Jennifer Cheats

About thirty years ago, my father, Albert (Big Al) Lemoine, bought a used truck and started moving food, furniture and anything else he could haul in and out of Lake Charles, Louisiana. I'm his only child, Albert (Little Al). And that's what everybody calls me. Little Al. Not Albert. Not Al. But always Little Al. I learned to live with it.

As years went by and the city's industry grew so did Cajun Cartage, the name my father gave to the company which now consisted of 300 trucks and 400 trailers. We were, by now, running trucks throughout the lower 48 states and Canada.

It was assumed that I would work in the company and eventually take it over; an assumption I fully supported. I started working in the garage at age 15. Changing tires, changing oil, giving lube jobs, replacing brakes and every other dirty job consistent with running a trucking company.

When I turned 18, and the summer between my Junior and Senior years in high school my father moved me in to the front office to "learn the business". I found that being in an air conditioned office and being clean was much better than working in the garage. It seemed to take most of the summer to get all of the grease out from under my fingernails.

The summer before I started college we hired a young lady to work in our safety office. Her job was to review the paperwork our drivers were required to fill out and submit.

I found myself spending a lot of time in the safety office. Her name was Jennifer Broussard. She was one year older than me and had just graduated from the other high school in town. She was a redhead with a perfect body and was unbelievably beautiful. And I was in love. We dated that summer. A lot! We fucked that summer. A lot! I was not her first.......but she was mine. She seemed to know her way around a dick and I certainly didn't mind letting her refine her skills with me. She loved to suck on me for what seemed like hours; taking me deep into her throat. I don't think she had a "gag reflex" because my 7 1/2 inches never seemed to cause her any problems. It went straight in and just sorta stayed there while her throat muscles worked in such a manner that it felt like her throat was jacking me off. For the most part when I would cum it would just go straight into her stomach.

Other times, however, she would just nibble around the head and suck on it as she jacked me off. Those times when I came she would savor the taste of my cum and roll it around in her mouth like it was the first taste out of a bottle of newly opened wine before she slowly swallowed it. God, she made me feel good!

As I said, she was my first and as I found out during my ensuing college years, she was the best!! A natural born cocksucker. I found out from her that two other guys had fucked her before me and that we were all three endowed about the same. I do not recall how or why that tidbit of information came about; but it did.

But her talents didn't stop at her cock sucking. She loved to fuck. And she did it well. I mentioned her throat muscle control, but her cunt was like a well oiled machine.....and I did my best to keep it well oiled!! Her pussy knew how to massage my dick. And stroke it. And caress it. And love it. And sometimes she loved to be pounded. Hard. The harder the better. God damn, I was one happy kid that summer.

But all good things must end. And I thought they did. I went to college in Baton Rouge. After spending the summer with Jennifer, I wanted to stay in town and attend our local university so she and I could continue our wanton ways, but my father insisted on Baton Rouge and since he was paying the bills I went to Baton Rouge. I was resigned to spending my semesters either in class or my dorm room deep in study. Boy, was I wrong.

My first two college years were pussy and beer filled. I fucked any pussy I could find. Black, white, oriental, hispanic. It didn't matter. If it was a cunt and available I ate it; fingered it; fisted it or fucked it. Whatever its owner wanted she got. I thought my summer with Jennifer was great, but I learned plenty about Louisiana women during those first two years in Baton Rouge. I barely managed to eke out a very low C grade average those first two years.

Not that I had forgotten about Jennifer. My college summers were spent in Lake Charles working for my father and fucking Jennifer.

The first college summer was a rehash of my first summer with Jennifer. Working and fucking. I was now working in our operations division and she was still in the safety office, but we found lots of time to spend together. Other employees of the company started telling me about Jennifer's escapades during my absence. Apparently she and several of our truck drivers had become friendly and whenever they came through town they would get together and party. Since we were a 48 State and Canada operation, our drivers could (and would) spend up to two weeks on the road without coming through Lake Charles.

