The Worm Doth Turn

by Jedd Clampett

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Revenge, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: A Little infidelity. She gets caught. He takes the appropriate action.

Some preceding notes:

This is another cheating wife story. She’s found out. Her husband takes appropriate action.

And my customary admonitions. Is it overlong long? Probably. The reader might find something ever so slightly political or religious. Do not take umbrage; they’re there for the fun of it and to entertain.

Hope you enjoy...

“And So ... the Worm ... It Doth Turn.”

I never would have believed it. What is it they say? It couldn’t happen to ... I should’ve seen ... think of Occam’s Raz ... there’s a sucker born ... oh yeah buddy that was me. Well it happened, and when it did it was like that dead Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver said once way back in the day, “Somewhere in the universe a gear shifted”.

The name’s Steve Cornish. I guess I’m just a regular kind of guy. In fact I’m probably the most regular guy anyone would ever meet; just turned thirty-four, five nine and a half, one hundred eighty pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, M.Ed. in elementary education, just a fifth grade teacher in one of the better schools in a neighboring county. How’s that for a typically bland resume?

Oh yeah, I’d been married to a beautiful five foot three, blue eyed blond paralegal named Myra. We had got two marvelous little boys; Michael who was nine and Jeremy eight.

I’d met Myra my senior year in college. Any of this sound familiar? She was twenty working as a legal secretary for a large law firm down in the center city. We met at a dance club; she was with a passel of girls, I was hanging with my school chums. I asked her to dance, and well, things took off from there.

The month of June right after I got my diploma we tied the knot. I already had a job; same place then as now. Her mom and dad put on the big spread; the church wedding, five bride’s maids, flower girl, ring bearer, reception with open bar at the country club. We honeymooned in Vegas; never saw the casino, barely took time to eat.

For the next eleven years we did all the right things; had the two boys, rented a small apartment, saved, and bought that first home, everyone knows what I mean the old ‘equity property’. We scrimped and saved. She stayed home until the boys were old enough for school then she went back to work, at first just between the morning bus pick up until the afternoon when the bus dropped them off. At night I babysat while she took the classes that got her that paralegal status. I made a little extra in the spring coaching lacrosse at the high school, and I worked for a construction company hammering nails during the summers. By the late winter of our eleventh year, sixth in the equity home, we were ready to trade up.

We scouted around and found our ‘dream home’ in one of those new bedroom communities about thirty miles out. It made my commute a little longer, but it put us right in the center of one of the best places imaginable to raise kids.

It was a slow thing at first, but as we planned for our new home Myra’s behavior changed. Up till the early stages of the move we’d always looked at things as a team; we’d discuss things and come to a decision that usually involved some level of compromise. But Myra’s attitude shifted; she started to become the ‘boss’. She said she was being more decisive. I felt she was more tyrannical, and maybe a little discourteous if not disrespectful. But I loved her so I let it ride.

The house we found was on a two acre lot on the edge of an established development. I preferred a house at the end of one of the cul-de-sacs, but Myra was firm, she wanted the bigger lot. She planned on a pool in the not too distant future.

Like I said Myra really took charge. We needed all new furniture so that meant trips to Frobisher’s the best store of that ilk in the area. I’d need a lawnmower; without any consultation she ordered one of those brand new John Deere tractors. I would have been happy with a used Cub Cadet, but Myra would have none of it; she’s checked Consumer Reports and I guess Better Home and Gardens. She decided John Deere was the way to go. There was a shed on the property; that wasn’t big enough, carpenters were hired and a newer bigger shed soon sat on the site of the original. I thought stuff like sheds and lawn tractors were man things? Well what did I know?

Myra was worried about the boys; especially with regards to issues of her availability. If there was ever a problem she rightly felt she’d need to get home or to school fast. Back before we’d lived close to their school. Now things were different.

Myra couldn’t stay with her old employer and feel safe. She scanned the papers, and found a law firm in the county seat that was advertising for a paralegal. She applied, and got the job almost on the spot. That put her just fifteen minutes from her work, and less than five miles from the kids’ school.

