and whether I liked Bernie or not, sometimes I had to take the bugger out for a drink. You know on his birthday and the like.

"Hold on George, I'm sure this is just a silly misunderstanding. Now Bernie, if I let you up are we going to be able to talk about this like grown men, or are you going to finish up or your arse again?"

"I've calmed down." Bernie assured me.

It took the combined efforts of George and myself to set Bernie on his feet again.

"Right Bernie, now what's eating you?" I asked after ordering him a pint.

"What, are you thick or something? Do you think I don't know what you've been getting up to at lunchtimes? Three fucking time this week!"

Like most people who knew him, I was used to Bernie talking utter nonsense half the time. But sometimes there was an element of logic in what he said, except for when it came to which three-legged horse was going to win the two o'clock at Newmarket. So I figured it was probably my best bet to wind him up and let him run for a while, to find out exactly what he thought he knew.

"Bernie, you speak many words, but as usual you say fuck all! Now start from the beginning and tell us the story slowly, so that even George here can understand."

I can't say what expression that brought to Georges face when he heard say it, because I was looking at Bernie.

"I've been on the twenty-two this week!" Bernie announced triumphantly.

From this statement I gathered that Bernie been driving a number twenty-two bus all week and I related that fact to George. Neither of us could see any significance in the statement.

"And this is supposed to tell us?" I asked.

"Well the number twenty-two goes past the big supermarket on the edge of town doesn't it."

"So you tell us Bernie. But I haven't caught a bus in donkeys years, and I doubt George has either. Perhaps you should be a little more..."

"Oh for fuck sake! It's common knowledge that everyone who's having a dirty little liaison, parks their car in that supermarket car park." Bernie blustered.

I looked at George and he looked back at me, equally bewildered by Bernie's sweeping statement. It must have suddenly struck Bernie how stupid his words had sounded.

"No, I don't mean that everyone who parks their car in the supermarket car park is having an affair. What I mean is, everyone who parks their car over the side near the road are! They park in there and then sneak next door into the motor lodge for a couple of hours of nooky."

"And the significance of that, with regard to the way you entered my bar this evening?" George asked.

"Well Doug's car has been parked right over in the corner of that car park, by the road, three bloody lunchtimes this week. And it was still there on my return journey after I'd stopped for my lunch break; that's over three hours later."

"You don't say." George replied, before I'd had a chance to come up with anything. "And Doug here always claims that he's such an upstanding and moral person. Have you told your sister Beatrice about your suspicions by any chance?"

"There's no suspicion about it George. Except for on a Friday and Saturday that car park's half empty, and it's a bloody long walk to the stores entrance from there. Only a complete idiot would bother carrying their shopping all that far." Bernie replied with a triumphant tone to his voice again. "Anyway it's common knowledge that the philanderers park their cars there so they won't be seen in the hotel car park!"

"He's got a good point there, Doug. You really should be more careful!" George addressed me, but before I could say anything in reply, he turned back to address Bernie again. "But you didn't say Bernie. Have you informed Beatrice about your suspicions yet?"

"Well no. I figured I'd have it out with Doug here and talk him into breaking the affair off." Bernie replied.

"Sorry Bernie, but I'm afraid that it's impossible for me to do that!" I said and then downed the rest of my pint. "George, pass the telephone over here please?"

George complied with my request without comment, and I pushed the unit in from of Bernie.

"Tell you what Bernie. Before I get home, you've got possibly half to three-quarters of an hour to call Beatrice and tell her all of what you've just told us."

"You want me to tell her?" he said, with a shocked expression on his face.

"Of course I do. No relationship can last, when one party is behaving as you imply!" I winked at George. "Oh and Bernie, whilst you are at it. You can tell your sister to get all of her shit out of my bedroom before I get there!

"Oh by the way George. You were asking where I've been all week? Well, I flew out to Germany on Monday morning. Beatrice smacked her car up last Sunday afternoon, so she's been using mine all week, whilst hers is being repaired!"

I then left the Farmer Arms, and went looking for a taxi.

And, of course began wondering. Which one should I chat up first, the redhead or the little blond? Or maybe even the new married bird with the big knockers. 

No, it's a thought; but I just don't believe in that kind of behaviour.

Life Goes On

This story is posted on Literotica with the authors consent.



Nemesis - Penny



A couple of weeks ago HDK posted a story called "Hello Goodbye." I was reading the first page when something came up and I had to leave it. Well, the way the old brain box works meant that whilst I was driving to my appointment I played with the scenario in my head and came up with a very different story to HDK's. As always I must thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for proof reading and editing this story

*

I can remember the night as if it was yesterday. There I was just sitting watching the local evening news program on the old telly, my wife Penny was sitting over the other side of the room looking at me with a very curious expression on her face. The trouble she had was she just couldn't bring herself to tell me what was on her mind. Why? Well, for two reasons really. One, because I don't think she could believe it herself, and two, because if she did bring the subject up, she knew she was going to open a whole can of worms that she would rather had been kept very tightly closed.

I have to go back a year or so to before that night to when this all started. We'd bought this big old farmhouse out in the country about five or six years earlier. It had had a couple of nice big old stone barns in the yard just right for conversion. We'd lived in the old farmhouse whilst we converted the larger barn into our dream home. Or rather our builders did. Penny and I were just around all the time to make sure we got exactly what we wanted. Then after we'd moved into the barn we had the guys give the farmhouse the once over and, at the same time, they converted the smaller of the barns into a holiday cottage come guest-house.

The idea had been to sell the farmhouse and rent out the holiday cottage during the summer. As it turned out things didn't quite go that way. There's some USAF people stationed at a nearby RAF base and the farmhouse finished up getting rented out to an USAF officer and his family for about a year. He didn't want to buy a house, as he wasn't expecting to stay in England very long. The cash if we had sold, would have been handy. But the Yank offered us a bloody good rent so we let him have it. One of his colleagues rented the holiday cottage also at a good rate. So my Penny and I were happy. 

Eighteen months later both of our tenants' tours of duty in England came to an end and they and their nice families - whom Penny and I had gotten along very well with - went home to the States. For some reason we didn't put the house back on the market. We'd been so happy with the income from renting, we thought we would try to rent it out again. 

I came home from work one evening, to be met at the door by Penny who had the biggest smile on her face. "I've rented the house!" she grinned at me. "The contracts are all signed and everything!"

Penny had taken me completely by surprise. "What do you mean, you've rented the house?" I demanded. I suppose I must have sounded quite shocked and maybe a little annoyed. "To whom and without me even meeting them? Did you even bother to get a reference?"

The smile faded a little on Penny's face. "Oh, we don't need a reference for these people, Pete, you're never going to believe who they are!"

"Well, who they are doesn't bother me as much as if they can and will pay the bleeding rent on time."

"How about a year up front, in cash? Well, a cheque actually, will that suit you?"

"It sounds a little too good to be true actually. Who the hell are they, millionaires or something?"

"No. Oh, I don't know though. I suppose they might well be, but the TV company's paying the rent for them anyway."

"You're losing me, girl. Who've you rented the bloody house to?"

"Brooke Marsh, the TV newsreader woman and her husband. You know the actor bloke Stephone Walters."

"Christ, Stephone Walters. I thought he got killed a couple of years ago! Don't I remember hearing he had a bad accident on the news, some time back?"

"No, he wasn't killed but he had a really serious accident. He says he's almost completely recovered from it now and he's just as dreamy as he's ever been."

I could see by the silly look that came over Penny's face that she liked the idea of having a film star living in the farmhouse. Why is it that people swoon over these famous people? They are just human beings like the rest of us. Although even I must admit that Stephone Walters is a handsome bastard.

"They were looking for somewhere nice and quiet around here, where Stephone could convalesce as Brooke is going to be presenting a daytime chat show on the telly. They thought this was just the place they looking for. Quiet, private, off the beaten track and far enough from the road that Stephone's fans or the paparazzi, if they hang around outside the gate hoping to see him, won't be too much of a nuisance"

I had to admit, Brooke was one of the sexiest announcers on the telly. I did enjoy watching her read the news. But she hadn't been on the BBC since she had married Stephone. "Oh, bugger, if Brooke's going to be on daytime TV, that means I wont get to see that much of her." Brooke is really something to look at. Hey, what do you expect? I'm a man, aren't I?

"Why would you want to see her on the telly when she'll be living next door? You'll probably see her all the time."

Oh, yeah. I can just see Brooke Marsh and Stephone Walters, mixing with a couple of old fogies like us!"

"I'm sure we'll see a lot of them. They seemed very nice. I told Stephone that you wouldn't mind him using your gym."

