My name is Bill Knight and I'm 39 years old. I'm tall, six feet three inches, two hundred twenty pounds, sandy hair, green eyes; I have a muscular build and keep myself in shape. I work out a lot, but I also remodel houses, doing most of the work myself.
I'm divorced after a fourteen year marriage. My wife was the chairperson of a fundraising effort for our local library and she and the co-chair, a lawyer named Bo Jackson, decided that some of their time would be well spent fucking instead of fundraising.
How I found out; I walked in on them. He was buried in her pussy, her dress was up over her backside and her panties pulled to one side and she was bent over our kitchen table, In my house, our house.
I came home at 8:45 in the morning, having left for work at 7:30. I'd forgotten a set of plans I'd been working on for a remodel I was doing. I got all the way to the job site and remembered that I'd left the plans in my home office on the desk. Dottie, my wife, would be busy planning her fundraiser, so I wouldn't bother her, just slip in and out without being noticed, no problem.
So as not to disturb her meeting, I saw the guy's car in the driveway, I just slipped around back and thought I'd use the kitchen sliding glass door to enter the house and go into my office, right off the kitchen, get my plans and leave the same way. Turns out, they were using the kitchen. I rounded the outside corner of the house, came to the sliding door, looked in and there they were, banging away with their backs to me.
I stood there watching, I could hear them talking to one another, "oof oof oof oof" she was grunting with each thrust.
"Like that do ya little lady?" He asked, panting slightly.
"Oh, yes, oof oof. I oof love it. You are oof oof big, so big."
"Does pencil dick come home for lunch today?" He asked not missing a beat.
"Oof no, he has a luncheon oof appointment with his client oof oof. I'm going to come, don't stop." She uttered.
He began to speed up his thrusting; I slid the door open and stepped inside the room, standing less than five feet from the copulating couple. They did not hear me; they were making so much noise themselves I stood there as she started orgasming.
"Oh, I'm coming," He said.
She was in the throes of her orgasm and I just reached between their bodies, grabbed his cock with my hand and pulled him out of her, his cock squirting as I did.
"Don't pull out, I need that, push it in," She demanded, turning her head toward him, actually me.
I held his cock with my right hand and hit him with my left hand laying his nose over onto his cheek, blood squirting, his cock still squirting. He fell to the ground; he'd not spoken a word.
"Oh, Bill." She said, still in the throes of her orgasm, but it was fading.
"Dottie, get your fucking stuff and get out. We're done. Move it." I said.
"Bill, I'm ... sorry. I don't know what..."
"Move or I'll move you bitch, choose which right now." I warned. She'd never heard me speak like this. She was still standing bent partially, her skirt above her waist, her panties pulled to the side, with her pussy lips engorged, poking out, moisture dribbling onto her legs. She had his first ropes of come on her ass.
Her lawyer lover was on his way to his feet with anger written in blood on his face. I hit him in his face again, now breaking his cheek bone. He was out for the count.
"I'm so sorry, honey. Please... ," She started.
I grabbed a hand full of her hair, wadded up her dress in back and walked her to the front door, opening it and moving her to the porch. I closed and locked the door, bolting it and using the safety chain. Then I walked back over to her lover and rolled him outside the kitchen door, into the back yard. He lay there with no pants on; they were inside the house, behind the locked glass door. I rifled through his pockets, threw his keys in a parts bin in my office removed his billfold and hid it in my office too. Then I wadded his pants, suit coat, socks and underwear and put them in the washing machine with two cups of bleach and started it on the hot water only cycle. I did all this while I was waiting for the cops.
I had dialed 9-1-1, told them to send officers. That I'd just found my wife and her lover having sex and there was a fight. They were both outside the house, but that I was inside and would wait for the police indoors.
"Are there weapons involved? The dispatcher asked.
"Nope, just fists." I responded. "I think I broke my hand, and I think his nose is broken. My wife is in front and he is in back right now."
The lawyer, Mr. Jackson, filed charges against me, and I was arrested a few days later for assault and battery and theft of personal property.
