Madigan and Jessica Carlisle

by Matt Moreau

Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Cheating, Cuckold, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Story: He's a hero; she's a cheater; things get stormy.

The chopper dropped down into the dusty camp and discharged its human cargo. Two helmeted figures held the litter as two others gently deposited their wounded comrade between the blanketed poles. Done, the two big troopers transported the wounded soldier to the waiting ambulance.

"Who's the casualty, sergeant," said the lieutenant.

"Corporal Carlisle, Madigan Carlisle," said the sergeant.

"He gonna make it?" said the lieutenant.

"He has to. The twenty men he saved won't stand for anything else," said the sergeant. The lieutenant nodded.

"Hear he's getting the Distinguished Service Cross," said the lieutenant.

"Yeah, to add to the two purple hearts and two bronze stars he already has," said the sergeant. "He's gonna look like a Mexican general with all of that stuff on his chest going home, and he 'is' going home. He'll go kicking and screaming, but, General Snow is not going to stand for anything else this time; he is definitely going home: too many holes in his body already. " 'Fraid he's going to lose that arm this time though. But, maybe not, we'll just have to see, I guess," said the sergeant.

Transit from Rhine Main took fourteen hours. I'd spent three weeks in the hospital there. I had forbidden the powers to alert my wife until I knew the status of my arm. I was already gimpy from Taliban shrapnel; I wouldn't be doing any line dancing for sure; I really didn't want to be going home armless as well. But, I'd done my job, and I felt good about things; well, about some things. Now to get home to Jessica and resume life in the real world.

I hadn't called ahead. Jessica would be surprised. The arm was going to take some time to get back to anything like normal in terms of its usage, but doc Savage had assured me it would come around. Hell, I guess I didn't look too bad, others had it worse. She'd cry a little, but she'd also be glad I was finally home from the war zone, that, I knew for sure.

The cab turned onto our street. I could see our home ahead at the end of the cul de sac. There was a strange car in the driveway alongside our Ford: Jessica had visitors. I was a bit disappointed. I really wanted to have a little time with her myself, time alone; fifteen months this time around was already way too long.

I paid the driver, grabbed by bag, and stood back and surveyed my home for a moment as the cab pulled away and down the street. I headed for the single story ranchstyle and entered.

Though I knew that my wife was home and obviously had a visitor or visitors, it was very quiet—at first. I headed down the hall. Ours was the last of the three bedrooms. As I got close I heard a man's voice. Getting closer I heard his words.

"Your husband have a tool like this," he said.

"Hell no, now get busy and put it in me," my wife said. "I need it bad."

"Whose pussy is that?" he said. "You don't get any till you tell me whose property your pussy is?"

"Just fuck me okay. Forget my husband. He ain't here. Okay. It's yours today," said my wife.

"I wanna hear it," he said.

"Okay, it's your pussy. Now will you fuck me!" said Jessica.

"Uhhggg." I heard her grunt as he obviously was penetrating her. I had left my bag by the front door. I was wearing my dress uniform—kinda to impress my wife. But now—I sagged to the floor against the wall just outside the door.

The tears were already coming. My heart was broken in two and there would be no repairing it. I could hear him slamming her. She, for her part, was moaning and grunting and swearing as he fucked her.

I supposed that he was slowing down. He started to talk normally again. "Maybe I should come around and give him lessons when he gets back," he said, and laughed. "Oh wait, that wouldn't do any good. His dick is, how did you describe it?"

"Shut up and fuck me harder you asshole!" she commanded.

"What was it you said about his dick?" he insisted.

"His dick is dinky, okay. He's mister dinky-dick. Okay now! Hurry up and fuck me harder," she said. "Yeeesssssyeeeesssss!" The bed was rocking and creaking as he screwed her to the max.

They must have climaxed. The bed stopped rocking and squeaking and the talk was quiet now. I could hear them breathing hard. I could hear her whispering something, but I couldn't make out the words.

I was in a state of near shock. I had had some very close calls in Afghanistan, and I had nearly been killed more than once, but I had never felt this bad. Helluva a welcome home. Helluva a welcome.

"I gotta get me a towel from the hall closet. I'll be right back," she said. He muttered something. The bed squeaked and I heard her bounce of the bed and hit the floor. She came storming out of the bedroom and froze in her tracks.

I was looking at the floor, when she came out; a small puddle of tears was pooled between my legs as I sat there. Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh my God!"