"You did what?" When we'd converted the barn, I'd put one room aside that overlooks the swimming pool (I told you it was our dream home) as a gym and fitted the place out with all the latest training gear. No, I'm not a fitness freak. I don't really work out that much but I like to play about with the stuff a bit. You know, it's the macho man bit. I'm one of those people who just didn't put on the weight over the years. Eighteen years after my wedding I could still get into the suit that I'd walked down the aisle in. I'm afraid I can't say the same for Penny though, although she still looks damn good to me. It was for her that I really put the gym in although up until then she hadn't been too enthusiastic about using it.

"Surely you don't object to Stephone using the gym. You hardly ever use it!"

"I don't know," I thought to myself, if Penny's heartthrob uses the bloody gym. Perhaps she'll spend some time in there herself. "No, of course not. It's all right by me. Providing he doesn't hog the bloody place."

"I should imagine he'll only use it during the day when Brooke is at the TV station and you're at work. Although I suppose he'll probably want to use it on the weekends sometimes as well."

Now the more astute of you might be wondering why I was not worried that "Stephone Walters" this so-called Adonis who Penny was so keen on. Was going to be in my house with my wife - who to all intent and purpose, thought the sun shone out of his arse - during the day whilst I was out at the office. 

Well, the point is, I'm fifty-two and Penny is fifty-one. Stephone Walters, is nearly half our age or there about. Penny is old enough to be his mother. And from what I'd heard, before he married Brooke, he had hundreds of young women chasing him. What possible interest could he find in a slightly tubby mother of two?

"And remember," Penny was still trying to persuade me that Stephone using the gym was a good idea. "If Brooke comes over with him on the weekends, you'll get to see her in her training gear and swim suit. Hey, maybe she uses a bikini. I'd bet you'd like that, you old perv. I told them they could use the pool whenever they wished."

It looked to me that Penny had presented me with a fait accompli. And she was making plans to enjoy having a couple of famous people as our tenants. I could do nothing but accept the arrangements she had made.

+++++++++++++++

Brooke and Stephone (Christ, where do they get these stupid stage names from? I'll bet he was John Smith or Fred Bloggs on his birth certificate) moved in a few days later. Surprisingly I found they were very nice people. I had somehow gotten the idea that they would be vain or something but - for the most part - they were very normal. Well, that is until Stephone's fans found out where he was living. Then the shit really did hit the fan. (Pun not intended)

I was surprised at the front of some of his fans. They just walked up the drive and stationed themselves outside the front door of the farmhouse. Or in the garden, or the trees, or the bushes by the house. Or even in my bloody garage when it was raining. Anywhere they fancied actually! The bloody newspaper photographers were even worse. Paparazzi, they call them. Jesus, those arseholes were hiding everywhere you could think of and some places you wouldn't.

We had to call the police a few times to have them removed. The problem was solved by having the boundary fence upgraded to a six foot chain link affair and having automatic gates installed, plus a privacy fence around the swimming pool area. Quite an expensive business with all the CCTV and such. Look, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, as luckily the TV company paid the major proportion of the cost.

I'm not 100% sure Stephone was all that happy with the new security installations though. I had noticed that he appeared to enjoy having the young fans around. He could often be seen outside signing autographs and giving them a little hug. For hug read grope, for I'd noticed he was pretty free with his hands on some of those young girls when he thought no one was looking. I was surprised that Brooke put up with it. But she had either gotten used to it or she had known what to expect when she had married him.

With the new security installations came a surprise that I wasn't expecting. All kinds of so-called celebrities started to turn up on the weekends. You know the sort of people I'm talking about. People who are famous for no other reason than they are famous and have a good publicity agent. Some of them were complete arseholes to be honest. But some were quite pleasant.

I was extremely happy to rent out the holiday cottage to them. At an exorbitant price, once again. Hey, I told you, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. They did - weather permitting - tend to take over the swimming pool a bit though and the more insensitive (that's the nicest description I can think of) would just stroll into my gym and changing room without a by your bloody leave. I suppose there has to be a downside to everything. 

Mind, the children soon started filling up their autograph books and for some reason became very popular with their classmates. Weekend sleepovers became the in-thing. And all kind of local organisations suddenly asked Penny and I to become members of their committees. I think they thought we would be a back door to our famous tenants. You know, we'd get Brooke or Stephone to put in appearances and open fête's and things. Penny and I politely turned them down. I had my work cut out with the Scouts and Penny was helping out the local Brownies.

Anyway most of the time there was just the four of us and the kids on the little estate. If you can call 14 acres of woods and paddocks an estate? The four of us seemed to get on very well and we would be in each other's houses quite few evenings during the week. Brooke and Stephone, as I said, had plenty of parties where the booze flowed plentifully and we made friends with the rich and famous.

Being in Brooke's company was one of my favourite things to do about that time. She is a beautiful looking young woman, in relation to Penny and myself that is. I'm a male of the species and I appreciate looking, and I'll repeat that "looking," at a shapely figure that goes in and out in all the right places. In a swimsuit or bikini, Brooke is most men's dream. But I must add that I love my beautiful wife and would never intentionally do anything to upset her. Not that I'd get the chance anyway. As I've said before, I'm almost twice Brooke's age. 

Brooke and Stephone had been living in the farmhouse for just over a month when I first began to notice a few unexpected changes in Penny. Some I was quite happy with but others I wasn't too sure about.

The first thing I noticed was that Penny began to get a little more amorous. Once we'd had the children, Penny had slowed down on the old sexual front. For years now she had never been the one to instigate sex, other than the few times when she'd gotten carried away at a party or something and finished up a little bit tipsy. Don't get me wrong. I'm damn sure Penny had always enjoyed our lovemaking; once she got started there was no stopping her. But she hadn't been in the habit of starting the ball rolling for a few years.

Suddenly her night attire began to change; it got sexier and skimpier, until it got to the point where it was non-existent. And at the slightest hint of sex Penny was straight into top gear, if you get the idea.

Then I began to notice that she was rapidly loosing weight. It was plain to see that she was using the gym a lot more than she used to. I soon found out that she was joining Stephone in the gym everyday for a work out. And there we had a problem because you see I found that I was getting jealous.

Yes, I was very pleased that Penny was doing something about her figure. But the better she looked the more I began to think just how beautiful she was. And with Stephone's fans being kept at arms length so to speak, I just wondered whether Stephone would start to see the beauty in Penny that I had always seen in her as well. Stephone did tend to strike me as an "Any port in a storm" type of guy who had obviously always been used to getting lots of totty.

For a month or so I held my tongue, but then I asked Penny how she was getting along with Stephone. She blushed, which I didn't like, but then she assured me he was the perfect gentleman. Alarm bells really started going off in my head when she said that. If there was one thing I was pretty sure about, it was that Stephone Walters wasn't under any form of classification a gentleman. Gentlemen do not grope young girls!

"You're not getting sweet on Stephone, are you?" I asked, struggling to keep a smile on my face.

"And just what are you suggesting?" Penny demanded.

"Nothing. I wouldn't like you to get too close to him, though. You are my wife."

"What do you think, we're going to have it off in the gym or something whilst you're at work?" Penny said with a slightly sharp tone to her voice.

Whoops, this little conversation definitely wasn't going the way that I had intended. Unfortunately Penny thought I was accusing her of something! Not clever! I thought I'd better poor some soothing oil a bit quickly.

"Don't be silly, Penny. I would never think that! Christ, you're old enough to be Stephone's mother!"

Now that was one hell of a big mistake and I know it now. But I was shooting from the hip at the time. That statement turned out to be just as bad as waving a red rag in front of a bull. But I had said it and I couldn't take it back.

"Humph, so you think I'm an old frump, do you? I'll tell you I can turn more young men's heads than you can the ladies."

At this point in the conversation I should really have kept my big fat mouth firmly shut. But I only realised that afterwards and with hindsight. Penny had taken my inane statement as me telling her she was past it and had turned it back on me. Foolishly I, like any average husband, had to at least come out even in this one.

"For a man of my age, I don't think I look that bad looking. I've kept my figure and if I wanted, I'm sure I would have no trouble in attracting the ladies."

"Well, I'll tell you. If I wanted, I could attract any man I chose!"

Now, to be honest I can't remember exactly how the argument went after that. The whole bloody conversation hadn't gone the way I had intended. I had hoped to gently warn Penny about getting too "friendly" with Stephone and somehow I finished up virtually challenging her to seduce him.

That night and for a few nights after our sex life faltered but not for long. Penny was soon back to the sex bomb she had become since just after Brooke and Stephone moved in. But I was still very worried.