It didn't matter to me, I was all in anyhow and if I didn't work she didn't eat. That was fine with me. I'd gladly sit this out in jail. Besides, I'd had time to spend the two hundred thirty dollars in his billfold on frivolous stuff I thought I wanted. His credit cards never were found.
He, her lover, was pretty seriously hurt as it turned out and my hand was broken. A couple of years later, the news that he'd become addicted to Oxycontin, was music to my ears. He'd gotten hooked on pain meds.
I spent 60 days in jail while the trial went on, refusing to bail myself out or to accept anyone else's bail offering. At the end of the trial, the judge sentenced me to 1 year in county lockup with two months already having been served. I smiled at the judge, and never looked back at her as I left the courtroom.
I had been operating my business by the skin of my teeth. We were always close with money. Times were hard and I was barely surviving, so it didn't take long, with no savings and no income for her to fall behind with the bills. Every extra dime I could scrape together went for tools, materials, things I needed for the job I was on. I was building my business, but it was far from built.
I thought we were in it together and would make it because we were dedicated not to live paycheck to paycheck working for the other guy, but building, working together owning our own business. Dottie did my books so she knew very well there were no funds. I do not know what came over her to fuck around like she did, but it destroyed us. I suppose it was his powers of persuasion as a lawyer. She probably was vulnerable at 14 years in the marriage mark, but so was I, and I was faithful to her. I do not know if she cheated on me with anyone else, but it doesn't matter to me any more.
She'd leave the marriage, as I would; broke. We lost the house, lost my tools, my two work trucks but she got to keep her old 2002 Oldsmobile. We didn't have the money to file for divorce, so we just went our separate ways.
My folks were extremely upset with us. They wanted grandchildren and I wasn't giving them any. My brothers, I had three, all had kids, but they wanted some from us all. My dad broke off communication with me, disowning me for being a brute. My mom must have agreed, because she never indicated I was welcome or that she wanted to see me or talk to me.
So, I spent my year in jail and was released penniless. I still had job skills and did find a job right away. One of my competitors always had admired my work and offered me work when I asked, without hesitation. I was so grateful for that.
After a few months, I found out Dottie was in the next town over. I spent some of my meager earnings and filed for divorce against her. She never fought it and it went through in six months, the mandatory minimum.
A couple of years later, my folks were killed in a violent car wreck. It was foggy and they didn't slow down. They hit a semi who was just creeping along in the fog, and then a second semi slammed into them. They died in a fiery crash.
My brothers became wealthy men. They received cash, stocks, worldly goods, mother's jewelry, several rental properties and I got a symbolic remembrance, too.
I inherited a house. It was a rundown firetrap slum house in a Northeastern Colorado small town. The value was $7,000, according to the inventory in the will. It was symbolic, I figured, because it was my folks telling me what they thought of our relationship with me, of me, run down and worthless.
However, the old house did have a renter, Caroline Canter and her 4 year old daughter Gracie. She was a late twenties widow, whose husband had been killed in Iraq about the same week as their daughter was being born.
The town that the house was in was 80 miles from where I lived. My dad had foreclosed on someone and took the house away, and then he rented it out, never putting any money into it to fix it up, just collecting rent.
I drove over to the town and met my renter and saw my property. I was shocked at the squalor and poor conditions. She was paying $350 per month plus utilities. The heat bill was astronomical because the windows were no good and there was no insulation. The place was a heap.
I told Caroline that as of today, she was not paying rent. I also said that if it was ok, I'd begin extensive remodeling and they'd have to live in part of the house while I was working on another part.
She was floored, but said, "Sure, that'd be great Bill."
I had to have materials, so I asked my boss if he'd let me have the leftovers from the jobs we were doing. There were always a lot of waste and leftover materials. It beat having to haul them to the dump, so he agreed. I also asked him for permission to work 3 - 13 hour days per week and take the rest of the week and work on my rental house. He agreed to try it, though he was skeptical.
.... There is more of this story ...