She also apparently enjoyed the company of one of senior members of the safety office staff. This relationship was not as open as her driver relationships were, but it existed none the less. I had no problem with this in that I was doing the same thing in Baton Rouge and neither Jennifer nor I had any claims on each other. We were free to fuck anyone we wanted to. Not that it was a topic of conversation between us but it was an unspoken agreement. If one of her driver friends was in town she was free to spend time with him...and at least in one case I heard about...her.

This worked pretty well that first summer and even the first part of the next summer. But then things started to change. My junior year in Baton Rouge was one of discovery. I found that I enjoyed my classes and looked forward to learning. I also found that my social life had taken a big hit. I was still drinking some beer and fucking any pussy that presented itself, but I was not actively going out and looking for it. My grades improved and I looked forward to getting home and working over the summer.

My third summer found me still in the operations office, but now I was almost in charge.

My relationship with Jennifer also changed. Our time together was spent enjoying each other. The frenetic getting naked and fucking had lessened and had begun to settle down to dinners, conversation, and just plain old enjoyment of each other's company. We had weekend trips to Houston for theatre, a five day ocean cruise out of New Orleans, a couple of trips to Kemah, Texas, for dinner and fun. All in all our relationship was growing and we seemed to grow with it. She was now the only person I wanted to spend time outside of the company with and it was the same with her. Her trysts with our drivers dwindled to zero and we even discussed moving in together, but never quite got that far.

My schedule for my senior year was such that I was only required to be in class Monday through Thursday. That meant that all of my weekends were three day events. I spent Friday and Saturday at the office; but my nights and Sunday belonged to Jennifer.

As a graduation gift, my parents sent us on a seven day Alaska cruise. It was while we were in Skagway at one of the saloons popular with tourists that I asked Jennifer to marry me. It might be interesting to note that the actual location of my proposal was in the brothel museum section of the saloon. I did not plan it that way. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

The wedding was normal by any standard and we rented a house not too far from "the junkyard" which is what most drivers called their company location. We were not sure exactly where we wanted our permanent home to be so we had planned to take our time and look around. Within two years of the wedding I became the General Manager and Jennifer became the Director of Safety. I was now 24 and Jennifer was 25. Life was good. Then it got better. Jennifer got pregnant and our first child, Jonathan Russell Lemoine was born and Jennifer resigned from the company to become a stay at home mom. Eleven months after that Laura Elizabeth Lemoine made her debut. Our lives were pretty much perfect for the next 10 years.

Then the shit hit the fan.

My mother developed a particularly rare and devastating form of cancer called DIPG or Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. She died less than five months after diagnosis. My father died with her. Not physically, but he may as well have. For the last 44 years his life was my mother, me and then the company. After she died he spent part of every day at the cemetery. If it rained, he sat in the car and stared at her tombstone. He never came to the office after her death. He said that he had built it for her and with her gone it meant nothing any more. He wanted to be with her and talked of killing himself so he could be, but fortunately I convinced him that I needed him. He began to believe that Jennifer, Jonathan and Laura needed him as well so he began to live a little more. He convinced us to move into the house he had shared with my mother. We could breathe much needed life back into both him and the house and it would be less like a prison with us there.

So some semblance of normalcy returned. Jennifer would take the kids to school so dad could sleep in. Then he would leave in the afternoons, stop by the graveyard then pick the kids up. He still never came to the office.

Jonathan was now 17 and Laura 16. Jennifer was still beautiful and sex was still wonderful. I was doing some traveling to see customers, but not much and the trips never lasted more than three days. We now had 400 trucks and 600 trailers and business had never been better. I was sitting in my father's office at home going over some proposed freight rates for our customers one evening and he came in, closed the door and sat down. He reached over to the humidor he kept on his desk and took out one of his cigars. He used to really enjoy them but mom would only allow him to smoke them in his office with the door closed and the special air filtration system for that room turned on. He hadn't touched a cigar since mom died and those in the humidor had not been replaced. When he lit that dry sucker and inhaled I thought he was going to have a stroke. He choked and coughed and sputtered and sneezed. I laughed my ass off after I saw that he was not, in fact, having a stroke. After things settled down and he had dumped the rest of the cigars into the waste basket and washed away the taste of the cigar with a couple of fingers of Jack Daniels, he started to talk.

He had decided rejoin the ranks of the living but on his terms. He was going to sell the business and travel. He and mom had always wanted to and had talked of far off and exotic places but they never seemed to get around to actually doing it. He had been thinking about this for the last several months and had been in contact with a friend of his in Denver, John Franklin, who also owned a successful midsized trucking company. In the past he and dad had talked about joining forces, but they had both wanted to be the boss so it didn't happen. Anyway, unbeknownst to any of us the two of them had come to terms. All that had to be finished was a review of our equipment and property inventories and customer base. If these were as advertised the sale would happen. The agreed upon sale price was 52 million dollars. Not too bad for a guy who started with a used truck.

But his selling the company and traveling wasn't all. He wanted me to take half of the money and retire so that I could spend much more time with my family. I could watch the kids continue to grow. I could send them to the best possible schools and buy a big house for Jennifer.

But he also wanted us to travel with him as much as we could. He said that we could hire a tutor for Jonathan and Laura and just travel. The tutor could travel with us and teach the kids about each country we spent time in. I was overwhelmed. There was no way I could give him an answer without first talking it over with Jennifer and the kids. They, especially the kids, would be giving up a lot. They would be leaving their friends and school. My father explained that we could take some of their friends on trips with us if we wanted. He had obviously given this a lot of thought because he had an answer for all of my questions. So I told him I would talk it over with the family. He asked me not to say anything to them or anybody else until the sale was finalized.

He gave me the responsibility and the necessary powers of attorney to complete the sale. He said that he had not been part of the company since mom died so he was asking me to finish it. Besides, he said, he wouldn't be available next week because he was going deep sea fishing. Now, I know for a fact that he had never been fishing in his life. He just didn't want to be there at the demise of his company. I was to leave the following Monday and, if everything worked out, when I came home on Friday the company would belong to Franklin and we would be very comfortable for the rest of our lives.

Jennifer was perfectly fine with my going to Denver for the week. She had meetings of the Arts Council and some other committee she was on so she would not have time to miss me.

Monday morning came and armed with certified inventories and copies of our base customer contracts I flew to Denver. John Franklin's general manager met me at the airport and took me to Franklin's office. There I met with his senior staff and in the course of the next day and a half satisfied them that all conditions of the sale had been met. They in turn satisfied me that transfer of funds would take place the minute my signature was affixed. By midafternoon on Tuesday it was done. I immediately called my father expecting my message to go to voicemail because he would be out of cell phone range in the Gulf. Fishing. Ha! Anyway I made the call and he answered. He had decided that the water was too rough so he stayed at the hotel and sat by the pool.

He was surprised to hear that it was all over. He thought it would take most of the week. I would fly back the next day and meet with our staff and get them up to speed on the change of ownership. I would also be handing out some rather substantial bonus checks to the office staff for their dedicated and loyal service. I told him that members of Franklin's organization would show up Monday morning and assume control.

I took the early flight out of Denver Wednesday morning and by midmorning I found myself at the airport in Lake Charles. I had just put my carryon in the backseat of my car and had gotten in the driver's seat.

There is something you should know about our airport. It is small. There are only two airlines which serve Lake Charles and you can go to or from either Houston or Dallas. A total of seven flights a day. I had flown from Denver to Houston and after waiting for almost three hours instead of the scheduled one hour I boarded my plane for the thirty minute flight to Lake Charles. The flights into Lake Charles are spaced so that it is rare that two airplanes are on the ground at the same time; but my delay caused such a rarity to happen. That day the flight from Dallas landed just shortly after my flight.

