17 comments/ 47021 views/ 35 favorites The Panic Room By: Tx Tall Tales ======================== She cheats, he thinks A BTB tale gone wrong. Much of it written with tongue firmly embedded in cheek. Don't take this one too seriously, please. Could have been LW, or even Humor and Satire. I hope the category doesn't give too much away. ======================== The alarm on my phone chirped, and I quickly turned it off. EF Secure might build the best Panic Rooms in the Washington-Baltimore corridor but it seemed their employees couldn't ever remember to turn off the alarms before doing any work. It was my wife's idea, of course. One more example of keeping up with the Joneses. Ever since my company had been bought out, she insisted we live the life we'd earned. Me, I was finishing the two years I had committed to staying with them, as part of the buyout, before trying something new. I was tired of designing autonomous mobile units for the military. It had been fun when starting, but now it was all red-tape and bureaucracy. Adding ridiculous features because a room of idiots thought it would be nice to have was anything but fun. Oh well, not my problem soon enough. Something nagged at my subconscious, and I checked the alarm again. The company converting the underground wine-room in our home to a panic room, or what their literature called a 'safe' room, wasn't supposed to be working. We were waiting for the new bio-metric control panel, and that wouldn't be delivered until late next week. Other than that, it was all but complete. The Kevlar wall panels had been put up, the emergency generator and filtered air supply were installed. Even the furniture had been moved in. The only thing missing was the bio-metric control panel, which prevented anybody from using the interior controls without pressing their hand against the identification pane. After hearing some horror stories about the single finger ID, I had paid the eight grand for the upgrade. I don't think Denise understood the whole idea behind having a secret safe room. She had already given her two best friends tours of ours, and I had tried to remind her that the whole reason the entrance was hidden behind the pantry was so nobody could find it. That meant nobody, not best friends, not family, NOBODY! She had promised not to tell anybody else, and to swear her friends to secrecy. I guess that promise hadn't lasted long. Just like the promise to watch her spending, spend less time at the club, drive within the speed limit, and start working on the family we'd agreed to. Hell, we'd been married almost five years, and I was about to turn 30. At 27, you'd figure her biological clock would be ticking. If so, it wasn't ticking loud enough. I was a little pissed, to be honest, that she would break her promise so cavalierly. I left the office building, hopped in the car, and drove the four miles to confront her. Not only had she lied about keeping it secret, but it wasn't safe to be in there. At least not until we had the new control panel installed. She couldn't operate any of the safeguards without the new panel, and the only override was the one on my tablet. Heaven forbid she locked the steel entrance door; she'd be stuck until either I or the EF contractors unlocked it. Pulling into the drive, I calmed down. Marcie's SUV was parked in the circular entrance. She was one of the two that already knew about the room. The Harrises were among our 'new' friends, that came with the upgrade in zip-code and country club membership. They were not my favorites, by any means, but Denise had bonded with Marcie. I preferred the types who had worked for their money, not earned it the old-fashioned way, inheriting it. I guess you could call me a reverse snob. Marcie wasn't so bad, but her husband was a pompous windbag. I put up with him for Denise's sake. I pulled out my tablet, and brought up the control room interface. I logged in, and scanned the first tab of monitor windows down the right side of the display. Everything was working, and the 8 views of the outside of the house showed no movement alerts, or anything questionable. I let myself in the house and headed for the back, to give my scatter-brained wife a piece of my mind. I love the woman, I do, but she could certainly use a little extra brain-power. She was so sweet and naive, I couldn't stay mad at her, and was doing my best to remind myself to act a little pissed, and not roll over immediately. My anger with her usually had about a 10 minute shelf-life. And that was only if she didn't crank up the tears, put on her patented pout, or seduce me with her substantial charms. Let's face it, I was putty in her hands. She's beautiful, sweet, and so damn affectionate, I can't stay irritated with her. Never mind how incredible her apologies were. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I damn well knew it. I should say that most of the time she was wonderful. There'd been a few hiccups lately. If I kept those in mind, I figure I could hang onto my anger a could 30 seconds or more, and maybe get through to her. Tab two of the monitors showed eight views of the interior of the home. A quick scan of the display didn't locate them. They were not outside on the grounds, nor on the main level. I hit tab three, checking the upstairs and was starting to get curious. There was no presence there either. The last tab brought up the auxiliary rooms, the garage, the attic, the pool house, and... "Son of a bitch!" I groaned, picking myself up off the floor, where I'd fallen after tripping over the end table. "Son. Of. A. BITCH!" The second burst of profanity was inspired by the site of Dale Harris's naked ass bouncing up and down between Denise's legs, in, of all places, the panic room. I dragged myself off the floor, and checked again. No doubt about it. My loving wife was fucking our supposed friend. Or getting fucked by our supposed friend, I should say. Half a dozen thoughts ran through my brain. I could burst in and confront them, beat the hell out of him, drag her naked through the street. Go out, buy a gun, return and cap their asses. Getting a divorce was guaranteed. I wasn't going to remain married to a cheating slut! Then the doubts started to creep in. Why? Why would she do it? Didn't she love me? Did she ever love me? Wasn't I a good husband, good provider? Our sex life had always seemed good, no, make that great. I had no complaints, did she? I was certain she loved me, was I just a sucker? A meal ticket? Things started to fall in place. She'd been irritable lately, and taken to avoiding me. We hadn't had sex in over two weeks, which was an eternity for us. She'd been gone even more than usual, with many late nights. Shit, was I that oblivious? Stupid? Love-blind? That