So much so that I made a few little changes to the CCTV system. The camera that overlooked the swimming pool, I adjusted so that I could just about see into the gym with it. And one of the inside intruder cameras I sneakily moved into our bedroom. I had to connect it to the now redundant computer network wiring. I'd had every room in the house wired when it was being converted but things had moved on and I was using a wireless system now. All the camera's were routed to a bloody great PC in my office come study, where once any movement was detected in any of the cameras' field of vision, it was recorded on one of several hard drives.

To be honest I don't think the recordings were ever checked since the day they were put in. Besides me having a little play with the system that is. The whole thing was a complete waste of money really. But then the TV company footed most of the bill. I just took them for everything I could. 

Anyway the following evening I slipped into my office whilst Penny was over visiting Brooke and Stephone to check exactly what had gone on that day. I hit fast forward on the yard cam until I saw Stephone come over to my house about one o'clock. He went into the gym and started to work out and Penny soon joined him. For the next hour or so they worked out on the machines and nothing untoward happened. Then Penny apparently went into the kitchen and came out with coffee for both of them, which they took out onto the patio to drink.

After sitting and chatting for some time Penny went indoors for a little while. When she came back out she was wearing her swimming costume and she dived straight into the pool. Shortly after Stephone went into the changing room and came out in his trunks and dived in as well. They swam and fooled about a bit but once again nothing untoward. Once they came out of the pool they lay on separate loungers and sun bathed for a while, then Stephone went back to his working out whilst Penny slept for a little longer. Then she went inside and disappeared.

I switched to the camera I'd put in our bedroom and watched Penny go into the en-suite, where I assume she had a shower. Then she came out and dressed in a pair of cut-off Jeans, a short T-shirt and very little else that I could see. God, did she look good! Then she went back downstairs and out onto the patio again. After some more time lying on the lounger, she went into the gym and stood talking to Stephone for about twenty minutes. Then to my horror both of them went into the house.

Now, silly bugger that I am, I had used the camera that covered the hall, stairs and landing in our bloody bedroom. I frantically checked the other cameras but I couldn't locate them. The lounge and the family rooms were empty and so was the master bedroom. There wasn't a camera in the kitchen so I couldn't see if they were in there. I thought I'd have to rectify that one. But it was a little late by then. An hour later by the timing marks on the recordings they both appeared in the gym again. Stephone worked out some more whilst Penny pottered about in the garden until the children arrived home from school. They are picked up and dropped off at the gate by the school bus every day.

The problem I had was ... just where had Penny and Stephone gone for that hour. I cursed myself for not having more camera's installed inside the house. I wandered around the house checking the two guest bedrooms for any sign that someone had been in them. There was none that I could discern. That night I tried to act as normal as possible but I think Penny sensed that I was not feeling myself.




Nemesis - Penny



The following day I called the people who supplied the CCTV system from my office and arranged for them to send me a couple more cameras by an overnight carrier. I didn't get a chance to check the recordings that day as Brooke and Stephone came to dinner and then Stephone and I played snooker until the small hours. I didn't want Penny or him to get any suspicion that I thought they were playing around. If they didn't and my suspicions were wrong and they were innocent, I would definitely have found myself well up to the neck in the brown sticky stuff. Not a place to find yourself when Penny is involved. I know from previous experience!

The cameras arrived at my office on the Friday morning. But that night and for the whole weekend I just didn't get the chance to fit them. Penny or the kids were around me all the time. I needed about an hour in the house alone to install each camera. The opportunity just never came up.

So I had to come up with a plan "B" for the Monday. I settled on the idea of fixing the beds in both of the guest rooms. A simple operation really that involved carefully positioning the duvet that was covered by a bed spread. The odds on someone not disturbing the duvet if they even sat on the bed must have been a million to one. If they got in the bed it was doubtful they would get the duvet or the bedspread back exactly in the same position.

Monday evening, when I came home from work I hit pay dirt. The duvet and bedspread in one of the guest rooms had been disturbed whilst the other hadn't. Now I had to take into account that Penny might have just remade the bed. So I didn't go jumping to conclusions. I just set the bed up again for the next day.

I still didn't get the opportunity to fit the cameras. But I did find time to check the recordings. Every weekday there was about three-quarters to an hour when Penny and Stephone were in the house but I couldn't locate them. The following evening I was convinced the guest bed had been disturbed again. So now what was I going to do?

I didn't bother to fit the other cameras; I knew what was going on. But I didn't know what I was going to do about it. You see, I love Penny and I certainly didn't want to lose her. We're a team and have been together for 26 years. Oh, we haven't been married that long but we've lived together for most of that time. For the first eight years we weren't married and there were a couple of times when we were first together when we had silly arguments and separated for a couple of months at a time. We even dated other people whilst we where apart but we always seemed to finish up together again. 

We had a bit of a problem back then, as both of us had been married before. I suppose it could have been a trust thing but I think we were both worried about making another mistake. Once you've been bitten, you're a little dubious about committing yourself again. Penny's and my love for each other isn't and never was that swooning gooey eyed, can't be without teenage stuff. It is more very close friend and confidante thing. The kind of love that is just there and stays there. Now Penny was "playing games" with Stephone. I was quite sure that was what she was doing.

Mind I didn't like the idea and I wasn't going to put up with it. But I didn't want an explosion that would destroy our marriage if I could help it. If I could quietly bring it to an end and make sure it didn't happen again, I would be happy.

Look, let me explain how Penny and I got together. I got married the first time when I was eighteen pushing nineteen. I thought that, in Michelle, I'd found the girl of my dreams. She was a year younger than I was; I have to admit I did know she had a bit of a reputation. But love is blind and I had a father who was what most people thought at that time "rich." Michelle most probably took that into account when she tipped her hat in my direction. We got married and for two and a half years everything in the garden was roses. That was until I found a letter from an abortion clinic. Michelle had had a termination without my knowledge. After the smoke cleared it turned out that she hadn't been sure that I was the father and she hadn't taken any chances. There had been a high probability that baby could have been coloured. 

Well, the divorce was an interesting and nasty affair. Michelle was awarded alimony but that didn't last for long as she soon got married to some other stupid jerk. Apparently he caught her in bed with yet another guy in less than a year and for all I know he could still be doing time for manslaughter. The guy Michelle was shagging apparently fell from the sixth floor window of their flat. At least that was her husband's story, according to the newspapers. I somehow don't think the judge saw it the same way.

So feeling not too happy with the world or my life, I kicked around as a bachelor for awhile until I was nearly twenty-six. I was at a party at an old school friend's house one night. One of the other guests was a bloody Neanderthal whom I remembered from school. A complete and utter tosspot who liked to think he was a tough guy. You remember the sort. He bullied all the little kids in school but, when there was a proper punch up going down, he was nowhere to be found.

Anyway the arsehole had this girl with him who, I was informed, was his wife. The way he spoke to her had to be heard to be believed. I suppose the guy was still trying to play the tough guy. But as there were no little kids about, he bullied his wife. I'm not exactly sure what happened, I think Penny - who was his wife - had wanted to go home or something. Anyway she must have said the wrong thing. The Pratt upped and backhanded her right there in front of everyone. 

Now sometimes fate plays a hand. I had never liked the arsehole or his bullying ways. I was generally pissed off with the world and as far as I was concerned striking a woman is not only not done, it is definitely not acceptable in my presence. So without more ado, I laid him out. Just like that! One punch. Down he went, out for the count.

When he recovered and with me standing over him and everyone else watching, he apologised to Penny who had said nothing since he had struck her. Then he apologised to me and everyone else at the party, then they left. One of my other friends commented that he thought the prick would kick the shit out Penny when they got home. So thinking I might get an excuse to have another pop at him, I thought I'd follow them home ostensibly with the intention of calling the police if I heard any untoward noises coming from their place. A couple of blokes came with me. Whether to help or to watch the fun, I'm not quite sure.

Anyway Penny's husband didn't wait to get her home. He laid into her in an alleyway just down the road from the party. Well, I laid him out for a second time that evening and someone called the cops. Penny was not in the best condition so she was taken to hospital. 

The next day I went to see her and she told me she was frightened stiff of her husband who, as I had guessed, was in the habit of using her as a punch-bag whenever the mood took him. Don't ask me why the women put up with that sort of thing. But Penny wasn't the first or the last woman whom I came across in a similar position. The cops in those days just classed the whole thing as a "domestic" and quietly forgot about it. I'm glad to say the powers that be have had a rethink on that strategy since then.