"Please tell you lover to leave," I said so softly that I wasn't sure she could even hear me. She disappeared back into the room. I could hear her saying something to him excitedly but very softly. Then I heard him.

"What the fuck!" The conversation continued in very muted tones for another minute. I just sat there. He was fastening his belt as he came into the hallway. He looked down at me as I sat there; our eyes met briefly. He said nothing. He edged past me literally rubbing against the far wall and then he ran-walked down the hall and out the door.

My wife came out and looked at me. "Madigan—" she was apparently at a loss for words.

"I'll sleep in the guest room tonight," I said, sniffling. I couldn't help it; I was ready to break down into uncontrolled sobs. Someone who has never been at war and returned to what I returned to could not know the heartache, the sense of loss, that I was feeling at that moment.

"Madigan, I am so sorry. How—how—how long were you..."

"I heard it all," I said. "But, don't worry, dinky-dick won't be bothering you anymore."

"My God! I am so ashamed, Madigan," she said. She'd slipped her sundress on while she was in the room talking to her lover, but I could tell she didn't have on any of her under things: bra, panties. She was sexy as hell, and I needed what I now knew I wasn't going to get. Still, my four-inch thunderstick, for the life of me, was rock hard; I had no idea what that meant.

"You? Ashamed? Why? I'm the one with the worthless cock. I'm the one who should be ashamed, and I am." I rose and headed back to the door to get my bag. My limp was accentuated because I had sat so long on the floor in that scruntched up position. She noticed.

"Madigan! You're hurt," she said. "And why is the sleeve of your shirt so fat?"

I turned toward her. I smiled, if somewhat weakly, "Just a trophy from Afghanistan. But it's all right. I guess you'll be having big dick get things off the top shelf from now on," I said.

"Madigan, please. It isn't what you think; it really isn't. He just—I don't know—he gets off on the stupid talk. I humor him.

"Madigan, I was lonely. You'd been gone so long..."she said, running out of words.

"Yeah, well, I hope it was worth it to you. I just hope it was worth it to you.

"I'll be sleeping in the guest room till I can find a place. I wasn't well—I wasn't ready to—I'll just need a few days to get my stuff in order. I just need a little time. I'd be grateful if you could have your—meetings—with him—somewhere else while I'm still here. I'd be grateful," I said. I was choking up.

"Madigan, there won't be any meetings with him, not anymore. Please don't leave, and you have to sleep in your own room, our room. I know how this must look—seem..."

"No, no. I'll be leaving, and I could never sleep in there again, not after..." I was having a lot of trouble talking.

"Madigan, baby, I love you. I don't want to be with him. I'm cutting him off and out of my life right now. You're back. I need you. Don't leave, Maddy, don't let my stupidity ruin us. Give me a chance. Please!" she was the one crying now.

"I gotta lie down for a little while. I'm tired," I said. "You know, all I could think of those weeks in Germany—oh, you don't know about those, that's right—but anyway, all I could think about was you, us, together for the first time in a long time. Jess, I really needed you. I just don't know how you could have..."

"Maaaddddyyyy! Please forgive me. Let me make this up to you. Pullleeezzz!" she was desperate. I actually wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her, forgive her, try to get by it. But, it was all too fresh—and her words. But, even as I thought that, she rushed me. Clung to me, her arms wrapped around me. I howled in pain as she crashed against the special splint that held my wreck of an arm in place. She jumped back in shock at my obvious pain.

"Maddy, I'm sorry. You really are hurt. You're hurt bad; I can tell," she said. The pain was so bad I was seeing stars. My breath came in short gasps. Finally, I was able to more or less pull myself together.

For the first time since walking in on her, I almost had to laugh. "Really, what makes you think I'm hurt?' I said, I grimaced when I said it. I was being sarcastic, and she caught it.

"Madigan, I made a mistake, okay. I'm sorry about bumping your arm like that. My God how sorry I am. But, none of your letters said anything about being hurt," she said. For the first time she stopped to assess what she was seeing. She stepped back and looked me up and down. "You really are hurt, Maddy. And all of those medal thingys, you've got them because you're hurt right?" I could see she was trying to process a lot of things at once: my catching her, my injuries, my medals; it was a lot for a woman, any woman, to take in all at once.

In spite of everything that was happening, in my mind I kept hearing her call me dinky-dick. Why'd she have to say that to that man! And who the hell was he? God how her words hurt me. They'd hurt me more than catching her in bed with him. They'd hurt me because I knew they were true words. I was small. Well, what could I do; it was what it was.

