A Perfect Crime

Eventually Claire managed to raise herself up onto her elbows, laughing as she surveyed our love-soaked loins and the sticky mess on the bed-sheet between her legs.

"Oops... That will take some cleaning up," she chortled

I joined her on my elbows and looked at the scene she was laughing at, "I think we'll need to change the sheet," I laughed.

"Oh, I don't think so, not yet anyway," she replied as she reached down and gripped my soft, sticky cock in her hand. "I've much more use for this big fella. I want to make soooo much more mess..."

Rolling onto my side to face her, I placed my hand over her battered pussy and pushed two fingers deep into the swamp that was her sex.

"You're such a naughty girl," I whispered as I pulled her hard nipple into my mouth and gently bit down on it...

* * *

We never made it down to dinner that night. Instead, we 'fucked ourselves sore', as my little angel so delicately put it. Every time one of us woke up through the night, we would attack the other, resulting in an almost continuous bout of sex for over 12 hours. Eventually, we just had to get up and check out of the hotel, laughing and giggling together as we threw the, by then, disgusting sheets into the wash basket.

As we left our room, we bumped into an old couple just exiting the one next door. The look of disapproval on the old dear's face, combined with the furtive envious glance from her husband was priceless and caused us both to have another fit of giggles as we ran downstairs to reception.

After our initial night of 'virginal sacrifice', we, of course, took every opportunity to fuck. Any time, any place, we satisfied our lust for each other, and although we never seemed to match the excitement and absolute love of that fabulous first time, it was never less than wonderful.

Chapter 3

We'd been happy in our marriage at first. Although, as it eventually transpired, it seems I had been much happier than my wife. I had managed to make foreman at work, meaning a substantial rise in wages. Claire's father had increased her salary when we married, I'm sure with the intention of making me feel inferior to my wife, so in theory anyway, we had no money problems to hinder and impinge on our happiness as many other newly-married couples obviously do.

Despite the fact Claire was bringing home much more money than I was, the majority of the household expenses, mortgage, electric, gas, etcetera were paid by me. I didn't mind that. In fact, in my eyes anyway, that was my role in our marriage: provider and protector if you like. Old-fashioned I know, but just the way I had been brought up.

All of those financial contributions by yours truly meant that Claire was left with a great deal of disposable income to spend just as she liked. She willingly took advantage of that, always having trendy, designer clothes and shoes. Oh my God, so many shoes. Her father also bought her (as a company car of course) a brand new E-Type convertible from the dealership where I worked. Again, I am sure he did it purposely to try to humiliate me in the eyes of my workmates. To be fair to her, she also bought me many expensive presents. A Rolex for my birthday; designer suits; even hand-made shirts. All the trappings not usually associated with a foreman car mechanic.

I, in turn, had completely renovated our little cottage, adding an extension and turning it into a good-sized family home we could be proud of, or so I thought.

I first began to notice a change in Claire after we had returned from a holiday in Spain. Back then, there wasn't the cheap sort of package holidays around that are readily available now so she had paid for it out of 'her' money. Again I didn't mind, all my spare cash was going into our home so if we wanted a holiday, she had to pay. We stayed at a quite posh hotel in Barcelona, close to all the vibrant night-life and glorious beaches that wonderful city had to offer. We had become friendly with another couple our age that we'd met in the hotel bar on our first night there. At first I was OK with them, but after a few days of listening to how much their house in London was worth; how much money they earned in their 'wonderful' jobs, I soon became bored with them and didn't hesitate to tell Claire. I didn't really want to fraternise with them at every opportunity the way she obviously did.

I was amazed when she flew off the handle at me, complaining that I was just a stick-in-the-mud who was quite happy to remain where I was and not try to get on in life as her dad had. I was stunned. Up to then I had had no idea whatsoever that my wife was dissatisfied with our life together. I felt safe in the knowledge that we were 'soul-mates' who wanted all the same things from our marriage, like a lovely home with maybe a couple of kids later on. How wrong I was...