son-of-a-bitch Dale. He was supposed to be a friend. I never really liked him, he was just a spoiled rich kid. Actually, the husband of a rich kid, and a leech. He came from a good family, old money, but he didn't have any of it, or not much. He'd eaten through his trust fund with a lot of foolish investments. He fancied himself a venture capitalist. Most of our inside crowd called him the failure capitalist. Instead of the Midas touch, he had a lead touch. Anything he touched turned to crap. Fortunately for him, Marcie came from Heinz money, and could afford to indulge his idiocy. Not me. This was one time too many, that he'd fucked up. Fucked up big time. The mother-fucker would pay. Make that, the wife-fucker would pay, and pay dearly. Divorce. God, that would be painful. Maryland was no-fault of course. I'd built the company from scratch with my partner Rohit, but we'd cashed out, and my wife would get half of everything. All those years, my blood, sweat and tears, endless hours invested before I'd even met her, and now she'd reap the benefits. I knew how divorce worked, and I was fucked. I continued walking to the back of the house, on auto-pilot. What the hell was I going to do? I knew I wanted to start with kicking that smarmy asshole's butt all over the house. That would probably get me in a lot of trouble, but hell, it would be worth it. My work had introduced me to some very tough customers. Working military contracts did that. Heck, I might just outsource his punishment. But where was the satisfaction in that? I really wanted to hear his squeal when I applied my size 11 boots to his wrinkly nut sack. I made it as far as the pantry. I saw the false wall was open, and could hear the sound of their coupling. It made me sick, nauseous. I needed to do something, but what? Dale's disgusting chatter broke me out of my trance. I couldn't make out the words, but it pissed me off just to hear him! I had to think about this. I needed to figure out the best way to take care of things. I needed time. I raised my tablet, and pressed the big red button in the top left corner. I watched the hydraulics kick in, as the heavy steel door slowly shut. It sealed with a whisper, after about five long seconds that felt more like five minutes. The red button turned yellow. I pressed it again, and heard the steel rods slide into their recesses as the room was sealed with a thud. The button turned green. I had all the time I needed. * * * I went upstairs and packed a suitcase. I glanced at the monitor, and was surprised to see the pair of them still going at it. I realized I didn't want them calling anybody, and brought up the control panel, turning on the active EMF defenses. No electrical signals in or out of the control room. Only my tablet, hard wired to an external receiver, could breach those defenses. Ten minutes later I sat in my car, and cleaned up after myself. It wasn't difficult to eradicate any evidence of my presence in the home. I found the moment I entered the house, and went back a couple of minutes, looping the entrance and interior household recordings to cover my tracks. From that point on, nobody came or went. At least not according to the video. I scrubbed the command logs to the controller, deleting all entries after their entrance. A simple cut and paste of a single line, showed them closing the door after them. After resetting the time-stamps for all my changes, I felt I'd done about as much as I could. For any but the most tech-savvy forensic computer geek, I'd never been there. I was invisible. My cheating wife and her lover were on ice. It was time to figure out what I was going to do about that. I visited our satellite office, to check on the manufacturing of our latest units. It gave me an excuse to be absent from the main office. I'd been gone less than an hour. After performing the requisite visits, I returned to headquarters, settled in, let Lacey know I didn't want visitors, and put the gray cells to work. My first instinct was the most drastic. It was why I'd packed the suitcase. For weeks, one of the contracts had been begging me to visit the JPL. Not the local one, the one in California. I could head there, and just stay away for four or five days. When I came back, it would all be settled. There was no food or water in the safe room yet, we hadn't put in any provisions yet. The only risk would be if the bio-metric panel arrived early, and the guys at EF Secure decided to install it. It wasn't supposed to arrive for over a week. That would certainly take care of that asshole Dale, and eliminate any divorce issues. Hell, I'd even get a million bucks insurance out of it. Shit. The police might not have the resources to investigate any wrong-doing thoroughly, but those insurance investigators might. Why'd I insure the cheating bitch? It's not like her loss would have cost me any income. Just the opposite, it would save me a ton of money. Faulty thinking on my part. I guess at one time I considered her worth a million bucks. Now it was more like a buck-fifty, if that. I was already online, looking up air-fare to the west coast. That answer seemed so easy, so elegant, I could just leave. They had locked themselves in by accident. The EF Secure guys could attest to the fact that nobody could have opened that door from the inside but me, not until the new panel was in place. I'd call home, concerned, acting worried for the love of my life. I'd call the police, but they'd insist it was none of their business for 48 hours. Even then, they wouldn't be able to search the premises thoroughly. Until I got home, nobody could open that door. It was Wednesday. The police wouldn't get involved until Saturday. Monday would be the earliest they'd likely be able to get anybody in there. As the employees started to leave for the day, I still hadn't made a decision. The big question that kept nagging at me was why? Why did she do it? I couldn't get my head around that one. I needed to know. I could get on the intercom and ask her, ask them. Nobody would ever have to know. I could cover my footsteps again, but it would be harder. How would I explain going home after work, possibly spending the night, without wondering where she was. It wouldn't be too hard to forge an email from her, explaining an emergency trip. Maybe she'd gone to meet her lover. Yeah, that might work. She'd lied to me, to meet him somewhere. Of course love-blind idiot that I was, I didn't expect anything. Alright, I was getting kind of nutty. And that bitch was locked away, probably still fucking that asshat. So I did something I almost never do. I went and got drunk. * * * Over my second beer, my plans started to fall apart. What about his car? Her car? Anyone checking