Penny was terrified of going home so I somehow finished up taking her home to my flat with me. Now don't go getting the wrong idea. I was still playing the knight-errant and Penny had her own room at that time. To cut a long story short, Penny never really moved out again. Not for more than a month or two at a time, anyway. 

Over the years our relationship changed from flat owner and house guest, to near brother and sister, to lovers. Eight years later and with our first child on the way we walked down the isle together. And for eighteen years we had been devoted to each other. No, that's a lie; it sounds like we never fight. Of course we've had plenty of bust ups over the years. 

We've teased each other and flirted with other people. I'll be honest. I have sailed pretty close to the wind a few of times with some of the ladies down the sports club. Too bloody close a couple of times, but I'm pretty sure Penny doesn't know about either of them though. So fair is fair if Penny was having a little fun I couldn't in all honesty climb too far out of my pram.

So there I was trying to work out what I was going to do about Stephone. I figured that if Mohammed was at the mountain already, the best thing I could do was remove the bloody mountain. So the following weekend I caught Brooke when she was alone.

"Brooke, I don't know how to say this to you," I told her, "but there is a clause in the rental agreement that says if there is a clash of personalities, I can give you thirty days to vacate the property. And that is what I intend to do."

Brooke looked at me, obviously stunned.

"Why, Tim, what the hell has happened? I thought we were all getting on so well together, considering the close proximity of the houses."

"Shall we just say that they are too close together for my comfort."

"Oh, shit, he hasn't, has he? Has Stephone said something to upset you or Penny?"

I thought for a few moments before I put the cat amongst the pigeons. "He's not upsetting Penny. No, Brooke, far from it actually. Let's just say I believe Stephone is keeping her very happy and by doing so he's upsetting me. I would like it if Penny and I were still married when you two move on."

To my amazement a smile came over Brooke's face. I must have looked angry because the smile promptly disappeared again.

"I'm sorry, Tim, but I think have you got it all wrong. Although I suppose Penny could well be being entertained. But if you think that Stephone is fucking her, I can tell you there's no chance of that. But he is very skilled in the art of keeping a woman happy I have to admit. But only to a point!"

"Tim, will you please come into the house and let me explain?" Brooke said as she led me into the lounge. Brooke picked up a video camera, turned it on and placed it on a bookshelf pointing at the pair of us. Looking at the camera and not at me she said. "Tim, what I would like to tell you is a secret that must not become public knowledge. I would like you to promise me on this recording that you will tell no one what I'm going to tell you now. I'm not sure if the recording will stand up in court. But if you divulge to anyone what I'm going to tell you, I'll have my lawyers sue the pants off you. Do you promise?"

I looked at the camera a little confused and then at Brooke. "I promise, Brooke." I said.

"Right, here goes, and I pray that you are a man of your word. There is no way that Stephone is having sexual intercourse with Penny, or anyone else for that matter. You see in that accident Stephone had, he lost the required attributes!"

"Don't make me laugh, Brooke! I've seen that bloody great bulge in his swimming trunks."

"If only, Tim. But all that glitters isn't gold. What you see is all down to some very clever plastic surgeons. It's all apparently there and looks great but I'm afraid nothing works. He has no feeling in it at all. At least none of that type anyway. He can't get it to stand up on its own and there's no way he could fuck anyone with it. Tim, Stephone is completely sterile and has complete erectile dysfunction."

"I don't understand. For erectile dysfunction you can have implants and things fitted. I remember reading about some bloke who had a little pump fitted so he could pump it up. Why hasn't Stephone had one of those fitted?"

"Tim. Shephone's career as an actor has been built on his looks. He's the big Romeo who sweeps the girls off their feet. What do you think would happen if this got out? The tabloids would have a bloody field day. His reputation would be ruined. Now Stephone is a fool but he's not that big a fool. He knows he couldn't trust himself not to try and shag one of his little starlets or one of those pretty little tart fans of his. Just think what one of the little bitches could do to him if they spotted him pumping his bloody cock up. Can you see the headline in the News of the World? No, they all assume Stephone's so much in love with me that he's unmoveable. Because no matter how hard they try, he never rises to the bait. Sorry for the pun."

"Oh! Shit, then, what the hell is he doing with Penny then?"

"Ah now, there's the bloody catch. Stephone does love the ladies and I'm sure that Penny is getting her pleasures from him. Stephone loves to see a woman have an orgasm and he has become an expert at cunnilingus. Christ, what that man does with his tongue is indescribable. But he sure isn't fucking Penny."

"What are you going to do, Tim. Penny is being unfaithful to you in a way, the same way Stephone is being unfaithful to me. Look, if you want us to move out, we will. But I'm asking you, can't we come to some kind of a personal arrangement over this?"

+++++++++

So four months later, Penny and I were watching the last news summary on Brooke's TV show that season. Brooke has just told the world how happy she was that she was three months pregnant. My Penny just didn't know quite what to make of it and I'm trying my best not to have a smirk on my face. 

I've found these last few months quite tiring so a rest will be welcome, but Brooke promises me she's coming back for a rematch next year!

Life goes on.



Nemesis - Stella



Once again I must thank my LadyCybelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. Without those two wonderful people I don't think I would still be posting. As always I must also add that I can't leave a story alone. I could well have added some cock-ups after they have seen it and before it gets posted. That should keep the GPs happy at least. Sorry guys no sex.

*

How do you know your loving wife is cheating on you and shagging her private stud on the side? Well, there's only one answer to that. If you're a man that is? You don't know she's cheating. If you did know, you'd break some guy's head or something and divorce the bitch, wouldn't you?

But there comes a time in some men's lives when they suddenly discover what's been going on behind their back and that first discovery can come in the most unexpected way.

Take me for example. Sunday mornings were always the same back then. Stella, my wife, was out early playing golf with her little foursome. My foursome plays Saturday mornings. At one time we all played on the same day but some years back the girls decided that Saturday was better spent shopping. So they changed their day to Sundays.

I kinda staggered out of bed around nine. It was a good one that I'd hung on the previous evening. But I was certainly feeling it that morning. How the hell Stella had managed to get up at the time she did, god only knew. We hadn't got home until nearly three and then we had a good session. Stella gets, shall we say, aroused when she's had a few drinks.

I went into the kitchen and was pleased to see Stella had left the coffee on for me. Then I started cooking my Sunday morning fry up. Well, burn-up really; I'm not much of a cook. Sausage, eggs, bacon and a fried slice. I wouldn't get the fried bread if Stella were cooking it. "That's pushing it," she says.

I was sitting there enjoying my feast when something caught my eye. The bottle of tomato Ketchup I had just got out of the cupboard. The new bottle of tomato ketchup I'd had to open, because I'd finished the last one on Friday night after we got back from doing the weekly shopping. The new bottle of tomato ketchup that Stella had to get especially on Saturday in town because we had forgotten to get some in Asda on Friday. The bottle that had "Asda Smart Price" written on the label. When it should have "Morrisons Betta Buy" written there. That Asda label jumped out and bit me.

Stella had gone into town shopping with her girlfriends on Saturday morning as she always did and had supposedly picked up the ketchup whilst she was there. But the store in town was called Morrisons. The Asda supermarket was out on the bypass, completely in the wrong direction. Stella wouldn't have driven a nearly fifteen mile round trip to the Asda store just to pick up a bottle of ketchup; she would have picked it up in Morrisons in town. If she was window shopping in town with her friends all morning, why the hell would she go all the way to Asda for a bottle of tomato ketchup? We had been to Asda on Friday night for our weekly shop and she had brought a few things in the "George" clothes department; she said there was nothing else she fancied there. So why would she go back there?

Ah, well, I could only assume one of the other girls wanted something there and had almost forgotten about it until the following Wednesday. I was sitting in the office cafeteria at lunchtime when I overheard some guy's chatting on the next table. "Jesus, man, it's a right bloody knocking shop. You can't get a room there on the weekend for love nor money."

"Where is this again?" another voice asked.

"That new Motorlodge they've built on the bypass right next door to the Asda superstore. I wanted a room there on Saturday to take Ruby from dispatch for a couple of hours. But I couldn't get in there for love nor money," the first voice said.

"For a bloody good shag you mean. Look, if her old man catches you, you'll be in for the high jump. Did you hear about what happened to the last guy he caught her with?"

I stopped listening. After that my mind was doing a high jump itself. No, Stella wouldn't? Christ, we have been married nearly twenty-five bloody years. Stella loves me. And the children. She wouldn't, would she? But it would explain that bloody bottle of Asda tomato Ketchup. No, come on. This is bloody stupid. What the hell was making my mind even think it? But it did think it. The bloody thoughts wouldn't go away. Damn, I had to know but how was I going to find out?

