Retribution

Retribution.


It took Jon nearly a year to arrange it, but now his careful planning and meticulous timing was coming into fruition. Having past the wrought iron gates and driven down the gravel drive with tufts of grass growing through it, the end game was now in full swing, like a run away juggernaut, it was unstoppable.

He could picture when it all started, the re-run going through his minds eye as he drove towards destiny.

It seemed that it had been one of those days; one of those occasional days, when anything and everything that could go wrong, would go very wrong. The car had stopped for some inexplicable reason, probably electrical. He had managed to drive for just over a mile from his home towards the office, before it broke down.

His Mobile cell phone was on the blink. He was waiting, almost patiently, for a replacement handset. Chances were it was sitting on his desk at that very moment. Equally, the chances were it was still in a warehouse someplace.

So, he walked back home to call the breakdown people and let them know at work, that he would possibly not make it in today and to cancel his appointments.

To add to the electrical component conspiracy, it rained. An all to frequent April shower that had more than a touch of December about the icy coldness of the giant raindrops that pounded his hatless head.

So it was that, some hour and fifteen minutes after leaving his house for the office, a very bedraggled and unhappy Jon, turned the key to the front entrance door.

It was the noises coming from the day room that first aroused his curiosity. A sort of moan and grunt, mixed together, told him that someone was in the room, behind the closed door. It wasn’t a sound he expected. Alice was supposed to be playing Golf at the country club today with her band of friends.

Slowly and quietly, he turned the polished brass doorknob and pushed the door open. The scene that greeted him took his breath away and left him temporarily bereft of comprehension.

April was laying face up, half on and half off of one of the Chesterfield leather settees. She was totally naked; her pert breasts pointing at the ceiling, bathed in sweat and grunting, like a pig around its food trough. Her trembling legs were parted with her feet flat on the floor. Between her knees was a chocolate spotted Springer. His rear was firmly pressed into her groin while he stood, motionless.

They were obviously tied. Locked in a primeval impregnation although, Jon couldn’t quite work out just how they had managed to lock in this particular position.

It was the dog that first noticed him. It spied at Jon and whimpered a little as it looked at him piteously. Jon was shocked at the sight, but he almost laughed out loud when April noticed him and in her shock, shoved her self backwards, expelling the dogs cock and fluids with a loud pop and gush that missed the prepared towel, laid on the floor.

The dog, now free of the woman, scuttled away to hide behind another settee on the opposite side of the room, his paws skittering over the polished beech flooring in an effort to gain traction. April instinctively, tried to cover her mons with one hand and her breasts with the other. A frozen moment passed between them. Frightened eyes looked into confused eyes, communication lost and all the shared history, crashed to the bottom of a widening ravine that separated them.

“The car broke down.” It was the only thing he could think of to say. It came out apologetically and feeling as if he had intruded, Jon left April to clean up while he changed from his wet clothes and called in. His working day was a ruin now, so the couple of hours delay before the auto rescue people could recover his car wasn’t the major catastrophe it would normally have been.

An hour had passed since his return to the house to find April in her compromising position, before he saw her again. She had dressed in slacks and a loose blouse. It wasn’t her golf attire Jon noticed.

Want some lunch? She yelled from the kitchen. Got some very nice turkey ham in the fridge, bit of salad with it?

He answered in the negative, but accepted a glass of white wine which he sipped as his wife of twenty years gabbled on about any subject that she could think of to fill the silent void.

At last, when he could stand no more of her prattle, he asked the first question of a series that might help him understand what he had witnessed.

“Who’s dog?” He asked quietly.

“Dog; Oh you mean Cadbury; he belongs to Tom and Francine.