on them would find the cars. And what about Marcie? She'd have to notice Dale missing after a while. Just driving by the house, I'm sure she'd recognize their vehicle. That's if she didn't use On-Star, Lojack, or some other way of finding it. Shit. I was on my third beer, talking to myself, when I made a new decision. I couldn't do this on my own. I needed to talk to Marcie. I had to get her involved. I knew it was risky, but as bad as I wanted to kill the two cheating fuck-buckets, I couldn't do that to her as well, not unless she agreed. If she did, well now, that's a different story. It took the better part of a fourth beer to gather up enough courage to pay her a visit. * * * The lights were on when I pulled up to their house. They only live about a mile from us, maybe less. We shared the same gated community. Shit. The gate! They would have logged my entrance. Damn. Damn, fuck, shit, piss! Wait! If Marcie went along, she could confirm that I'd paid her a visit, and not gone home. At least that's what my beer-addled brain thought. Crap, there were so many details I needed to keep track of. I should have laid off that fourth beer, probably the first three as well. I braced myself, and grabbed my tablet. I was too far away to get real-time updates, the unit only worked within about 50 yards of the house transmitter. But I did have the latest archived images in cache. Crap! What was I thinking! I should have ditched those, if I was going to cover my tracks. But then, I wouldn't have had anything to show Marcie. I still could get rid of them, if I needed to. Maybe I wasn't a complete idiot. I checked my watch. It was barely seven o'clock. My three and a half beer attempt to drain my sorrows hadn't even lasted an hour. It was close to five hours since I'd caught and trapped the pair of loathsome, scum-sucking, faithless cheaters. Marcie answered the door, and looked surprised. "Sean! I was just about to give you a call. I've been trying to get hold of Marcie all afternoon. We were supposed to meet for our book club. She's not answering." Hell! Of course, why didn't I think of that? Denise was a social beast. Her friends would go nuts if she wasn't posting on Facebook, Instagram, tweeting, texting or calling. Her disappearance would be instantly known! They could probably track the last text, post or call she'd made, and know the moment she was locked away. The way she is, she was probably texting mid-fuck. I know, because she'd done that to me a couple of times in the past. I'm not kidding, she got a midnight text from one of her drunk friends, and thought it was some kind of emergency. I was still pounding her from behind while she consoled her buddy in a series of texts. I drew the line when she said she was going to call her. Of course she was extremely apologetic once I explained how rude that was. She made it up to me, in spades. Spades! Damn, tomorrow was her card playing group. Who the fuck knew that hiding your wife's disappearance would be so damn complicated? What a clusterfuck. "Sean?" I looked up at Marcie, who was looking back worried. Blame it on the beer, but I'd totally blanked. "Can we talk?" I asked. She sat me down, and got me a coffee, before I started. "Our spouses are having an affair," I explained. She went ballistic, never questioning my statement for a moment. "That lousy, two-timing, shrimp-dicked, ass-wipe, scum-sucking, no good, fuckwad, dipstick-" I watched in awe as she took a breath, getting up off the couch and stomping around, "-mother-fucking, pissant, lying, low-life, inbred, fat-assed, rotten, sack of cheating SHIT!" she shrieked. I saw Marcie in a new light. This was a real woman. Real emotions, not the barbie doll I'd always thought of her as. Dale was still a shallow dick. That, and all those other things she said. I wasn't going to argue, she knew him far better than me. "Are you positive?" she asked, up in my face, growling at me. She grabbed the front of my shirt, yanking me forward, 'til our faces were only inches apart. Damn, the woman gave me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe she was too real. "I'm absolutely certain. Want to watch the video?" "Video? You've got video? How long have you known, you sneaky, no-good, brainless, dickless, useless, heartless-" "Just this afternoon! I swear!" I sank back into the couch to avoid her wrath. "How? Where? I can't believe that bastard would cheat on me with that trumped up, no-brain, fake-tit, hair-dying, man-stealing-" I brought up the video before she got too far into her description of my cheating wife, and turned it to face her, with Dale's bare ass, pounding away a mile a minute. "God Damn it! I'd recognize that scrawny-assed, chicken-legged, pencil-dicked, premature ejaculating-" "They're locked in there now," I interjected carefully. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of another of her paint-peeling rants. She shut up. Her eyes opened wide, and I saw an evil smile invade her face. Damn. I almost felt sorry for Dale. This was one woman I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of. "You've got them locked up? Really?" her voice was suddenly soft, encouraging. I nodded. "They were doing it in our new safe room." She sat down, eerily quiet. I gave her a few seconds, while she pondered my latest revelation. "Damn, you're good, Sean. I could kiss you right now." With that mouth? The thought gave me the shivers. "Details. I need details. Now!" she snapped. Yes ma'am! I explained, skipping nothing. How I'd received the alarm and went to check on it. Where and how I found them. The situation with the control panel. Locking them in. Hiding my presence. Packing for the trip and going back to the office. I held nothing back. I wasn't sure if it was because I thought she needed to know, I wanted her to help me figure out what to do, or just cause she scared the snot out of me. "You really thought about just disappearing for a week? Leaving them locked in there? No food, no water?" The gleam in her eye, and the smile on her face had the hair on my arms standing on end. Yeah, it was because she scared the snot out of me. "That was my first instinct. After what I saw, I hated them both. I couldn't believe she'd do that to me. It doesn't make sense. I had no idea there was anything wrong, none what-so-ever. I hated the idea of a divorce, and losing half of everything to her. And I sure as hell wanted Dale to pay. The overstuffed, airs-putting, dog-kissing, dirt-eating, snake-fucking, bug-eyed, wife-stealing-" The Panic Room "-dicknose, sleezebag, douche-drinking, ass-kissing, slut-banging-" she added. I grinned, at her creativity. "-numbnut, no-ball, pigeon-toed-" She was leaning into me, her voice growing softer, grinning. "-fruitcake, lardass-" I