All afternoon it played on my mind. I got home from work and whilst Stella prepared our evening meal I sat and looked at her. God, she was one fine looking woman. She got her figure back after having the kids and hasn't really lost it since. Yes, she'd put on a few pounds but it was nearly all in the right places. There weren't very many women that looked as good as she did at forty-five. Jesus she outshone all her friends. I'd seen their husbands looking at her, and I'd felt proud in the past. Now I was definitely feeling worried.

Stella asked me if I was feeling all right and I said I was fine, just a little tired. She gave me a cuddle and kiss and then suggested an early night wouldn't do me any harm. Well, that night was the first time in twenty-eight years that the little fella wouldn't stand up and play ball. Look, I'm usually good for two or three times on the trot even at my age; only the balls do tend to ache a bit if I go three times nowadays. I can remember when I could go seven times, during one night when we were first married. Mind the balls used to ache back then as well so I didn't push things too much.

But that night, nothing. Stella tried to reassure me, that it was probably just because I was working too hard and I said I was going have to see the Doc about it. But I knew what was really wrong. I had convinced myself that Stella was cheating on me. Stella tried again in the morning with a little oral. But he wasn't going to play. I was sure the little fella wasn't going to play again until I knew for sure what was going on.

For the next couple of days I bounced this thing around in my head. Could Stella be really running around behind my back? Well, to be honest, it was eating me up inside and I knew I had to talk to someone about in. So in the end I chose to talk it over with young Danny.

Danny wasn't that young really; but he was ten years younger than the rest of us. He was about 35 and, although he had been on my team for nearly twelve years, he was the youngest of them. He was divorced a couple of years ago when he caught his own wife messing around. I thought he was the best guy to bounce my suspicions off of.

Danny took things seriously straight away. He understood my concerns and suggested I follow Stella the next Saturday. Danny would take my place in my golf four. He had stood in before when one of the guys was on holiday or something. Then I could use his car to follow Stella; she wouldn't be able to recognise me as Danny's BMW had blacked out windows. Illegal in England of course, but the cops had given up stopping him after a while. So much for motoring law enforcement. But it was handy for me.

Saturday morning I was up early as usual and drove to the golf club to switch cars with Danny. By eight fifteen I was parked up the road to my house waiting to see what happened. Around nine Stella came out and got into her car. In theory she should go and collect her friends as I thought they carpooled on their Saturday sprees. But today she drove straight to the big car park in town. There she parked up in a quiet corner and sat there in the car waiting.

I parked where I could watch her and waited as well. After about ten minutes a car pulled across the front of her. I was getting quite worked up now. I didn't like where she had parked. It was over a quiet side of the car park furthest away from the shops. The car moved on again and Stella followed it over to the other side of the car park. Then they both parked beside each other. The doors of the other car opened and Stella's four shopping buddies got out. Then all five of them walked off towards the shops.

OK, you say. That proves my suspicions wrong. But something still wasn't quite right as far as I was concerned. Why had Stella taken her own car? I can remember they all five would travel together in the past. Why two cars today when they all lived it the same direction? It just didn't add up.

I sat there for three hours until they came back. Then I followed as both cars drove out to the Asda store on the bypass. They were in there for about three-quarters of an hour. Then they all came out and I followed Stella home. Feeling very stupid and much relieved I went back to the golf club and switched cars with Danny again before I went home. Stella welcomed me as she always did with a hug and kiss. Then surprisingly she wanted to go up and have a little session. Well, I've got to say it the little guy was feeling a lot happier than he had done all week, as he had kind of missed out on things and he was raring to go. So we nipped up and played for a couple of hours.

I think Stella was trying to kill me with love actually. I'd hardly got through the bedroom door when she had my trousers off and was sucking away on me at the same time as she removed her own clothes. Then she shoved me back on the bed climbed on and gave a good impression of a jockey trying to win the Grand National. Having won the race she swung into a 69 and proceeded to get me on duty again. Then surprisingly she announced she wanted me to take her back door and produced the lubricant.

Well, that really was it. Now I knew that something was going on. Or rather the suspicions came back stronger again. You see, I had only taken Stella in the arse a couple of times in my life. Stella just wasn't into it and didn't like it very much. Suddenly she wanted me to take her arse and had even supplied the lube. That had always been my province in the past and on top of that, she hadn't been drinking. Both times I'd taken her arse in the past; she had been pissed as a newt. Surprisingly the little fella stayed up for the job. Probably the excitement of being offered Stella's back door.

I fucked her like crazy and she screamed at me to "fuck her arse". Little did she realise that the more she encouraged me, the more I was convinced she was up to something behind my back. I figured that her woman's intuition had warned her that I was suspicious. Now she was trying to prove what a loving wife she was.

Saturday evening we went out for a meal with the children. There are both married and they had their respective spouses with them. We all had a great evening and went on to a night-club for a while. The place was geared up for the youngsters so Stella and I went home about midnight. Once again Stella tried to wear me out. But she was gone to her golf match when I woke up. That Sunday I didn't cook a breakfast.

I got out of the house as soon as I could and made my way out to the club, parking on a hill that overlooks most of the course. I scanned the greens using the telephoto lens on my old 35mm camera. Well, there she was with her four on the seventh green. Just where I'd expected them to be at that time. I sat and watched for the next hour or so. "God, she's as good on a golf course as she is in bed," I thought. Why the hell didn't I ever think of us playing mixed doubles on the weekend? Damn-it, I thought I would talk to the boys about that if my worries proved to be wrong.

On the way home I stopped and grabbed some breakfast in a café and was out the back garden cutting the grass by the time Stella got home. She made a cup of tea and called me in to drink it. Once again I sat and watched her as she began cooking our evening meal. She must have sensed me watching her. She suddenly turned and asked. "Are you all right, love?"

"Fine, why do you ask?"

"I don't know. You seem to have been a bit distant lately."

"Um, I don't think I was very distant from you yesterday or last night."

"No but you've been off all week."

"Busy at work, I suppose. We've got a couple of big projects to finish in the next month or so. I should imagine I'll soon be back into putting in a couple of late nights every week until they're finished."

"Oh, I don't think it's the projects. You'll have the Greenway job sorted with no problem and Paterson's have never given you any trouble in the past. Is anything else upsetting you?"

"I should bloody think so!" I thought. How the hell does Stella know Greenways and Paterson's are the two projects my team it working on? That's supposed to be bloody secret. I've never told Stella the names of the companies we are working for. Not that I hadn't trusted her in the past. It was just confidential information; none of us on the team discuss it with our wives. Well, we are not supposed to. I suddenly thought that maybe someone is discussing work with his lover. Oh, fucking shit!

The little man stopped playing ball again that night and I told Stella I was definitely going to see the doctor this week. All that week I watched the rest of my team very closely trying to work out which one of them it was and later in the week I went out and checked out this Fucking Motolodge place. I found the guy I was looking for surprisingly easily. Looking around all my colleagues there was only one man it could be.

So the next Saturday morning when I ostensibly drove off to my golf game I kept my eyes open and there it was, parked down in a side turning waiting for me to go past. The black BMW with the blacked out windows. I just swung around the block, then parked up and waited. Ten minutes later my old CB radio crackled into life and one of my three spies informed me that they were on the move.

We followed them carefully out to the Asda superstore, where Danny parked the BMW. Stella and he walked over the road to the Motorlodge. I must admit that I couldn't understand them paying for a room in the Motorlodge. Our King-size bed was at home. Perhaps Stella had some conscience about using my bed.

The four of us waited a while until Danny and Stella were out of sight then I went over and unlocked Danny's car. He kept a spare set of keys to his car locked in his office desk. But he worked on my team and I had keys for everything. I released the fuel cap and then I poured four jars of thick honey into the fuel tank then I added two bags of sugar just to make sure. Overkill I know, but I took great satisfaction in the actual doing of it. What ever else happened that Beema was going to be off the road for some time and Danny was going to have one hell of a garage bill. Then I made off towards the Motorlodge with my three golfing buddies as backup. I really think they were there to make sure I didn't get too carried away and finish up doing time for murder or something.

The visit I had made to the Motorlodge during the week had allowed me to have a duplicate key made to the room Danny had booked. Silly of him to put the hotel on his company charge card. I had access to his statements and receipts. Danny always booked the same room because from there he would be able to see his beloved BMW parked in Asda's car park. It had been simple for me to ask for the same room, then slip off and get a duplicate key cut. The only fear I had was that he might recognise my car parked near his. He was bound to check his car the moment he got into the room. But he apparently didn't spot my car.