So there I sat in my car ready to drive the twenty minutes home and ready, too, for one of Jennifer's perfect welcome home blowjobs. So I started my car and looked out the windshield just in time to see Jennifer darting across the road from the parking lot to the terminal building. My initial reaction was to wonder how she knew I was coming home so early. So much for my father keeping a secret I thought. So I decided to stand outside the terminal and wait for her to come out. I walked over and stood beside one of the columns outside the building. As I stood there I thought about those luscious lips being wrapped around my dick. And I started getting hard. I always got hard at the thought of one of her blowjobs or burying either my tongue or my dick in that soft, welcoming pussy.

I had been standing there no more than five minutes when I looked to see if I could see her coming out. And there she was. Absolutely radiant. And clinging to the arm of Lenny Flatt; our former Director of Safety and her former boss. They stopped half way down the walk way. He put his carryon bag on the ground and they wrapped their arms around each other. The kiss they exchanged caused several people to comment that they should hurry and find a room. I just stood there. They broke their embrace, he picked up his bag and arms around each other's waist walked the rest of the way down the walk way, across the drive and to her car. I had not moved.

As I watched her car start off airport property, something in me snapped. A calmness engulfed me as I walked the few steps to my car. I wanted to follow them to see what would happen although in my heart I thought I already knew. Our house was just 20 minutes from the airport and it soon became apparent that was where they were headed.

The houses in our neighborhood fronted on one of Lake Charles's beautiful old Live Oak tree lined streets. An alley at the back of the houses provided access to the garages. I drove into the alley and past our house just in time to see my garage door finish closing. I drove to the end of the alley and walked back to the house. I stood there trying to decide what to do next. I couldn't believe how calm I was. I knew deep in my soul that my wife would, in the next few minutes, be fucking another man unless I chose to try to prevent it. And what if I did prevent it? It would stop this single assignation, but would it prevent others? The familiarity I saw expressed at the airport caused me to believe that this was not the first time. So it was too late to stop previous meetings and fuck fests so what would be gained by preventing this one? The damage has already been done and she certainly cannot unfuck him. And by any definition our marriage was over.

So I decided to wait. Give them a few more minutes to get into a compromising situation and burst in on them.

There was a door leading from the backyard through the garage and into the kitchen. I quietly made my way into the kitchen. I saw Flatt's carryon bag sitting on the floor. His jacket was on the back of one barstools we had at our breakfast counter. I searched through his jacket and found his cell phone. I put it in my pocket. I made my way down the hall and, as would be expected, heard the sounds of fucking. The moans and groans. The pleading to fuck faster and harder. I took out Flatt's phone and started recording the sound as I went down the hall. I got down and went the last several feet on my knees. As I got to the door I started to brace myself for what I was about to see; but nothing happened. I didn't take a deep breath. I didn't hyperventilate. I wasn't sweating. I was calm and relaxed. As a matter of fact I was concerned about my lack of concern. I didn't seem to care what she was doing or who she was doing it with.

I raised his phone and aimed it where I thought I could get a good view of the bed and then stuck my arm around the door frame. I couldn't see what they were doing, but I could certainly hear:

"Come on, bitch, fuck me back. You can do better than that."

"Oh, God, Lenny. I have missed this so fucking much. Uh. Uh. Deeper, sweetie. Fuck me deeper. Oh, fuck.......oh fuck......oh fuck"

"You're a slut, aren't you?"

"Oh fuck yes I'm a slut. Your slut. And I'll always be your slut. Pound me, please. Pound your slut and make her cum. Please!!!!!"

I listened. No emotion. Dispassionate. Removed. For about 10 minutes. The words only I was supposed to hear. The voice begging someone other than me to pound her pussy. To fuck her hard and fast. To cum in her cunt so she could feel the hot silkiness of his cum spread throughout her pussy. Wait a minute. Did I hear that right? The hot silkiness of his cum spread throughout her pussy! Yep! I heard her say it. Where in the hell that expression came from is beyond me. Hot Silky cum. Who the fuck is that person???