Cheaters in the West

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Coercion, Blackmail, Historical, Cheating, Slut Wife, Rough, Gang Bang, Violent, .

Desc: Sex Story: A cheating wives Tale

Author's note: This story is the third in my "Cheaters in" series. The first was Cheaters in Space. Cheaters in Time was the second. My point in doing this series is to occasionally explore the concept of infidelity during different periods in time as opposed to the typical "I came home from work and there was a strange car in my driveway, so I got a PI" scenario. All of these stories have no actual historical value and are done just for fun. So if I got the years or the guns wrong, please forgive me. If you don't like it, don't worry, next week I'll have another strange car in the driveway. Also MOPAR guys I'm only joking. I respect your cars too, just not as much.

The scenery in the windshield went by at an alarming rate, as I passed cars like they were standing still. One of the few pleasures I had left was driving my silver 08 Mustang GT at just slightly past the legal 70 mph speed limit. Just slightly meaning under 110. I heard a chirping sound that I knew wasn't the car. I knew every single throb and ping that the Mustang's engine, tires and suspension made. I also knew every crease in the "Whore Red" interior's leather. I looked over into the cup holder to my right and saw the screen of my iPhone light up. I also saw the smiling face of my just recently minted ex wife. Just recently minted meaning we had our day in court only 3 days ago. And ex meaning if the bitch was on fire, I wouldn't piss on her. But in that wonderfully naive way that only children and extremely beautiful women could manage, here she was calling me, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the phone stopped chirping after a few moments. I started cussing inside as it started up again after only seconds. I slowed down to a more manageable 80 mph and answered the phone in the most cheerful voice I could muster.

"What the fuck do you want, you skanky whore? You already have half of my money and my house." Okay so maybe I wasn't very polite, but I really was trying.

"Well, I'm in the emergency room, Craig beat me up. And I need someone to come and get me and a place to stay until he calms down." she said.

Craig of course being the guy she'd been screwing around on me with, and the cause of our divorce and the end of our 8 year marriage.

"So why are you calling me Carla? You clearly preferred Craig's presence, Craig's personality and Craig's dick to mine. So your right to call me and tell me about your fucking problems ended 3 days ago."

"I keep telling you the same thing over and over again Michael James Dansen. Craig was only sex, it had been almost 10 years since I'd been with anyone beside you, and I was just curious. The first time with him wasn't good at all, but I thought that maybe it was just because he was nervous or something. My body does that to boys you know. You remember how quickly you came the first time that you and I did it?"

"Carla, I was 19!" I reminded her.

"Whatever," she snapped. "Anyway he convinced me to give him one more chance at my pussy, and you caught us and threw me out. You never even gave me a chance to explain anything. Just threw me out of the house that I picked, and I decorated, and I made into a home for us like I was yesterday's garbage."

"Yeah Carla, you did everything in that house except pay for it. You sat there every day on your perfect ass, while I worked myself silly trying to provide for both of us and keep you happy. And as soon as your cut throat lawyer got that injunction allowing you to stay in the house because you were basically homeless, you moved Craig into my house. If it was only sex why did you need to move him into my fucking house?"

"Because I've never been alone in my entire life," she cried. "I moved from my parent's house into our house. I don't know how to be alone and you left me. And all Craig does is sit there and leave his mess all over the house. He messes it up faster than I can keep it clean. And his nasty friends keep coming over and they won't leave. And there's no food left in the house, so I was going to call and ask you if you could possibly send next month's alimony payment earlier."

"Fuck No!" I snapped. "I could but why would I want to do it? You already got a lump sum payment for half the balance of my savings account. I sent it to you before we even went to court since the terms had already been agreed on. There's simply no way you went through $65,000 in 10 days. It's just not possible."

"Craig bought a very expensive motorcycle," she sniffled. "He also got it customized with several one of a kind parts. I thought it might be good for us and we could take it out on little road trips. It probably wouldn't have been as fun as when you and I went out in the Mustang but I was hoping that since you no longer wanted me, that maybe Craig would start treating me better."