She picked up my bag and carried it for me to the guest room. I followed her inside ten seconds later. The bed was queen-sized, and she was laying on it. "This will be our bed, Maddy. We'll use the other room for storage or something—okay?" she was trying. "I understand you not wanting to be in there."

"Jessica—I—we—I can't..." I said.

"Yes, you can and we can. Come here, my hero, please come here," she said. "I have a lot of making up to do, and I want to start right now."

I snickered, "Sloppy seconds for me?" I said. Her face showed shock.

"Oh my, I forgot! Heavens no! Not for you, my husband. I'll clean myself up first. I wasn't thinking! I'll clean up right now." She started to get up and off the bed. I don't know why. I guess for a lot of reasons: my shock at catching them, my injuries, the pain, jet lag. But, I took that moment to embarrass myself totally. I fainted. I just melted to the floor kind of slowly, and I was out.

I don't know how long I was out, it couldn't have been too long, but when I came to, she was trying to get me to drink a little water. I took a sip. She helped me up and sat me on the edge of the bed. She helped me with my clothes: shoes, tunic, shirt, pants. She laid me gently back down propping my head on a pillow in the process. I was asleep in less than a minute.

It was dark outside when I awoke. She was beside me kissing me. I was still in my underpants and t-shirt. She was in a short slip. She smelled terrific. It was going to be a full court press, and I was so horny, physically weak, and emotionally drained that I had little hope of overcoming it.

"Madigan, what have I done to you, to us. I am so ashamed. You just have to let me atone for what I said—did," she said. She was spooning me. She kept looking at my arm. It was maybe two-thirds the size of my right arm. She'd evidently removed the splint at some point, but she was guarding it, my arm, personally. The doctor had promised that I would get back most of it in terms of size in maybe a year. I had a lot of therapy, some of it on my own, to get through first though.

"Millie—I—you—me—what you said—I don't think I can get by that," I said. She was not deterred. She began kissing me again ignoring my words. The smell of her was getting to me. I was her cuckold. I knew it and I hated it, the sharing of her with that man. But, I was her cuckold and I was her man. I needed her even if she was cheating on me. Jesus what a pussywhipped wimp I was.

She looked up for a moment. "He's history, Madigan. I swear it."

"Who is he?" I said, pushing her gently back. She looked at me. She realized that I was not going to settle for anything but full and complete disclosure.

"Mark Hanson. He works for the travel agency where I do my office temp work sometimes. He came on to me, and I surrendered. I needed something, someone to take care of my needs. He was handy. He was never anything but a human dildo," Madigan. "He never could be anything more than that. Like I said before, he's history."

"Is he as big—?"

"Madigan, can we just forget him. I need to concentrate on us right now, on you. You did not deserve the trash talking you heard. I'm an asshole and a cheater. But, I am going to make it up to you, so help me, if it takes me forever. I love you and only you. I swear it," she said.

I lay back and let her do me. She took out my cock and began playing with it. I was already rock hard from the smell of her; the cool her hands made me harder still. My misgiving loomed large. My insecurities larger, but I couldn't deal with them right at the moment; that would be for tomorrow. And, anyone who can't understand that was never anywhere near anyone like Jessica.

She took me in her mouth and for a moment Mark Hanson really didn't have any meaning in our lives. He would however be destined to reemerge as more than a problem, and that soon.

She stayed home, we both did, for the next several days. We slept together, but sex was not the mind-blowing period on the sentence that I had hoped for while dreaming of her in the hospital in Germany. On two occasions I was so depressed by the images I conjured up in my mind, that I couldn't get it up, not even with her enthusiastic help. I kept thinking of her words—dinky-dick. I just couldn't seem to get past those.

To her credit, Jessica hadn't made an issue out of it, my failure to perform. She may have been dumb enough to cheat on her man, but she was not dumb enough to rub his nose in it; she was going to give herself, and him, time to get over her actions. She had plans, and at least some of them included keeping her good man at home and happy; some, but not all. She did love him, and, she did not love the other man; but she needed more than her true love had to offer. That was clear to me. The other man could fill in those gaps in her world of needs. Oh yes, she had plans: foolproof plans.

She waited nervously at the table farthest from the bar. The man was late. He was never late. Damn him! She didn't have all day. Finally, she saw him looking around trying to spot her. She stood and waved, not too obviously, for him to join her.

"It took you long enough," she said.

"Couldn't help it. This is the city, and this time of day traffic is at best challenging," he said.