* * *

It became quite obvious after our return home that my lovely bride was nowhere near as happy with our way of life as I was. Brought up by her doting father to have almost anything her little heart desired provided for her at the drop of a hat, she couldn't see any reason why we had to save for anything we wanted. If she wanted something, she wanted it now. Not in a few months or years when we could afford it, but NOW! Her father didn't help. He would still buy her anything she asked for, even though that responsibility should have been mine once we were married.

I had adamantly refused his offer of buying us a brand new house on the 'desirable' estate development he insisted his daughter deserved to live on. Instead, I agreed that we would reluctantly accept him paying the deposit on our first home, but only if we had a mortgage we could afford on my income alone. Of course, working for her father as she was, Claire's salary was much higher than that of a humble car mechanic, and didn't her father let me know it. He would take every opportunity whenever we were together to 'snipe' away at me. Doing his best to undermine my relationship with his daughter. Still trying to split us up, even though we were 'happily' married, or so I thought. This of course led to resentment on my part and increasingly more vociferous arguments between my wife and myself.

Frustrated by our constant bickering, I threw myself into my martial arts training. Four or five times a week, I would either be at the gym or running around the country lanes surrounding our little town. Inevitably I suppose, this led to an ever-increasing rift with my wife. She started going out with her single friends when I was training during the week, only going out with me at the weekend when we would go to a good restaurant for a meal, or a club for a night of drinking and dancing. Even though we were by then leading fairly separate social lives, our home life was still good. In-between the petty arguments we still laughed a lot, we still talked, and as for the sex? WOW!

Consequently then, it never crossed my mind that our marriage was actually in deep trouble. That is until that day. The day that spelled the end of my idyllic life as I knew it. The day that destroyed my life. Destroyed me...

* * *

Looking back now, I remember every second of that horrible, fateful day.

I had arranged to pick up a customer's car for service that involved driving past our house. As I always left home before Claire, and before the post had arrived, I thought I would call in and have a cup of coffee while I checked if an important letter I'd been waiting for had arrived. If only I had not been so impatient, my life could have been so different.

I let myself in and picked up the post before going through to the kitchen and putting on the coffee machine. I much preferred proper coffee back then to the instant crap we drank at work. Noticing the 'message waiting' light flashing on the brand-new phone answering machine my wife thought we desperately needed, I flicked the switch as I looked through the post for my letter. Not really paying attention to the message, it was a few seconds before I realised it was playing back a conversation that involved my wife and a man's voice I didn't recognise in the slightest. It would appear, as I found out later, that if you picked up the phone at the exact moment the answer-machine kicked in, it recorded both sides of the complete conversation. That was obviously what had happened. That was the small technical fault that ruined my life.

I stopped the replay and started it from the beginning again, wondering if it was something important.

Hello,

Hi sexy,

Hello stud, how are you?

Great. Just ringing to thank you for last night. It was great.

<chuckling from my wife> Oh yes?... Well I thought it was wonderful too.

I've never done that before. Always thought it was only for Puffs. I never knew it would feel so...

Mm-mm I love it, always have. It's so fucking dirty...

<laughter from them both>

Do you do that with your 'needle-dick' husband?

Oh my God no! He'd never want to do anything like that. Just jump on, Jump off. That's him.

<more chuckling from both of them>

I thought I would have been too big to fuck you back there, but your little arse just swallowed all of me.

I know, I'm getting wet just thinking about it, although I am still a little sore back there.

<more laughter>

We'll have to do it again the next time we meet. I love your pussy and your mouth, but now I've fucked your arse...

<chuckles from my wife>

You can fuck off if you think you are going to stick that thing in my backside every time we meet. It's a special treat I reserve for men I like with big cocks.

Oh, you think I have a big cock then?

You know you have, you smug bastard. You bragged about it all the time when you were chatting me up.

Was I right? Is it the best you've ever had then?

<chuckles from him>

Maybe. Maybe not. That's my little secret. <more laughter> Anyway lover, I have to get off to work. Will you be there next week?

Oh fuck yes! I want more of you, you sexy fucker you.