"In other words since you couldn't get your husband back, you wanted to make your boy toy into husband material. That didn't work though did it? Carla sell the fucking bike. Call the police and have Craig and his friends evicted, and find yourself some nice sucker that you can control," I said.

"Well I can't sell the bike, because he wrecked it. And the rest of my money went to pay for part of the damages he caused in the crash. I still owe about $8000. The police won't come, because the neighbors have called them so many times already that I don't think they'll listen to me. Basically I'm just begging you to come back. You're the only man I love. I keep telling you Craig was only a diversion, just an experiment that went terribly bad. None of our friends want to have anything to do with me. They treat me like I'm some stupid whore with the plague. Even my parents look at me like I'm stupid for letting you go. I just want for us... ,"

"Carla, I think I'm getting out of range, I'm going through a tunnel, you're breaking up," I said as I laughed and ended the call. For the first time in weeks I felt really good. A lot of my tension seemed to vanish as I laughed.

After 5 more minutes of laughing so hard I could barely steer the car, I left the freeway and slowed down to a nearly pedestrian 30 mph for the drive through the streets. My Mustang tended to get a lot of attention from the cops and my insurance premiums were high enough. My premiums went up when I got the supercharger even though I hadn't reported it to the insurance company. I think they have psychics working for them. One smart cop had also busted me when he looked under the car and discovered my illegal off road X-pipe. Leave it to me to find the one cop in Michigan who was also a hot rod fan. There was also the fact that certain cars like my Mustang and the Camaro actually looked like they were moving when they were standing still. It was a problem the Chrysler Muscle cars didn't have. The Charger and the Challenger were severely horse power challenged, and so heavy and boat like, that they simply weren't competitive. MOPAR did after all stand for Mostly Old People And Rednecks.

I went into a large office building and stopped at the information desk. The building was huge and I didn't want to get lost. The first meeting I had with Stephen Atherton had been in my condo. The guard at the desk pointed me to a bank of elevators in the rear of the building, and I made my way towards them. I stepped into a waiting elevator car and pushed the button for the 7th floor. Just as the doors started to close I heard a voice asking me to hold the elevator.

The elevators doors stopped closing as I thrust my arm between them. What happened next was one of those moments that you have to be there to truly appreciate. The first thing I saw was a tiny foot in an open toed shoe. The nails on that foot were painted that same shade of red as my Mustang's Interior. If that wasn't a sign I don't know what was. Just seeing that foot, got a rise out of me, though I don't remember ever having a foot fetish. I was already imagining myself massaging that foot and possibly kissing it, when it was followed by the most beautiful leg I'd ever seen. It wasn't thin and angular like my ex wife's legs it was shapely and rounded with a good sized calf. That leg was followed up by an even sexier thigh that was unfortunately cut off by a skirt that ended about 2 inches above her knees. At that moment my concept of heaven had a lot to do with being squeezed between those thighs.

Well rounded hips led to a slightly rounded tummy which itself supported two massive breasts. She was wearing a short suit coat that matched the skirt to form some kind of women's version of a business suit, but I could only imagine the kind of business she'd conduct in that suit. Long, foamy Black hair with just a touch of a wave to it, turned under at the ends, framed a face that while not classically beautiful, was awe inspiring. Her complexion while tan showed a smattering of freckles around her nose. I instantly wanted to kiss those full red lips and probably never stop. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown and I was imagining myself getting lost in them until I realized that she was calmly watching me stare at her. She didn't appear to be put out by my attention at all. In fact she looked at me with a bemused expression on her face.

"So did I pass?" she asked.

"Uhm ... Uh ... what?" I managed to sputter out. My shock at being caught only seemed to amuse her more. My face had to have gotten at least a couple of shades redder, which only made her smile deeper.

"I'm really sorry," I finally managed to get out. "But you're so pretty..."

"For a fat girl, you mean," she interjected.

.... There is more of this story ...

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