I was checking my Facebook homepage one evening after dinner when I received a PM from Bill Jackson, a neighbor who lived a few houses down on our street. He asked if I had heard that Tyler Robinson had been shot to death earlier in the day!
I live in a quiet gated community where the biggest problem we ever have is someone sneaking through the gate before it closes all the way. Shootings simply don’t happen. I immediately asked Bill if he had heard any particulars to the story.
It seems that Tyler’s wife, Nancy, had returned home from her job as a math teacher at the local high school to discover her husband’s bloody body lying on the kitchen floor. The door had been locked, and there was no sign of forced entry.
I lived on Poplar Street, and Tyler’s house was two streets over on Pine. He and Nancy had been a regular couple in our social circle. My wife, