MY WIFE AND THE NO-GOOD LYING SCUMBAG–Part 1

MY WIFE AND THE NO-GOOD LYING SCUMBAG

CHAPTER 1

My wife Jennie and I had always enjoyed a fantastic sex life, beginning when we first met during our senior year of high school. If anything, she was more aggressive and much hornier than I was. She was tall—almost five feet ten inches—and slender with fantastic symmetrical C-cup breasts and a tight muscular ass to die for. She reminded me of the swimsuit models in Sports Illustrated and I wasn’t the only boy in high school who thought that. Jennie was Homecoming Queen and voted most popular yet I was the only senior she ever dated—what incredible luck. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world when she agreed to go steady with me. I had always considered myself ordinary—six feet, 170 pounds with unruly light brown hair and pale blue eyes in contrast to her natural blond hair and sparkling green eyes.

I was thrilled when she agreed to attend the same university as me. My parents weren’t rich; I had to attend a state school. It was good, but it wasn’t Harvard or Yale or even Williams or Amherst. It was just SUNY—the State University of New York at Albany, reputedly the best of the state universities in New York.

Jennie’s parents weren’t rich either, but they had more money than mine. They had two cars to our one and they got a new one every three years. Ours had to last for at least six before Dad would even think of replacing it.

Jennie had new clothes several times a year. I wore mine until they didn’t fit then they went to my younger cousin or to Goodwill. In spite of the differences in our socio-economic status she loved me and I her. Her love made me determined to work harder to become successful. I toiled like crazy throughout our college careers, working nights as a watchman—a job that enabled me to study between tours of the factory—while attending full-time. Most days I got by on four or five hours sleep, but it prepared me well for the rigors of work after graduation.

I earned a degree in accounting and asked Jennie to marry me on our graduation day. She accepted immediately. Even our parents agreed that we were made for each other. Like most young couples we struggled at first, living in a tiny studio apartment and eating cheap liverwurst and bologna sandwiches because we couldn’t afford anything better. Those years of hardship and denial forged the bond between us, making us stronger as individuals and a team.

We made love almost every night when I wasn’t in graduate school for my MBA. Even then we managed a quickie before falling asleep naked in each other’s arms. Jennie was often the initiator and I doubted there was anything she wouldn’t try. She loved it all.

Jennie had worked in retail sales. The money wasn’t great, but it was a help until I had earned my MBA and began my climb up the corporate ladder. After five years with the firm I got my first really big promotion and my first really big raise, almost doubling my salary. Jennie was able to quit her job. If anything we made love even more often. She wasn’t tired as often and she wasn’t on her feet all day, either. I thought everything was great. We even talked about starting a family.

Then about three months ago everything changed. I remember the Thursday night like it was yesterday. I walked in after a long day at work anticipating that Jennie would strip my clothes from my body and rape me the way she did virtually every day, fucking me until neither of us could stand. That was why we always had dinner late—we needed time to recover before eating and another wild session in bed before retiring for the night.

Instead, I went to hug Jenny and she turned away. “I’m sorry Tim, but I have a terrible headache. You don’t mind if we take a day off, do you? I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

What could I say? I accepted her comment, expressing concern for her well-being. “Are you up to cooking? Want to go out for a pizza or maybe bring in Chinese?”

“Oh, Tim—you’re so good to me. Thank you, darling. I’ll be okay with just a little rest.” I kissed her cheek and led her to the couch where I helped her to put her feet up and lie back, her head on one of the decorative pillows. She stayed there for an hour, eyes closed, before getting up to fix a simple dinner of burgers. She still seemed distant after dinner and I wondered if I had done something wrong—something to offend her. For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything. Our relationship was back to normal the following day. I put my concerns out of my mind.

But they returned the following Thursday when Jennie once again begged off, this time because of an upset stomach. The following Thursday she gave me another excuse. I was sure then that something was wrong.

The following week she had physical concerns on Tuesday and Thursday although we made love as usual on the other days. Tuesday and Thursday became regular days off from sex and there was always some new reason. I didn’t complain, but I knew I had to do something. Mostly, I knew I had to do it for Jennie.
I took an hour for lunch on Friday. I was entitled to an hour, but rarely took the full sixty minutes. Most days I worked at my desk, eating my sandwich and drinking my can of Pepsi while I toiled on my computer or reviewed some report. Instead of lunch I went shopping; it’s amazing what one can find in the Yellow Pages. The drive to the store took me about ten minutes—almost as long as it took me to reach my car in the parking lot. Surprisingly, I was approached by a clerk as soon as I entered the store. I explained what I wanted and why. The clerk showed me two options—one for $150 each and another for double the price. Both were tiny considering their capabilities. “What’s the difference, other than price?”

“Basically nothing, but don’t tell my boss I told you that. The expensive one is a ‘brand name’ in security; the other is our store brand.” Thanking him for his help I bought three of the cheaper models, paying cash I’d collected doing taxes for several private clients. I had planned to save the money for a vacation, but finding the truth seemed a more pressing priority at the time. It was just after one when I returned to the office. My supervisor asked if everything was okay. It was rare that I was away from work during the day.

Jennie and I made incredible love that evening as she rode me to three long and deep orgasms. She held me for several minutes after before rolling off, lying back on her pillow and falling asleep almost immediately. She was sound asleep, her breathing slow and measured when I got up. I did this all the time—chronic insomnia—so there was little reason for concern.

I donned a tee-shirt and a pair of running shorts before tip-toeing down the stairs to the garage. Using my laptop as a server the first device was connected to our home network fifteen minutes later then I installed it in the far corner of the roof over our front porch, exactly as the clerk had instructed me with the video going straight to a site where I’d established a free account. I could pull up the video at any time using my laptop or my phone. The camera was tiny with the lens nothing more than a short thin cable of optic fiber. The bulk of the mechanism was mounted on the outside just under one of the gutters with the lens aimed at the front door and the microphone located on the bottom of the tiny box. It was motion activated and should last with the existing batteries for at least two weeks—more than enough I thought.

Once it was set up I tested it, walking in front of the door then checking the site from my laptop. I was actually surprised at how well it worked. I’m hardly the handiest with tools and my experience with computers is limited to accounting software and programs like Excel, Word, and Power Point. Five minutes later the laptop was back in my briefcase and I was back in bed.

“Insomnia again, honey?”

“Yeah, I had a can of beer.