"Then leave earlier," she said.

"How you doing?" he said, ignoring her pique.

"Treading water. He's trying to figure out what to do. I have to go slow and try and help him find his balance. He's hurting real bad, and I don't blame him. Your words, my words, must have killed him," she said.

"Yeah, I guess so. But there is no way we knew he'd be there like that. Shit, even I feel sorry for the guy; and I'm the one that wants to get into his wife's pants," he said.

"Yeah, well, you'll have to go on wanting for a while. There is no way he tolerates me being gone for any length of time at this point," she said. "And, you have to stay away from me totally. No calling, no bumping into me accidentally in the supermarket. You need to be nowhere around. Got it?" she said.

"I suppose. I don't like it, but I suppose.

"Has his dick grown any since you last fucked him?" he said, and he laughed.

"Jesus, Mark, haven't you learned anything here. You don't need to be comparing his dick with yours or anyone else's. So it's small; it still works. He's fucked me five of the last eight days since he caught us. He's doing his duty, and by God I'm doing mine," she said.

"Only five out of eight?" said Mark. He was genuinely surprised.

"He couldn't get it up a couple of times because of the memory of what he caught us doing. He's hurt, Mark, hurt bad. Don't you get it; I mean really. So just stop talking about him. You ain't never going to see him naked, so you don't need to be making any comments.

"Jesus, I'm sorry I ever mentioned the size of his cock to you. I don't know what I could've been thinking," she said.

Harvey Gillis had been Madigan Carlisle's pal since grade school. They were tight. They did everything together. They were seldom out of earshot of each other or so it sometimes seemed. When one ate beans the other farted. When Harvey had joined up, Madigan had signed up the next day.

Madigan had saved Harvey's life in those last days before they were both shipped out of the war zone due to their wounds. Madigan's wounds were gotten as a result of his reckless disregard for his own safety in saving Harvey and the platoon. And, it was that same reckless disregard for his own well being that had almost cost him his arm and earned him the distinguished Service Cross; only the CMH was a higher award for gallantry. The official field report read that as Harvey lay shredded by Taliban shrapnel, Madigan—finally out of ammunition—had ripped the throats out of two stinkies with his own personal Randall-model #1. The eight-inch blue-carbon steel blade was made for skewering Taliban, Madigan had said on many occasions; and, he'd proved the truth of his words more than once.

But, Madigan and Harvey were not together this afternoon. It would not have been useful for them to be. But, Harvey was being useful. His little recording device was getting every word that passed between the couple at the next table: Mark Hanson and Jessica Carlisle.

"So, how the fuck long before we can be together again?" said Mark.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing a couple of months at the least. Like I said, he's shaken and suspicious. He doesn't say he is, but he is. I'm gonna be playin' it cool until I have earned back his trust," said Jessica.

"Okay, I guess it'll have to be," said Mark. "I'll hate it, but I'll cooperate."

They talked for a little while longer, held hands across the table and kissed lightly as they left for their homes.

Harvey looked at his friend's downcast features. "I know how it is, man. It's happened to me and to a lot of us who went over there. It is what it is. You gonna kick her out."

"I don't know. She's cheatin' and continues to cheat, or plans to. I guess I don't have much choice. I either kick her out or make plans to live with it because it's clear to me that she won't stop. Whatever he's got it has to be better than what I got, I suppose.

"You know the irony is that I think she still loves me. She just wants to have her cake and eat it too, as it were. How would you handle it Harv?" I said.

"She'd already be gone if it was me," he said. You found her in bed with the asshole once already. Her planning to do it again, or rather continue to do it, is more than insulting to you, and you goddamn well know it."

"Yeah, I suppose. I guess I'll confront her tonight and get it over with. Did you make a copy of that recording?" I said.

"Yeah, better than that. I have video of it too. It just shows them sitting there talking, but watching them, and hearing them at the same time, you can see how much they are longing to be together. You need to just let them," he said. I nodded.

"You gotta protect yourself first though, Madigan. Clean out your bank account. Move any and all assets the hell outta her reach—and his.

"Yeah, I suppose," I said.

I knew she'd gone shopping after her little meet up with her lover. I was waiting in the front room when she got back; she'd called ahead to let me know she'd be home shortly. Harvey had left no more than twenty minutes earlier, but he wouldn't be far away.

I heard the backdoor open and slam shut. She must have kicked it; she was always doing that when she had an armload of groceries.