I quietly unlocked the door and slowly opened it. The layout of the room meant they couldn't see the door from the bed. I'd oiled the hinges and lock on the Thursday. Surprisingly they weren't on the main bed. Stella was kneeling naked on the put you up sofa, with her hand's on the back of it looking out of the window. Danny was standing behind her fucking her doggy fashion. The TV was on with the in-house porno film on it. I think the noise from the TV helped to cover our entrance.

I heard Danny say, "Come on, Stella, please let me? You let him."

"No!" Stella replied "I've told you before only Roger has my arse. If you keep asking, that's the end of it. You won't get anything in the future. I've told you I only do this because you're a friend." (Or did she really mean "fiend"?)

"Come off it, Stella. You come with me to get a decent fuck."

"You've got to be kidding. Roger will outlast you any day."

"Fuck you. I'll show you who can fuaaaaaaahhh"

That's as far as he got as my boot solidly connected with his balls. It kind of took his breath away as he jumped forward. Stella's head banged against the window so hard I thought the glass was going to break. Danny then sort of rolled off of her onto the floor and I landed quite a few kicks and blows before my friends figured Danny had had enough and restrained me.

I saw a sheet fly through the air in Stella's direction and one of my friends said, "Cover yourself, whore!" Stella was staring at me trying to focus her eyes. She was obviously stunned from where her head hit the window. When she finally recognised me, she screamed and burst into tears.

I just turned away, my three friends and myself left the room. As we walked down the corridor several heads appeared from other rooms. Probably alerted by Stella's screams. But no one said anything to us as we left the building.

We went back to our cars and drove away. On the way back to my house, I saw a police car and an ambulance pass me going in the opposite direction with their sirens wailing.

Two hours later a police car pulled up outside and Stella got out of it with a policewoman. They came in the front door and found me sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. Stella just stood there but the policewoman spoke. "Your wife was frightened to come home. She's afraid you might harm her."

Without looking up, I said, "Stella, in our twenty-five years of marriage have I ever lifted a finger to you?"

Stella didn't answer.

"Well, have I?" I asked but a lot more forcefully. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the policewoman's hand move towards her belt where her stick was located.

"No, you've never showed any kind of violence to me," Stella almost whispered.

"When I found you fucking your stud this morning, did I raise my hand to you?"

"No, you didn't touch me."

"Then why should you think I would lay a hand on the woman I love now?"

"Roger, does that mean you are going to forgive me?"

"Not a hope in hell girl. I'm out of here as soon as the boys get back with the van. I saw my solicitor earlier in the week he has already got the ball rolling. I'll let you explain what's happened to the children. See how you can make me finding you in a hotel room being fucked by that arsehole sound like it is all my fault."

Stella collapsed against the policewoman who supported her.

"I think your wife should see a doctor." The officer said.

"The doctor's number is on the board over there. I haven't got time to call him. I think my friends have just arrived with the van."

For the next hour or so I was busy packing and moving my gear. Another police car arrived and most of the time we were working around four police officers some of whom were in the lounge with Stella whilst the other two watched what I was doing and actually helped me carry some stuff out to the van. Surprisingly our own doctor turned up and joined Stella in the lounge. By four o'clock the van was loaded and I led the way to the flat I had rented.

At nine in the evening my son arrived to see me. I can only assume that the police must have given him my new address, since I had had to give it to them. Although they never actually mentioned what I had done to Danny, it was obvious that they knew who was responsible for it so they had asked for my new address.




Nemesis - Stella



My son said that his mother had told him what she had been doing. He said he was very upset with her but she was his mother. He said when Stella had told his sister, my daughter had just walked out of the house crying and saying she never wanted to see her mother again. I told him that she would probably change her mind in a few days.

He asked me what I was going to do and I told him that the only thing I could do was divorce his mother. I hoped she would not fight it so we could go with unreconcilable differences, as that was the easiest and cheapest way to do it. He hugged me and we both cried for awhile and then he left.

Well, that's the way it went. The divorce only took a few months. There was no maintenance in the settlement so Stella couldn't afford to stay in the house. I paid her half its market value and moved back in whilst she moved in with my son's family. From what he says his wife is keeping Stella on a tight leash. Personally I believe my son and his wife are hoping that we will get back together sometime.

I haven't spoken to Stella from that day to this. My son tells me she hasn't come up with an explanation or excuses for why she was meeting Danny. He thinks she doesn't know why she did. He's put up the suggestion to me that Stella could have been having a mid-life crisis. But I wonder if it wasn't something to do with this hormone change thing that women go through. 

Tomorrow we are both going to be at my granddaughter's Christening. My son asked me to come alone. As I'm out a lot in the evenings, I think they believe I have a woman friend. I don't enlighten them, as I am sure it upsets Stella. I suppose I will have to talk to her some time.

Young Danny? He quit his job. Some of the guys on my team went to see him in hospital and told him he would finish up back there if he tried to return to the office. He would have been fired anyway, as our contracts are quite restrictive about fraternising. Besides that, I gather that Danny had been knocking off someone else's wife as well. For some reason the guys on the team haven't mentioned it to me. I'm sure some of them feel guilty. They knew what was going on with the other woman and know I would have put a stop to it. I would most likely have found out about Danny and Stella in the process. 

For some reason Danny refused to press charges for assault. I know the police were quite miffed about that. I also discovered that it was his ex-wife who caught him in bed with a neighbour and not the other way round as he had told us.

Now what happens? God only knows. From the company charge card statements Danny had been hiring that room every Saturday for nearly a year. I love Stella but I don't think I could ever get over what she did. I know I miss her like crazy, but I doubt I could ever trust her again. I suppose I might offer to fuck her every now and again for old time's sake, providing she isn't getting anything on the side, that is. I don't want to catch anything if I can help it.

Ah Well. Life goes on. But sometimes I do wish I didn't have a weakness for tomato ketchup. 



Nemesis Visits



Welcome to my latest story. It is quite lengthy but I hope you'll find it worth the effort.

This is a tale of love and romance. Max is a cruel, heartless man; a misogynist, a sexual predator and a user of women whose twisted and selfish view of love is challenged by a divine punishment. Can the Goddess's retribution change him and teach him what it is to love women and help him become a real, complete person?

Oh, and in case you're worried by the paragraph above, this story is in the right category! (This has been a difficult story to categorize. It was previously published in "Romance" but I feel that the change of category is appropriate.)

Whilst this is not exactly a sequel, Max first appears in my previous story 'Such a Little Thing', picking up his life some ten years later. This story also features Amber, the heroine of 'Such a Little Thing', and inevitably this story therefore contains spoilers for this earlier tale but also shows what happened to Amber and Milla. For those of you who want to read it first, 'Such a Little Thing' can be found here: http://www.literotica.com/s/such-a-little-thing-ch-01.

Thanks, as always, to my editor, Winterreisser, for his diligent editing and suggestions and to Kat for her comments and feedback as this story developed.

I wish you happy reading and, as ever, feedback through comments and/or votes are very welcome.

====================================================

PROLOGUE

On the low rise of a small grass covered hill on the edge of Elysium, with unobtainable Olympus rising in the far distance, the tholos stood. The gleaming white marble of the circle of Ionic columns, supporting the red-tiled roof, glinted in the clear, bright sunlight as a perfect cooling and fragrant breeze played over the green sward, nodding the delicate flowers that spangled the grass.

In the centre of the circular temple the air thickened and a vision of absolute beauty condensed into being as the Goddess manifested herself, her exquisite form clad in the shimmering pale gold of her diaphanous robe. The three women waiting there bowed and made obeisance before the divine beauty now in their midst.

"Speak to me, daughters of Nyx," commanded the Goddess.

"Oh Goddess, you demanded of us to know the complaints against the man and we fear that they are legion," Eris replied.

"Show me the nature of these grievances, sisters," the Goddess instructed.

Oizys stepped forward slightly, and made passes with her hands; the air in front of her shimmered and a vision appeared: 





Nemesis Visits



"Goddess? Ordained? Retribution? What?" I am practically gibbering.

"Yes, the Goddess, though you do not know her many do and under many names. She has decreed punishment for you, Maxwell Thomas... this punishment."

"What? Punish me by turning me into some random, freaky fucking woman?" The fear inside me is bubbling over into anger as a defence against madness.

"There is nothing random or freaky about the woman you've become: the Goddess has allowed for you to be blessed with the second X chromosome that you might have had if a different sperm had fertilized your mother's ovum. The woman that you are today is the woman that you might have been, nothing more, nothing less; you are the -- shall we say, Maxine Thomas? -- that your parents might have raised had they birthed a daughter."

