Test Drive
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2013 by Lyndon Brown

Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Husband's absence has unexpected costs

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

Old George stopped in for coffee on his third time, "making his rounds." A construction site near an urban area is not a safe or secure place after dark. Thieves, vandals and squatters make watchmen like George, and the M9 under my arm a necessity. George usually tapped on the door and waved as he passed, if my office lights were on. He stopped, mid-shift, when I was still working. His wife had him on a pretty tight diet, but when I had fresh cookies or pie, he couldn't resist. Hey, I like to bake, and I like my efforts to be appreciated.

"I love what you've done with the place."

I chuckled. "Just because I spend my life in a duplex construction trailer, on some barren muddy jobsite, doesn't mean I can't appreciate the finer things." I'd added a few items to my "I love me wall," a hold over from my military background. My UT engineering degree, now three years old, hung next to a shadow box holding an M40, scope, night scope, and some ammo and accessories. The new additions were my contractors license, and new photos of me with some of the VIPs I'd chanced to meet. The chairs and worktable were also new.

"I don't think I could live like this: eight hours work outside, half the night at your desk, most nights. Living in the other half of this trailer!"

"You only see half my life. I join a gym. I exercise, swim, do Tae Kwon Do. I have a girl I run with. We share a table at Bob Evan's most mornings. I'm on site for only only three or four weeks usually, sometimes a week or so more. Between jobs I'm on vacation with pay, going anywhere I choose." I don't mention my little adventure trips for the company. "Hell, I baked those cookies you're scarfing."

"It's not a home, not one with a warm bed and a willing wife, anyway."

"No way can I argue with that."


I had visitors the next evening. The sensors picked them up. The yard lights came up, alarms triggered, cameras tracked. Shit, that's part of what I do. One figure stayed at the front door, one at my office door. Randy Jordan approached my desk.

"You've been seeing Kathleen again."

"Yeah, same gym. We do forms together, run, eat breakfast, talk."

"Quit the gym. Don't see her again."

"Not happening."

"I said QUIT!"

"I meant to say: Fuck You!"

"This is a nice place. Shame if anything were to happen to it. Do you have insurance?"

"There are dozens more of these on the lot in Fort Wayne. And I make money on insurance. My contract is cost plus. The client requires insurance. I buy lots of it, mark it up, and he pays. How are you insured? What does it cost to cover your grandad's Chis Craft cruiser, or great grandad's Herreshoff 12 1/2?"

"What's that toy on the wall? Bet you'd miss it!"

"That's an M40, the Marine version of the Remington 700. This one was upgraded to A5 specs at Crane. That particular toy, as you called it, has killed at 880 yards. You can't buy the military version, but you can get good copies online for a few thousand, all day long!"

"I'll find a way to hurt you, if you don't stop with her!"

"Remember how that worked out last time? My M40 can reach out a thousand yards. How far from the marina parking lot is the cruiser moored? How far from the park is the Herreshoff? Be a bit careful, asshole!"

"You've been warned!' They turned to leave.

"Wait one. George? The guard? Where is he?" Left handed, I picked up the open three ring binder on my desk, exposing the .45 concealed underneath, cocked and locked.

"Unharmed. At the gate. A pistol in his face"

"Put him on your cell." I took it, left hand again. "George. You OK?"

"Just fine, Bob."

"Hold tight. Everyone leaves peacefully. No harm, no foul."


It didn't happen that way. They pistol-whipped my retired friend as they left. They put him in the hospital. I pulled my work M40 out from its concealed storage spot, and went about my side business.

Everything I needed was visible and in range from the dead end of the road by the river. From the opposite shore, all targets were mine. I didn't give a shit about Randy's party barge. First round exploded the fuel tank, second ignited the vapors. I hated to hurt the Chris Craft. There was a propane tank on a grill on the aft deck: third round split the seam, fourth ignited the vapors. The Herreshoff was a gem, an historical artifact that I really did not want to mar. But there was a brass bell. I rang it three times before it went over the side. I put one round in the mast. Let them try to match that to my office display!

Kathleen might desert me again. Again, it would be her choice, not mine, and, sure as Hell, not Randy's

 
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