<laughter> Well, I'll have to see if I get a better offer.

<laugh> Bitch!

<chuckle> Prick!

See you soon.

Bye. <kiss>

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. I dropped my coffee cup and slumped to the floor with my back against the wall, shaking with shock and disbelief. What had I just heard? My wife? No, it couldn't be... Could it? Not the love of my life surely.

I stood again, tottering slightly as I raised myself. Pressing the 'play message' button once more, I again listened to my wife's filthy conversation with a stranger. Was it a joke? No, of course not. She would have no idea she had been recorded... Oh Fuck!!...

* * *

I again listened to the sickening tape, paying careful attention to what had been said this time. What did she mean? Needle-dick? Jump on, jump off? I was 6'3 and much more than adequately built in proportion. How the fuck was I a 'needle-dick'? Our love-life was great. We occasionally had a 'quickie', but more often than not, we would spend ages making love until we were both satisfied, or so I thought. My mind was racing, trying to take in her words. They were talking about anal sex too. The few damn times I had tried that on, she had made it quite clear it was definitely off the menu. Now she was discussing having her arsehole plugged by a 'big' cock that wasn't mine- and how much she fucking well loved it.

Wait. "I've always loved it," she'd said. It wasn't her first time. How many other men had she allowed access to something that she'd always denied me, her loving, faithful husband? "We'll have to do it again the next time we meet." How fucking long had this affair been going on? "See you next week," She obviously intended it to continue. "Unless I get a better offer." Was it a regular thing? Did she fuck other men than him?

My mind was in turmoil. So many thoughts and images running through my brain. Up to then I had thought I had a wonderful, happy marriage, admittedly with a few ups and downs along the way, but no more than any other couple surely. Now I find that my beautiful, faithful wife had been damn well fucking around with anyone who happened to take her fancy.

Shaking with rage, I rang work and told one of the other mechanics he would have to pick up the customer's car, snapping, "Mind your own fucking business," when he enquired why. I then cleaned up the mess from the kitchen floor and once again listened to the tape.

I was still sitting there, my inner rage hardly abated, when my loving wife arrived home from work several hours later.

"Hi sweetheart," she said happily as she bent to kiss my cheek when she found me in the kitchen.

I glared back at her, breathing deeply as I tried to keep my temper in check.

"Who is he?" I asked quietly.

"Who's who darling?" She replied, going to the fridge and getting a can of diet Coke.

"WHO THE FUCK IS HE? YOU CHEATING BITCH..."

This time she stopped, still facing away from me as her shoulders slumped. I pressed the 'play' button once more. Once again the sounds of their voices filled the room. I just managed to hear a murmured "Oh fuck" as she turned toward me, her face looking anxiously towards the tape machine.

"I won't ask you again. WHO THE FUCK IS HE?" I demanded.

Taking a deep breath and pulling herself up to her full height, she said firmly, "I don't fucking need this in my life."

With that, she turned and left the kitchen, leaving me to glare after her.

Seconds later, I heard the front door slam followed by the sound of her car engine starting, then the wheels screeching as she obviously sped away at maximum speed.

Chapter 4

I never heard from her again. Oh I tried to get in touch with her of course, especially when I was served with the divorce papers citing my alleged 'mental cruelty' as the reason for her leaving me- her damn father's idea no doubt.

Every time I tried to ring her at her parents house I was informed by him that I was no longer part of his daughter's life and to keep away from his family or else. After several failed attempts to reach her, I was eventually served with a 'restraining order' preventing me from trying to contact her or her family again, and not allowing me within five hundred yards of them as they feared for their safety because of my martial arts skills and my well-known temper.

That was all bollocks of course. No way I would have physically harmed her, I just wanted to find out what had happened that caused her to no longer love me. Her father? Different matter. I would gladly have kicked the shit out that interfering prick.

* * *

After she had stormed out of the house, I'd rung work and explained to the boss that I needed some time off urgently. He was not happy, complaining that we were far too busy for me to suddenly take a holiday. Eventually he reluctantly agreed, but only after I threatened to leave completely if he didn't. I told him I had things to do- personal things - and that I'd be back at work in about 2 weeks.