"Blessed with an X chromosome? You mean cursed, cursed by this Goddess to be some dowdy, repulsive, freakish cow," I wail, the tumult of emotions churning inside me now sliding from anger into tearfulness.

"Perhaps you must begin by expanding your understanding of what and who is beautiful and attractive, Maxine."

"What, like start fancying men? Is that part of the Goddess's blessing too, that I'll now be attracted to guys?"

"The Goddess did not require this change. Are you attracted to men, Maxine?" she asks and, as I stare at her, the swirling, eddying robe of shadows momentarily leaves her almost naked, her perfect and utterly desirable figure on view.

"What? No, of course not, I'm attracted to women... oh, shit, you've made me..." She gives a small smile.

"Are the words, 'nothing but a fucking rug-munching perverted slut!' what you're looking for, Maxine?" The words she use reach back across the years and I recall her, and that skinny lesbian girlfriend of hers who slapped me.

"This is about her, isn't it, about Amber Taylor, for dumping her and calling her names when she turned into a dy... a lesbian."

"It's true, it is about her... and about Camilla, that 'skinny lesbian girlfriend'." What? Shit, she can read my fucking mind! Nemesis' look is cold and hard as she continues, "However, it's also for Cathy, whom you deceived; for Nina, the girl you humiliated for rejecting you, hurting her so deeply she tried to kill herself; for Leanne and for Ruth and for Harriet the secretary you got sacked. Shall I continue?" she asks but doesn't wait for my reply. "For Debbie, Claire, Jane and, of course, Marie the Intern... and Cindy, the woman that you..." she pauses, staring at me, and I swallow nervously, "...raped."

"I didn't... she wanted..." I stammer before the protests dry in my throat.

"And for those countless other women that you treated with contempt, abuse, as objects for your gratification or just casual sexism. These are all reasons and this is the Goddess's punishment." I sag, defeated and depressed. I cannot believe that this is real yet cannot pretend it is a dream.

"And how long has the Goddess decreed for this retribution and punishment?" I ask flatly.

"She has not done so: I will return when she bids me do so, no sooner. And now I will leave you." She starts to turn and her shadow robe thickens around her.

"Wait!" I cry out in sudden panic, "What about my job, my bank account, ID, clothes even... How will I live?" She pauses and closes her eyes as she remains motionless for a few moments. 

"It is decided," she says and her hand traces a complex shape in the air. "There is clothing in the wardrobe, a birth certificate, documents and money on the table. And you may continue to live here for the time being; until, say, the third new moon. Unlike you, the Goddess is not cruel."

"But what about my job?"

"They employed Maxwell Thomas, not Maxine; you must find work for the person you are now." She withdraws into the corner and the robe flows out to become shadow once more until just the pale suggestion of her face remains. "Maxine, I will not bid you farewell or good luck for what happens afterwards is down to you and the choices you make henceforth. However, try to see this as a new chance, not a curse: perhaps then you can succeed and make amends for what Maxwell has done..."





Nemesis Visits



I sit and slowly drink my tea. The phone bleeps and there's another text, from Joe this time about meeting for a drink at the weekend. I can't keep using this phone with all Max's friends knowing the number but a new phone will be expensive or, I wonder... I quickly search on the Internet then log into Max's mobile phone account on line, go to the on-line help chat and tell them that I'm receiving a lot of spam and nuisance calls. Less than five minutes later the phone number has been changed and Maxine has her own phone: result!

Okay, I guess I can't put it off any longer: I'm going to need to go out and to do that I'll need to get dressed. In the bedroom I shed the tee shirt and begin with, well I'm going to call them panties because I hate the word 'knickers'. Okay, now the bra and, after I finally manage to get it the right way up and the right way round, I have the challenge of doing it up at the back. I succeed, eventually, but it leaves me wondering who thought that the back fastening was a good idea?

The top is easy -- a pale pink vee-neck shirt attracts my eye -- but that leaves what to wear below. I see a skirt that would finish somewhere above my knees, I guess: it is a deep, almost blood red, that I think would go well with the top and, even as my hand is reaching out to take it, I stop as three thoughts occur in quick succession. The first is a slight disbelief that I have just stood trying to match clothes to form an outfit; the second is that I really cannot believe that I actually want to wear a skirt and I can't tell whether this is because skirt wearing is somehow hard-wired into my new, female brain or that there has always been some secret desire to cross-dress within me -- I'm going to assume it's the former and blame my girlie brain; thirdly there is the practical thought that going out as a woman for the first time will be stressful enough without the added unknown of skirt-wearing. This final thought wins the argument and I opt for the simplicity and relative familiarity of a pair of jeans; only relatively familiar, however, as I've never worn anything quite as figure-hugging as these before. Finally, I pass over the two of pairs of heeled shoes (way too scary to even consider!) and slip on a pair of pink canvas sneakers.

Inside the wardrobe door is a mirror and I take a moment to look at the woman I see there. I'm sure Max wouldn't give her a second glance: pretty enough to avoid ridicule but not sufficiently beautiful to be worth his flattery. God, was Max really that shallow?

I seem to be developing a slightly schizophrenic attitude to Max as I notice that I'm thinking of him as another person: Max's bed, Max's attitude, Max's words... I know, in theory, I am just Max in a new body but the truth is I don't exactly feel like Max anymore. Is this good or bad? I don't know. If I'm not Max then who am I? I don't know this either but, I guess I'm just going to have to try to be Maxine, whatever that means.

I'm going to walk to the small supermarket just down the road for some milk, bread and a few other bits, oh, and some nice-smelling shower gel, shampoo and antiperspirant. Therefore I need money. Max's wallet has twenty quid in it and, of course, his bank and credit cards. Dare I use them? I know the PINs so in theory there should be no problem. In fact, his -- my -- bank accounts are in good shape so I shouldn't have to work for weeks, months even. This isn't going to last months, surely? Ha, I bet Goddesses and spirits of vengeance don't know about electronic banking! I take the cash and the cards, stuffing them into my jeans' pockets.

As I enter the main room I notice for the first time something on the coffee table: a dark brown rectangle the size of a large envelope. I walk over and pick it up. It appears to be made of soft leather, a sort of large wallet or pouch and on the flap are Greek letters that I try to remember from school: a letter N that I can't recall the name for, epsilon, mu, epsilon, delta, no that's sigma not delta, iota sigma, so that's N E M E S... of course, Nemesis. 

I remember her reply when I'd asked about ID and money and so, when I open the flap, I am not surprised to find sheets of paper and banknotes inside. There is a birth certificate for Maxine Helen THOMAS, with the same date of birth, parents and other details as my real birth certificate; there is a sheet with details of my National Insurance number (not the same as Max's I notice) and an Inland Revenue tax code; a card giving an NHS Number for Maxine Thomas and, lastly, £300 in cash. What there isn't is a driving licence so unless I want to take a risk, the car will have to stay in the garage for the time being.

Taking twenty quid from the pouch, just in case I bottle out of using the bank card, I go to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and take a step forward. There is no one in the hallway but nevertheless, as I turn to pull the door closed behind me, I cannot help looking back into the safety and security of the apartment. "Shit! That was close!" I gasp out loud as my eyes spot the apartment keys on the table by the door. Imagine if I had walked out without them? I almost dive back into the apartment, suddenly terrified that the door will maliciously slam on me, trapping me outside. My fingers close on the keys and I almost sob with relief. The bunch of keys feels huge in my new fist, far too big for my pockets and even too large to easily carry in my smaller hand. Laboriously I pare them down, unwinding each in turn from the spiral of the key-ring: first the car key then the garage door key, Max's desk and filing cabinet keys and some strange key whose purpose I cannot even remember. Finally I am left with just the two apartment door keys and the key to the front door of the apartment block. These I slip into my pocket.

I leave the apartment, though I cannot stop myself repeatedly checking that the keys are in place. I cross to the lift and press the call button, tapping my foot as I wait. I don't really want to meet one of my barely-known neighbours and be forced to come up with a story. Actually, I need to think because, sooner or later, someone will want to know where Max is and who the fuck I am. With a soft bing the mercifully empty lift arrives and I enter.