pressed my forehead against hers, barely breathing. "-knob-gobbling-" "-toe-sucking-" "-wife-stealing-" "You already said that one," she whispered. "That one really pisses me..." I didn't get anymore out, before her lips were on mine, and she was pushing me backward, crawling on top of me. The woman damn near gave me a tonsillectomy, after counting all of my teeth, locating my three fillings, and learning what I'd had for lunch. I was gasping for air, as hard as a rock, when she yanked her head back with that malicious grin of hers. "What are we going to do with them?" she asked. The crazy woman was stripping off her blouse, straddling me, grinding down on my traitorous stiffness. The one part of my body too stupid to be scared shitless. "That's why I came to you. We're in this together." Her bra was flying across the room, and I was staring at a pair of gorgeous tits. Her nipples screamed to be played with and gobbled up. She saw the direction of my gaze. "They're real too. You like?" "Very nice. By the way, Denise's are real." I'll be fucked if I knew why I said that. Probably the terror looking for a way out. I was dealing with the devil. "No shit?" "100% God given, no artificial preservatives." "Damn. I never would have guessed." She seemed to lose a little of her momentum, settling back down on me. "These ain't so special after all, are they? Not after what you've been sampling." "Trust me, Marcie, those are pretty spectacular." She was gazing down at me, and I saw a look on her face I hadn't seen yet, that evening. I wasn't sure what it was. Concern, confusion, doubt? "She wouldn't, you know. I don't know how he talked her into it, but that silly woman loves you like crazy. There's no way she'd cheat on you. Especially now, it's impossible." "That's exactly what I would have said, before today. You saw the video. You can see her face a few times. I recognized her watch and those heels. No, that was my Denise." She laid down on me, her soft tits mashed against my chest, head on my shoulder. "It doesn't make sense. Dale, yeah, he's a-" "We know what he is," I interrupted before she could get going. "I don't care how he convinced her. Maybe he convinced her I was cheating, maybe he blackmailed her, or maybe he just seduced her. I don't care. She cheated on me. She did." She was quiet, playing with my hair. I don't know how, but my hands had found their way down to her butt, and they were having their own little party, without telling me. They seemed to be very happy. My trouser-buddy definitely approved of their action. I was a little disturbed by the idea that my appendages were betraying me. The woman scared me half to death. "There's got to be more to it, Sean. Something stinks. Trust me when I say she wouldn't think of cheating on you, the way things are. I hate to say it, but we've got to find out the how and the why. Then we can kill the lily-livered, pompous, puss-sucking, queef-sniffing, ass-spelunking-" I cut her off in the most convenient way possible. She mumbled something like 'turd-burgling' into my mouth before her tongue was too busy. Those sneaky, conniving hands of mine had figured out she was wearing a skirt, and it was up around her waist. I don't know how they did it. I'd never get away with something like that. Old sparky was cheering them on from behind my zipper, struggling to be noticed. I moaned when the digits slipped inside her panties, feeling the smooth skin of her butt-cheeks. She pulled away slowly. "I want to talk to them." "We can do that." "If that bitch wife of yours doesn't have a damned good excuse, and I mean damned good, you know I'm going to fuck your brains out, don't you?" She was serious. I suspected she was equipped to do just that. She'd probably leave me a hollow-skulled fuck zombie. "Leave me enough to remember it?" I pleaded. My hands loved the idea, and gave her butt a squeeze of encouragement. "Oh, it won't happen all at once. I imagine it'll take me a month or more to get past this betrayal. I'll save most of your brains for the grand-finale." She gave me a quick peck, reached back and stopped the party in her panties that my hands were attending, and sat up. "God, I hope she really is just a slut. But I doubt it," she pouted, before climbing off. Moments later those outrageous ta-tas of hers were hidden from view. I imagined it would be a while before the evidence of my excitement would retreat far enough to untent my pants. We drove over, and as we were entering the house, she hit me with something so obvious, I don't know how I had missed it. I'm claiming temporary insanity. "The cameras record everything, right? So we can see it from the start. From the moment they entered the building up until now." The statement stopped me in my tracks. Son-of-a-bitch. How stupid could I be? "Yeah, all activity stays full resolution for 48 hours, before getting compressed and archived." "Archived? So if they've done this before, at least here in your home, we can see that as well?" "Yeah. It'll mean a lot of viewing." "Let's start with today. I want to see all the evidence before confronting that-" I stole her insults away with a quick kiss. "We don't have time. beautiful. It would be midnight before you finished telling me what you really think about them." She sat on the couch, while I poured us each a drink. "Snacks," she called out to me. Great minds think alike. So do ours. I already had the crackers and cheese out, a nice smoked Gouda, a chipotle Wisconsin Sharp Cheddar, some Maytag Blue, and was heating the Brie. I found a tasty summer sausage, some pâté, home-made beef jerky, and pepperoncini. I added some almonds, macadamia nuts, grapes, cherries, and garnished it with dark chocolate shavings and a few sprigs of fresh rosemary for color. I figured we'd be at it a while, and I had skipped dinner. Unless you count those three and a half beers. I juggled the huge platter with the drinks, and set them before her. "No olives?" Damn. I forgot the olives, and no snack tray was complete with olives. I went back and put a half-dozen each, black and pimento stuffed green into a crystal bowl. I was about to sit down, when she piped up again. "Napkins? And my drink could use freshening." When I got back, she had the video cued to her husband at the front door. She was obviously no slouch when it came to learning strange software. I mentioned as much. "We use EF Secure too." Got it. We snacked. We snacked and drank and watched. Huddled together, side by side, our heads hovering over the 10 inch screen, nearly touching. "Mother-fucking, slimeball!" she gasped. "Did you see that?" Before I could answer she'd backed up the video 30 seconds. "Watch her glass." We'd already observed him entering the