The majority of that downtime I spent moping around the house and feeling sorry for myself as I continuously wondered what the fuck had happened. Trying to ring my in-laws or, I'm sorry to say, drinking alone until I passed out, occupied most of my waking hours as I rapidly turned into a drunken mess.

Toward the end of my self-imposed solitude, I heard the doorbell ring early one evening. I was sat in the TV room with a nearly empty bottle of scotch in one hand and the TV remote in the other. I was not really watching some inane rubbish that was on the large monstrosity my dear wife had insisted we buy, as I drunkenly cursed her, her father and everyone else who fucking knew her. Hoping beyond hope that it was my wife returning to me so she could explain it had all been a mistake and she still loved me dearly, I staggered to the door and opened it to find, not my wife, but my mother-in-law, Gwen.

"Oh my God, John. Look at the state of you." She exclaimed, her face showing her shock as she pushed past me into the hallway and slammed the door behind her. "Good grief son, you look a right mess."

"What the fuck do you want? And where's my fucking wife?" I snapped, obviously shocking her with my foul-mouthed drunkenness.

"There's no need for that sort of language. It's not like you at all." my mother-in-law replied sternly.

"Sorry," I mumbled, suitably chastened by the woman I had always liked and admired, "I just want to know where she is so we can sort all this out."

Sitting down in a fireside chair, she suddenly burst into tears.

"Oh John dear, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's come over her; I had no idea anything was wrong, why she felt she needed to leave you. I'm so sorry, but it appears she's adamant that your marriage is over and she wants a divorce. She's gone away on a holiday somewhere. I'm so sorry, I really am..." she sobbed.

"Hey, it's not your fault," I replied as I sat on the chair arm and put my arm around her, "There's no need for you to get so upset."

Leaning her head on my arm, she answered, "Oh I don't know. Perhaps if I had been stronger when she was growing up and not let her father spoil her, perhaps she would have appreciated more what a good man she had. Maybe not been so keen to have everything her own way."

"Is that what it was? Did I not give her everything she wanted? Bloody hell... I don't know what more I could have done. I thought she was happy. She never mentioned she wasn't... Never!..." I replied.

"I know you did, sweetheart. Compared with what I have, you are a brilliant husband. She's just so... so FUCKING stupid!..."

Wow! I'd never heard that lovely, mature lady use any sort of swearing before, certainly not the 'F' word. I was shocked, but for some strange reason I started laughing as I hugged her close.

"There's no need to swear you know," I laughed, mocking her previous admonishment of me for doing the same thing.

"Oh fuck off," she laughed back, wiping her tears from her cheeks. "By the way," she continued, extricating herself from under my armpit, "You absolutely stink... Now go have a shower and shave while I clean up the mess you've made of your lovely house."

I did as ordered, standing under the hot water until it ran cold. Then staying there until I was shivering, in an attempt to sober up quickly. It worked, sort of. About an hour later I walked back downstairs, clean and dressed in fresh clothes for the first time in days. Still with a slight buzz, but also the makings of a monumental headache starting in my throbbing brain.

I found Gwen in the freshly-tidied kitchen, holding a mug of coffee as she sat at the breakfast bar.

"Here, you look as though you need this more than I do," she smirked as she passed the steaming mug to my trembling hands. "Have you had anything to eat? Other than the other half of the pizza that was upside down on the living room carpet, that is."

Trying to remember, I replied, "I don't think so. I haven't been in the mood."

"Idiot...That won't do you any good. Now go sit down while I make you something." She ordered, pushing me back out of my kitchen toward the living room.

I noticed the slightly-sickly smell of freshly sprayed deodorant as I sat on the sofa and drank the strong black liquid. My headache was getting progressively worse as I continued to sober up, causing me to feel ill. I couldn't help myself, I needed to throw up if I was going to feel better. I went to the downstairs loo and, after pushing a couple of fingers down my throat, deposited the acrid-smelling contents of my stomach down the pan.