I make it out of the building without encountering anyone and turn onto the pavement towards the shops. It is quite busy so I guess it is sometime after five o'clock and people are heading home. I notice for the first time the difference between men and women as they walk: the men stride, arms and shoulders swinging while the women are more... demure, I suppose, apart from a few girls with a definitely sexy sway. I am suddenly aware that I am striding, or striding as much as my shorter legs and smaller frame allow. I halt instantly before moving into a doorway to watch the girls and women carefully. I don't want a sexy sashay, which I suspect would end up looking like a duck's waddle, but I do want to fit in more so as not to draw attention. I move off, keeping my steps shorter and my arms still; it feels unnatural but it is better I think. I wish I had a handbag or shoulder bag to hold onto as almost all the women seem to have and I add this to my list of things to buy.

I pass a bank and see the hole-in-the-wall ATM. Brilliant: I can get cash from here rather than using the bank card in the shop. I insert the card, key in the PIN and select the maximum withdrawal, £250. There is a breathless moment before I hear the machine begin whirring as it counts the money; there is a clunk and the bank card pops out followed by a soft hum when the cash appears. I glance around before taking and pocketing the bundle of ten and twenty pound notes. The screen flashes:





Nemesis Visits



"Erm, thanks Jason but I've already eaten and, you know," I keep smiling and my voice friendly hoping to engage his sympathy, "it's been a long day with all the moving in and unpacking and stuff so I need my bed." Even as I say the word 'bed' I know it was a mistake and I inwardly kick myself as a lecherous gleam is kindled in his eye.

"Well, you know, we could just stay in and rent a movie or something," he suggests and his hand has slipped down to caress the front of my shoulder and is edging ever downwards to the top of my boob. I am almost paralyzed with fear.

"N, No Jason," I manage but it makes no difference as his fingers stray ever lower, now onto my boob. "I said no, Jason," I manage a little more forcefully, "didn't you hear me?"

"I heard a little girlie playing it coy, trying to be Little Miss Hard-to-Get," he smiles as his fingers are almost brushing my nipple. "C'mon Maxine, your brother Max wouldn't want you to be unwelcoming, especially to his boss..." With an acid, sick feeling in my stomach I suddenly know exactly how this could go because it is precisely the sort of play that Max would make: the friendliness first followed by gentle seduction, then the pressure, then coercion and then... force, if necessary. I know how it is done, the question is: do I know how to stop it?

He takes my hesitation for permission as his hand suddenly grasps my boob, squeezing it. If he thinks that's arousing then he must be off his head. I try to take a step back to break his grasp on me but he simply follows. I look up from my glance down at his still-mauling hand, feeling panic flooding me, when suddenly his mouth is on mine. I give a gasp of shock and horror that he seems to read as desire as his kiss becomes more forceful. I am driven backwards as he pushes me and I worry that he is trying to push me to the floor. Instead, I back into the edge of the kitchen island unit, the hard edge of the worktop pressing into the small of my back.

Terror floods my mind but there is not the answering rage and anger that I expect. Instead I am paralyzed and helpless as his hand releases my boob... only to slide down and up under my skirt, lifting it, exposing my panties. I try to say "No" but my throat is too tight and I can scarcely breathe. His hand cups my sex, groping, squeezing... I am trembling now, my mind numb with fear as his hand moves up and then down as it slips behind the waistband of my panties, his fingers driving down in search of my opening. He is rough, harsh and without hesitation as his finger enters me with an intense discomfort that borders on pain.

I haven't the words to describe the violation I feel at his penetration, the sheer horror and humiliation that I have not stopped him and yet I still cannot move. "Fuck, Maxine, your pussy's so tight. It's like a little girl's..." he tells me in admiration. Somehow the sound of his voice as much as the vileness of his words breaks through my paralysis and I surprise him by suddenly pushing him hard away from me. He takes a stumbling step back, pulling his hand from inside me and from my panties.

"No Jason!" I say loudly, though there is a tremble in my voice, "Stop it, please," I beg as anger flashes in his eyes and a snarl curls his lip. An idea suddenly occurs to me and I hold my hands up, trying to give myself time to speak. "It's not that you're not attractive Jason," I tell him, "it's just, erm, well, sleeping with Max's twin, and, erm, given how alike we look, people might misunderstand and, you know, think in means that you, er, have a bit of a thing for Max. I mean, they'd be wrong, obviously" I add hastily as his eyes narrow at what I'm saying, "but if someone made, like, a comment..." I can see he is not convinced by the logic but his homophobia has now been triggered, overcoming his lust if not his anger at my rejection. "I'll let Max know you called round when I talk to him tomorrow morning," I assure him but trying to suggest that if he tries anything I'll tell Max. My heart still hammers in my chest, fearful of what he might do. "I'm really tired tonight and I know I won't be much company so maybe it'd be best if you go," I suggest carefully. He pauses for a moment, weighing up his options.

"Yeah, okay," he says at last and it's all I can do to not to sigh in relief. "Maybe we could go out another time, next weekend perhaps. Then I could find out Max's boyhood secrets from you," he suggests. Oh shit, that's the last thing I want! I'd love to just tell him to fuck off and die but I'm desperate not to say the wrong thing at this stage.

"Hmm, well maybe," I say reluctantly, just desperate to get him out of the apartment, "though I've quite a lot on for the next few weeks," I warn as I edge him towards the door. 

Finally he is out and I close the door, just managing to resist the urge to slam it on him. I watch the door entry screen as I lock the door and, a couple of minutes later, I see him leave the building. My legs give way and I am shaking and crying; great heaving sobs of relief. I climb unsteadily to my feet and hurry as much as I can to the bedroom where, without bothering to undress, I climb into bed, wrapping the duvet tight around me for comfort and security. I expect rage at what he did; what I feel is fear and, unexpectedly, shame -- shame that I gave him reason to think I wanted what he did to me, shame that I let him go so far, shame that I was grateful to him when he stopped...

The fear, the shame and terror of being raped is finally passing when I am struck by a new emotion: overwhelming guilt. I have been in Jason's position and not backed down. I have coerced and bullied women into sex numerous times, and once or twice, when that didn't work, I carried on anyway... Oh Goddess forgive me, I had no idea of the terror and fear, shame and humiliation that I caused... No, it's not that I had no idea; I'm not stupid, I should have known but I didn't think, didn't want to know. No, I'm still lying to myself: the real truth is that I simply didn't care! Tears flow and sobs wrack my chest even as shame and guilt wrack my mind.

It all goes on for a long time.





Nemesis Visits



Mary takes me through to the kitchen and introduces me to Paul, the chef, and Steve his assistant. "And over here is Angie, who helps with the wash-up and some of the prep..." I turn to follow her gesture.

"Agnieszka!" I exclaim in surprise.

"Oh, Miss, er Thomas?" she replies, equally surprised. "You are here?"

"Maxie's just joined as a waitress, Angie. So you two know each other then?"

"Well, sort of. Agnieszka used to be my brother's cleaner but I can't afford to pay her so this morning I had to..."

"You give me sack!" she interrupts in an angry tone.

"Yes, but only because I have no money to pay you; I gave you practically a quarter of all the money I have as compensation."

"A quarter?" Mary asks, "That seems a lot to take from Maxie, Angie."

"She has nice place to live, and I need money for rent and food and things too," Agnieszka retorts and Mary is about to speak again.

"No, it's okay, Mary" I tell her, "It was only a hundred and twenty quid. Look, Agnieszka: okay, I do get to live there for free but I don't have access to Max's money. I paid you as much as I could but, well, if I had Max's money would I be working here?" She looks at me and finally nods.

"Is true, I guess. You are nicer person than your brother, I think. That's why you are poor," she gives a slight smile.

"Angie's right," Mary agrees, "better to be good but poor than to be rich and a bastard!"

"So, no hard feelings, Agnieszka?" I ask. I am surprised by how much I want her to accept me and think well of me; Max wouldn't have given a fuck about what a woman like her, a lowly cleaner, thought of him.

"Okay, Maxie. And you call me Angie like all the others, okay? You sound like my mother with your Agnieszka, Agnieszka, Agnieszka."

The evening passes steadily though, being a Monday night, it is not very busy. This suits me fine as there isn't the bustle and pressure while I'm still learning. It also gives me a little time to chat a bit with the others so that by the end of the evening I know more of Colin (he's gay, lives with his partner, John, and has a wickedly funny way of referring to customers), Paul and Steve the chefs (who are a bit of a double act, always bantering back and forth to point where, had I not heard Paul mention his wife and Steve his girlfriend, I might have thought them a couple!) and even Angie (whose boyfriend dumped her yesterday, which might explain her general anger and impatience with the world).

Okay, the pay is crap, not that I'll get any money until Friday, my feet are agony by the end and customers range from lovely to downright rude but, as I say goodnight to my new colleagues, and, in Mary's case at least, new friend, I find that I've enjoyed working more than I have in years and I feel good about myself.

I sleep very well.