I wasn’t sure but I thought there might be one or two problems when she came home and told me about her new job. She said, “Steve I got the job and it’s a twenty percent raise. Plus I’ll get limited gas mileage, and one of their secretaries will be doing a lot of my clerical work. There are one or two minor wrinkles though.”

She said wrinkles with her ‘new’ authoritative tone. I wondered what the wrinkles might be. I found out pretty quick.

Myra explained, “Honey they’re a lot more ‘business-like’ than my old office down in the city. I’ll be expected to wear more formal attire so I’ll need a new wardrobe. And oh yeah, they have a Friday ‘happy hour’ at one of the restaurants a couple blocks from their office, and I’ll be expected to attend.”

We’d both been in the area scouting around, and I thought we’d traveled it pretty thoroughly. I asked her, “What’s the name of the ‘restaurant’?” She told me it was a quiet little place called The Wagon Wheel Inn.

When she mentioned the Wagon Wheel I guess a little light went on; not a suspicion thing, just a troubling little light. I’d been by the ‘Wagon Wheel’. I’d seen the ‘quaint’ little place, and it sure wasn’t what I’d call a ‘family’ restaurant, not even on a good day. I told her, “I’ve seen that place honey. I’m not happy with you going there on a Friday like that, not without me at least.”

That’s when the light grew a bit brighter. She gave me the first of what would soon become her new standard responses, “What do you know? Have you ever been there? Have you tried their food? Have you checked out the clientele? My new bosses say they like it, and if they like it, and its part of the job, then I’ll like it too.”

Here was a little more about the unhappy tidbit I mentioned. When Myra and I met, courted, and married she’d been a one kind of person, but over the years of our marriage there’d been something of a slow, then not so slow, metamorphosis.

When we’d met she was this perky flirty scamp who managed to bounce from table to table treating everyone to this wildly funny and innocently erotic girl. She always dressed prettily. By that I mean cute miniskirts, snow-white button-up blouses, low-heeled shoes, sometimes even with knee highs. She usually kept her hair back with barrettes, or sometimes back in one of those terrific little ponytails that flip flopped back and forth when she pranced about. She was light, airy, witty, and just an all-around pleasure to be with. She hardly wore any makeup, but for sure, I didn’t think she needed any.

Did I say she was popular? Well she was enormously popular. Once I set my sights on her I had to fight the competition off with a stick. Sometimes I felt like I was standing in line. I think I asked her about eight times before she agreed to marry me.

I remember the day we got married. Her dad walked her down the aisle her in this beautiful white dress all embroidered with rich satiny lace, the long train, and that veil! I’m saying she was just a delight to see. And when I pulled back her veil; those soulful big blue eyes. I mean the love I saw there was palpable, it could have been cut with a knife.

We went to Vegas, and yes we did leave the suite. She had a body other women killed for, and when she wore that white two piece in the water there wasn’t any doubt in anybody’s mind; she was the total package.

Out in public those first years she stayed the silly pouty girl I’d married and loved, but at home alone in bed she became a tigress. Neither one of us were virgins when we got married, but I think I got her cherry the night we got engaged, in fact I’m almost positive I did. At first she’d been a little reticent, kind of chary about sex, but it didn’t take her long to discover and appreciate all the joys of lovemaking.

Not a big or particularly buxom girl Myra had a natural athleticism that lent itself to real joy in the bedroom. She was really quite the acrobat! She liked to be on top, and in a second, once we got going she could swing around from facing me to facing away.

The truth, few men really know for sure how big they are in comparison to other men. Sometimes when we did it missionary I’d get so far as to able to hit her cervix, but when she was on top facing away, or when we did outright doggie I got in deep, I mean really deep! When she got going she was tight, warm and wet, I’d go wild sliding in and out feeling her tight canyon walls hugging against me.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / Fiction / Cheating / Revenge /