house. She looked like she was expecting him, and welcomed him with a hug and a kiss. The lousy cheating, cock-sucking, faithless whore. They had chatted, and she'd poured them each some kind of drink. They sat on the couch, talking, close, knees touching. I watched her get up to go to the kitchen, and he put something in her drink, stirred it with his finger, gave the glass a couple of swirls, and put it back down. "You think he drugged her?" I asked. I wondered why, from the way they were acting, it didn't look like he needed to. "No fuck. I told you, there was no way she'd fuck around on you. It was all that piss-drinking, mule-loving, dog-fucking..." I let her get it out of her system. I was feeling guilty as hell for the way I'd cut her off the last few times. Especially if my wife had been drugged. We saw Denise finish her drink, and after 10 minutes or so, she was showing the effects. The slimy bastard stood, and pulled her to her feet. She went along willingly, until he tried to kiss her. She might have been half out of it, but she was still aware enough to pull away and slap his face. "Way to go, babe," I mumbled. "You know, I'm going to castrate that drug-dealing, wife-raping, father-sucking, bug-fucking, low-life miserable loser." We watched as he pulled her hair back and kissed her again, while she struggled. I could feel my blood-pressure rising by the moment. She collapsed against him, and he put his arm around her waist, dragging her to the back of the house. "How did he know about our panic room?" I said my thoughts aloud. "Oh fuck." Marcie moaned. "I... I told him. I mentioned it was like ours, and how yours was better, and about that new panel you were putting in. How it was so well disguised in the pantry. Our is under the friggin' stairs, and you've got to go through the guest room to get to it. Denise was so proud of yours." I felt a shiver run down my spine, and grabbed the tablet away from her. "Fuck! I'm such an ass! I locked her in that room with her rapist!" I hit the real-time button, and jabbed my finger at the green button in the corner, starting the 30 second timer to open the door. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" I screamed. The video went live, and I saw my Denise standing, fully dressed, hair disheveled. It looked like she was screaming. I turned on audio, and heard her sweet voice. "HELP!" She turned and I saw Dale was huddled on the floor, curled up in a ball. She kicked him a few times, walked around him, and targeted between his legs. "You no-good, wife-raping, scum-licking, needle-dicked..." "Call the police!" I yelled at Marcie, while I charged across the house, tablet in hand, as the green button turned to yellow. I got to the vault door as it slowly started to open. I was going to have to talk to EF Secure about that 30 second delay. I needed faster retracting lock bars. That was for damn sure. Glaciers moved faster. When it was open wide enough to squeeze through, I leaped into the gap. "Denise!" I almost bowled her over, as she was running toward the same opening. "Sean! I knew you'd come," she sobbed, throwing her arms around me, shaking. Man, I felt like shit. I held her for dear life, kissing her hair. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry..." Marcie squeezed past us, and I heard a grunt as her pointy toed shoes went to work. "Damn you, Dale! You're nothing but a..." I carried my wife out of the room, to protect her innocent ears. The community security guy was already at the door. By the time I could no longer hear Marcie's vituperative attack on her ne'er do well spouse, the sound of the approaching sirens was getting louder. * * * Marcie, Denise and I were sitting in the living room, finishing up the last of my appetizer plate. "You're sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" I asked for the dozenth time. "Enough, Sean. No need. Like I said, the bastard used a rubber, and he was so small, I can't even tell if he was ever in me." She turned to her friend. "Seriously, Marcie. What is that thing? It can't be four inches long, and not much bigger around than this," she said, holding up a pretzel stick. "So when you said he was pencil-dicked..." I asked. Marcie shrugged. "Alright, maybe one of those kindergarten pencils. More like a whiteboard marker." It was the first time we'd been alone, between the police, the security guard, the EMTs, and nosy neighbors. "How'd you get away from him? He drugged you, and he's a lot bigger," Marcie asked. "I woke up on the floor with a headache, naked. The idiot, drink-drugging, spouse-raping, mouse-fucking, assnugget was sleeping on the bed. I mean, really? He couldn't even leave me the bed and use the other one? In my condition? So I beat the shit out of him." I chuckled. "That you did. I don't think there was an inch of his body that wasn't bruised, his balls were swollen up the size of tennis balls-" "Which is a big deal," Marcie interrupted, "when they start the size of marbles." "He deserved it," Denise said angrily. "You don't think I'll get in trouble do you?" "Of course not. He'd already raped you. We have the evidence, the glass, the bag of drugs, your blood test, and the video. You were in fear for your life, locked in with a rapist." She pouted. "I don't know how he locked us in. I couldn't get out. I tried, baby, but nothing worked." I pulled her into my lap, feeling lower than a snake's belly. Lower than Dale's morals, or his life expectancy if he ever got out of jail. "I know you did, Honey." "What took you so long, Sean? I thought for sure you'd be home no later than seven. It was almost ten when you got here." Fuck. What do I say? I looked over at Marcie, who conveniently turned away, avoiding my eyes. "I... I saw you on video, with him. I thought you were cheating on me." "You thought I would cheat on you?" Man, this wasn't good. "You were doing it with him. I couldn't face you then, so I locked the door-" "You locked the door?" I nodded sheepishly. "I'm so sorry, babe. I didn't know what to do. I was so upset seeing you having sex with that bastard, so I had a couple of beers-" "YOU DRANK BEER WHILE I WAS BEING RAPED?" Shit, this wasn't going well. "-and went over to get Marcie, since Dale was involved too." She glared at me, and I watched her eyes open wide. She ran her finger over the corner of my lip, and pulled away red. She'd stopped yelling, and her new tone was much scarier. Her voice was low and harsh. "You kissed her. You two were making out while you left me in there with that animal. Did you fuck her too, Sean? I can smell her on you. Was that your revenge? You thought I screwed around so you fucked my best friend?" Marci spoke up finally. "No! We didn't. It didn't get anywhere near that far. Neither