I listened while she put things away in the kitchen. She hadn't called out to me to help her. Well, what the hell, I just waited.

"Oh! Madigan, there you are," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Well, mister, you coulda come and helped with the groceries," she said.

"Yeah, it might have saved some wear and tear on the backdoor," I said. "Anyway, I have something for you to see. Come here, have a seat." She did and put her arm around my shoulder. I punched the play button on the remote. The image of the bar immediately came into view with her and good 'ole Mark seated at the table.

"It took you long enough," she said.

"Couldn't help it. This is the city, and this time of day traffic is at best challenging," he said.

"Then leave earlier," she said.

"How you doing?" he said, ignoring her pique.

"Treading water. He's trying to figure out what to do. I have to go slow and try and help him find his balance. He's hurting real bad, and I don't blame him. Your words, my words, must have killed him," she said.

"Yeah, I guess so. But there is no way we knew he'd be there like that. Shit, even I feel sorry for the guy; and I'm the one that wants to get into his wife's pants," he said...

Jessica Carlisle's face was ashen. She pulled her arm from around my neck. "Madigan..."

"Yeah, I know you're sorry. Let it go, Jessica. I just stayed to let you know why I was leaving. We're done now. You never intended to be true to me. I was fooling myself, and I guess I really knew it the day I got back; I just tried to convince myself that maybe just maybe, well like I say, I was foolin' myself. I do have a question or two though, I mean if you think you can be honest at least this once," I said.

"Madigan, I —I—okay, I'll try," she said. She was fighting back genuine tears of regret.

"Why? Was it just the size of my cock, I mean really?" I said.

She hesitated before answering. "Yes. You're so small, Maddy. In every other way I love you more than any other man in the world. It's just—well—I need..." she was starting to cry.

"Yeah, I get it, you need more than I got," I said. She just sniffled. "Helluva thing. Married just four years and my life has already gone all to hell. Helluva thing.

"Last question. Why all the trash talking about me. I didn't do anything to you. Why the two of you gettin' off trash talking me?"

"No good reason. He doesn't know you. He doesn't care about you. He just does it—I don't know, maybe to make himself feel big or tough or something; I don't know," she said.

"Yeah, but you join in with him, and you do know me. So?" I said, and waited.

"I suppose to make him feel bigger than he is. He was never in the military. He knows you were. He knows you're a tough guy. I guess I didn't want him to feel—inadequate," she said.

"You mean like the two of you have made me feel inadequate, that about it?' I said.

She devolved into sobbing big time now. I watched her for a moment. Strangely, I felt nothing—yet. It was over. I got up and went into the hallway, retrieved my one bag, and went outside. Harvey saw me and pulled up to the curb, popped the trunk, and helped me put the bag inside. We drove off.

We made a beeline for the small local hotel where I would be staying for the next couple of weeks. I would be taking care of the little transfers that Harvey had coached me to take care of in the morning. I didn't have that much to do, so it would be no problem getting it done.

I was sad and sick and lonely as hell, and I'd only been broken up with her for a few hours. Jesus the suddenness of it was awful. I'd gone from hopeful to despairing in less time than it took to say it.

After taking care of business in the morning. I headed back to the hotel. The hotel was called the Morning Star, don't know why. It's main virtue was its compactness. It had a quiet bar in the back. The bartender was a looker of maybe thirty-five. Over the next few days I heard all about her life and family. She was Filipina and like most Filipina ex-pats, she was helping to support a number of brothers—mostly lazy bums—back in the mother country. She was worth her salt as a barkeep, offering me moral support in my hour of need. And I was needy. Needy as hell.

Over the next several weeks and months it began to really mess me up, the memories. A man gives everything, his heart, to his woman and then she pisses on it like it was nothing. The anger wouldn't go away. The hurt wouldn't go away. I was becoming demoralized; it was affecting my job. My job. I had a job as counter help in a computer appliance outlet. I was able to sit most of the time which allowed me to not be on my legs all day, something that was almost impossible for me as yet.

The job didn't pay much, but with my military disability, which had finally kicked in, I was at least able to support myself.

The divorce was final a seven months later and I went out with Harvey and got stinkin' drunk. Even got into a fight. My rehab had been pretty successful, I guess; it didn't hurt to hit the guy. I didn't win it, neither did the other guy. We were both so blasted that most of our manly punches were air-punches. We sure did kill that air though. Harvey couldn't stop laughing. Later my opponent bought me a drink and I returned the favor a short time later.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Cheating / Cuckold / Slow /