of us got totally undressed." Denise turned on her friend. "Not totally undressed? How undressed did you get?" "Just my top. That's all, I swear. It wasn't his fault, Denise. I sort of jumped him. I was so pissed at Dale, I wasn't thinking straight." My wife climbed off my lap, and stood glaring at the woman who had been her best friend. I'd never seen her so pissed. She looked scarier than Marcie at her worst. I wanted to run and hide. "I want you out of here," she said slowly. "Out of my sight! Get OUT! YOU MAN-STEALING, BACK-STABBING, HUSBAND-FRENCHING, TIT-WAVING, SCRAWNY-ASSED..." She marched her to the door, then stopped and grabbed Marcie's arm. My God, here it comes, she's gonna kill her. "I'm sorry your man turned out to be scum. I know that's gotta hurt. Call me tomorrow, Ok? We'll do lunch." Marcie nodded, then gave my wife a hug. "I'm sorry he did that to you. Thanks for beating the crap out of him, you saved me the trouble of having to do it myself." They kissed each other on the cheek. My wife watched from the door until I heard the engine start. She waited a few more seconds, before screaming "AND STAY OUT!" Marcie turned off the outdoor lights, and turned toward me. "How were her tits?" "Nice, not half as good as yours," I answered carefully. "No shit. And mine are real." I nodded mutely. No way I was going to mention that Marcie's were too. Or how I knew that. Things were bad enough. "You know you're in deep, deeeep, shit, don't you?" Denise said. "I know. I'm sorry. You have no idea how bad I feel." "You really thought I cheated on you?" she whispered, pouting. "I couldn't believe it. It didn't make sense, but I saw it. You were having sex with him, in that room he wasn't even supposed to know about. You know I didn't like him, but you insisted on being friends. The way things had been lately. I... I lost it. I couldn't even watch. I wish I had, I would have noticed, you weren't moving. That's not like you." "How could you think I'd ever cheat on you, Honey? You're my man." Her sad words were additional stakes in my wounded heart. That's what had her most upset? Not that I locked her in with her rapist. Not that I left her there for hours. Not even that I'd reached second base with her best friend, her rapist's wife. She was upset that I hadn't trusted her. "I was an idiot. I believed my lyin' eyes. I should have known better. I... I'll never forgive myself." The pout. She hit me with that deadly pout, cranked up to a full 10. I felt the tears fill my eyes. She stood and took me by the hand. "Let's go. I need a shower desperately. You can wash my back." As we walked up the stairs, she gave my hand a squeeze. "You know this one's going to cost you." "I know." "You really fucked up, Sean." "I know." "I'm getting that Maserati I was looking at." "I was just worried it wasn't safe," I tried to explain. The Granturismo convertible. They claimed it did 166 MPH. Never mind that it was $130K. She thought she looked good in it. The fact that she'd had three speeding tickets in two years had nothing to do with it. "The Maserati!" she snapped. "Yes, Dear." "The Tiffany tennis bracelet." Ouch. "Yes, dear. I'll get it afterward, it's hidden in the teal guest room. I bought it for your birthday. It'll just be a little early." Another $16K. This fiasco was going to break me. "You remember that show I wanted to see? It's gone now. You made me miss it. We're seeing it. In Manhattan. With dinner at Le Bernardin. I get one of those Central Park carriage rides too." Fuck. The trifecta. Whiny romantic play, French food that I hate, and an hour freezing my ass off behind some smelly horse with diarrhea. "Of course, Dear. I should have canceled that board meeting when it was in town. I'm sure there'll be something on the menu I'll survive." She turned on the shower and started undressing. I watched until she glared at me, looking me up and down. I understood. I couldn't wash her back fully clothed. I stripped. "We're going to Mykonos, not Vail." Shit. Not Greece again. I'm sure she saw the pain on my face after that demand. She glared at me. "Or would you rather explain your behavior to your mother?" "Fine," I pouted. "We'll go to Mykonos." She stepped under the water, then moved to the side to make room for me. She passed me the soap and a wash cloth. Damn. When she said wash her back, she really meant wash her back. "For three weeks," she said. "Three weeks! Are you fucking kidding me? No way, Denise. I fucked up. Fucked up bad, but three whole weeks? In fucking Greece?" She turned around and looked into my eyes. "You didn't trust me?" I saw how hurt she looked. I pulled her close, clinging to her. "I'm sorry. I'll never doubt you again. We'll go for three weeks. For a whole month if you want. I love you, baby, and all I want is for you to be happy." She let me suffer for a little while longer. "I'm thinking Hawaii, the big island. I didn't really like Mykonos that much. Or maybe we could go on a cruise." "You don't want to go to Greece?" "Not really. I just needed to see how bad you felt. How guilty you were feeling." "I feel like dog shit, Ok? Right now, I pretty much hate myself. I can't believe I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It seemed so obvious at the time. I mean, I saw it happening..." "And your first choice was to hook up with my best friend? That was mean." "I didn't, baby, I swear. I just went to see her, since her husband was involved too. I had no intention of doing anything with her at all. She jumped on me, and I was too surprised and shocked by everything to think it through." "Yeah, well at least I know you didn't fuck her. She really did try to jump you, didn't she?" "She's really scary when she's mad. Terrifying. I had no idea." My wife passed me the shampoo, and I lathered up her hair. "I'm still getting the Maserati and the tennis bracelet," she said, tilting her head back for me. The Panic Room "Whatever you want." "I'm hiring Marcie's decorator for the nursery." "Nursery? Decorator?" "Why do you think I was so pissed at dickface? He risked our baby! Drugging me, using me, dumping me on the floor. The floor? It's my fuckin' panic room! My bed. He's lucky I didn't strangle him!" I didn't hear anything but 'our baby'. Now I know I was going insane. I was hearing things. "Gerard is a genius. You should see the murals Marcie got." I was still one conversation behind. "Our baby?" "Stay up to speed, Sean. We're talking about Gerard." She rolled her eyes at me. Another practiced move, not quite as good as The Pout, but usually quite effective. At the moment, it was wasted on me. "You... your pregnant?" She looked at me in horror, and covered her mouth. "Shit. That was supposed to be a secret. Forget I said that." "Forget that you're pregnant? Damn it, Denise! When were you going to tell me?" She looked embarrassed. "It was going to be a surprise, Honey. I'm getting that old family bassinet from your mother—" "From my mother? My mother! She knows?" I thought about it, the decorator, Marcie's insistence. "Crap! Marcie knows too, doesn't she? Who else? Who else got to know about my baby before me? Who, Denise?" She shrunk away from me. "Nobody. Not really. I mean, well, your sister, since she wanted the bassinet. And Tina, you know Marceau did her nursery. I might have let it slip to the girls at the club. Hardly anybody, when you think about it." I was devastated. After five years, we were going to have a baby, and I was the last to know. "Don't I matter, Denise? Why would you keep that from me? Why would you tell everybody else first?" I was shaking, I was so frustrated. I recalled an image of her in that video, talking to Dale. Rubbing her belly. "Fuck! You told Dale, didn't you! You told your fucking rapist before you told me! How could you?" She glared at me. "He wasn't my rapist when I told him. He was just a friend." "A friend? What a great fuckin' friend. You know I couldn't stand him. And still you told that bastard before you told your husband. Thanks a lot, Denise. Thanks a whole, helluva lot." I got out of the shower. "Now I know where I stand in your list of priorities. One step below my mother who you can't stand, those bitches at the club you're always harping about, and your rapist. Fan-fucking-tastic." She had followed me out of the shower. "Don't get mad at me, Sean Manning! Don't forget, you didn't trust me. You locked me in that room with my pencil-dicked rapist!" "Why would I trust you? You treated me like crap for the last couple of weeks. You were always upset about something. You were never home. You were avoiding me. We hadn't had sex in two weeks, Denise. You know I didn't like the guy, but you always insisted on having him around. And then I found you having sex with him! What the fuck was he even doing at our house?" She looked like she was in shock, as I stomped out of the bathroom. Denise chased after me. "How could you say that? None of it's true! I love you." "Two weeks without sex. True or not?" I asked, glaring at her. "I, I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I had so much on my mind..." "It's true, not that you care! Never home, Denise. True or not?" She shook her head. "Alright, maybe I was out a lot, but it was for you, for us. I was making plans for our baby!" "You were never home! You treated me like crap. You were always finding something wrong. You were constantly bitching at me about one thing or another. True or not?" "That's not fair. I was under a lot of stress. I had morning sickness. I had to deal with your mother and sister..." "You know I didn't like the guy, but you kept dragging him around. You even invited him into your home when you were alone. True or not?" She was starting to get irritated, but at the moment I didn't care. "He's my best friend's husband. I just wanted you guys to be friends." "I told you the guy was scum! You kept bringing him around, when you knew I didn't like him. If I had my way he'd never have been welcome. Instead you invite the bastard into our house, when you're home alone. What kind of wife has strange men visit in the middle of the day? If you had listened to me in the first place, none of this would have happened!" "So it's my fault he raped me?" she snapped. "It's your fault you put yourself in the position to be raped. Yes. And it's also your fault I jumped to the conclusion I did. If you'd been honest with me, none of it would have happened." "That's not fair! I was trying to surprise you," she whined. "Looks like you got the surprise, not me." I finished drying off and threw the towel on the floor. I knew she hated that. "You're not getting the Maserati." "Sean! You locked me in that room! You felt up my friend!" "No Maserati, and we're getting rid of your Audi too." She stared at me in shock. "Not the Cabriolet," she pleaded. "No way my wife and child are driving around in a convertible. You're getting a Volvo. "A Volvo!" "The XC60. Safest damn car on the road. I'm not going to argue with you on that." The woman had no shame. She sidled up to me, putting her arms around my waist. "Aren't you happy we're going to have a baby?" she asked softly. "I'm not happy being the last to learn about it!" She leaned her head against my shoulder. Of course her sexy tits were pressed against my chest first. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I really wanted it to be a big surprise. That was all. I didn't realize I was doing all that other stuff." I couldn't help myself. Like I said, my anger half-life with her was about 10 seconds. "I know, baby. If I'd only known—" She hushed me with her full, teasing lips. "Has it really been two weeks?" I nodded. "Two weeks yesterday. I was going crazy trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. Why you didn't want me anymore." "You should have said something," she whispered, kissing my neck. "I did. Twice. You said you weren't in the mood. That hurt. You're always in the mood. I don't think you've turned me down twice in five years." Her hand was on my limp cock, stroking it slowly. "Are you disgusted with me now? Because I'm soiled?" Her words hit me hard. In the heat of the moment, I'd almost forgotten how traumatized she must be. I clutched her to me tightly, then lifted her and carried her to our bed. I laid with her, holding her. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I know. We both screwed up didn't we?" "Mine was worse. I left you with that bastard. I should have known. I should have trusted you. I'm so sorry, Denise." She kissed me, and I saw the moisture in her eyes. She had her hand on my flaccid cock, the angst eliminating my erection before it could start. "You don't want me, do you? I'm dirty now. Used." "Don't say that, please. It's not your fault. He drugged you." She shook her head. "You're right. I put myself in that position. I invited him over. I let him get too close. I strained your trust in me by keeping things from you, important things." "Why? Why would you have him here, when you know how I feel about him?" She sighed. "I wanted his help. He was supposed to keep you occupied on Saturday, before the surprise party." It kept coming back to that, and the irritation returned. "How could you think I'd want a party? It should have been just you and me, a romantic evening. Do you have any idea how hurt I'd be to walk into a party to find out we're going to have a baby, when everybody else knew first?" "No," she mumbled. "I thought you'd be happy. I really did. I guess I'm just stupid. You should have married someone smart like you." "You're not stupid, Denise." "Yes I am. I know it. Everyone says so. I'm not smart like you, or like Marcie. Not like your family. I'm the dumb blonde. I get it." "You're not blonde." "I could be. All it would take is an hour at the salon." "Enough, beautiful. You're wonderful. You're not dumb, but we do need to communicate better, alright? I trust you, and I'm excited I'm going to be a daddy. If you want to have a party to celebrate, I'm fine with that. All I really want is to have you beside me." "You sure you really want me? It doesn't seem like it," she said, wiggling my inattentive cock. "I bet you could wake him up pretty damn quick." "You think so?" she teased. "I know so." She grinned, and less than a minute passed before her talented mouth proved me right. "I guess you do still want me. Now what do you think we should do with this guy?" "You might want to sit on it," I suggested. "I don't know. It looks awfully uncomfortable. Maybe if it was a teeny-tiny one, but this thing's way too big." "I think you'll be fine." She straddled me, her amazing body in full view. She rubbed the head between her lips teasingly. "I'm not sure. It feels awfully huge. I'm tiny down there." "You can do it, beautiful. You have before." I'm hardly huge, but I guess in comparison... She pouted. "You're such a beast to remind me. Maybe I should just give you a hand job, you were pretty naughty tonight." "I said I was sorry." "You gonna forgive me for not telling you first?" she asked. She squatted down a hair, the head of my cock feeling the pressure of her pussy parting for me. "Already forgiven. You'll forgive me for screwing up?" "For Marcie, yeah. I know she was the instigator," she dropped down an inch, making me shiver, then backed off again. "For the rest?" "Ask me right, Sean. What did you do bad?" "For locking you in there with him," I said. "I already forgave you for that. What else?" "For not trusting you. For thinking you would do such a thing." She sighed, sliding down about halfway, then lifting up again. "That's the tough one. That really hurt my feelings." "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." She nodded, then sank all the way down. "I'm gonna forgive you, but you're still gonna have to make it up to me." "What do you want?" "Can I keep the Cabriolet?" "Volvo," I said, trying to stand firm under the assault. "For me and the baby, I get it. I want the Cabriolet too. For when it's just the girls." She gave me a long slow teasing stroke. "Any more speeding tickets, and it's gone." She laughed, leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, then gave my cock a few nice long strokes up and down. "My tennis bracelet?" "It's for your birthday, you'll have to wait three weeks." She gave me a pout, but it wasn't the full one. I knew she was teasing. "My show in New York?" "Show and carriage ride, but we eat at Peter Luger's or Keens. You know I hate French food." She started grinding against me, "Hawaii?" "Two weeks, and only with the doctor's Ok." It was a struggle to get the words out, the way she was working me. She got a nice little rocking motion going, her tits swaying beautifully. I saw a little pout creep over her lips. "Marcie's tits are real, aren't they?" "Not half as nice as yours," I answered quickly. The pout grew, and her motions slowed. "You're just saying that." "God's truth, Denise. Ok, half as nice might be wrong. They're nice. Yours are better. I love your tits." She started rocking again, making me moan. "They're going to get bigger." We spent about an hour forgiving each other. It was wonderful and just what we needed. * * * Epilogue: Dickface got 10 years. Marcie had a new man within a year, and he was everything her ex wasn't. John's a self-made man, a successful business owner, and all around good guy. We became close friends. The day after the trauma, it was as if Marcie and Denise had never had a harsh word for each other. I don't understand women. Denise didn't tell anyone else about our Panic Room. She made me change out the furnishings, and wouldn't go in there until she had an app on her phone similar to the one on my tablet, so she could get in and out. It cost quite a bit to get EF Secure to convert the tablet app to a smartphone, but it was worth it. I'm just glad she didn't make me remove the whole thing. No more surprises for us, and we make sure to communicate better. When she got pregnant with our second, I was the first to know. I never questioned her loyalty to me again, and I've never had reason to. Then again, with the amount of surveillance I have on the house, the grounds and the vehicles, it's not likely she could get away with anything even if she wanted to. Every once in a while, when socializing, I'll dance with Marcie. She'll look at me, and we both remember what almost happened. It's kind of fun to have that little bit of larceny in our past. She'll blush, then give a little shimmy, rubbing her tits against my chest, and I'll chuckle. My hands might slip a little too low if we've been drinking, and the old hands remember the night they partied in her panties. During Christmas season, the mistletoe might get a little workout. It's fun, and just a little naughty. But that's all it ever is, and all it ever will be. Those nights, Denise will ravage me, reminding me exactly who belongs to whom. And that's why I'll never stop that little bit of teasing or take it any further. She's not a very jealous woman, but when she is, she's a tiger in bed. Marcie's the only one that sets her off like that. I hope Marcie's husband John is as good to her as Denise is to me. I pray that none of us ever jump to conclusions again, without at least trying to find out the facts, and giving our spouses the benefit of the doubt to start. I know I never will, and I'll always feel guilty for the time I did. Sometimes more so than others. Denise says she likes the guilt. Any time she wants something special, she reminds me of the time I didn't trust her. So I spoil her, and those nights I make sure she understands that for all the games and teasing, there's only one woman for me. I keep reminding her until she's a limp wreck in our bed. Well, sometimes I'm the limp wreck, but she knows. We've never had to use the Panic room, thank God. I don't know how I'd feel being in there with her for any length of time. I figure after a few hours she'd be able to finagle the Hope Diamond out of me. ========================= Hope you enjoyed it. A favorite movie around my house this time of year is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I imagine you can see where the inspiration for some of the 'ranting' came from. Please remember to vote and/or leave a comment.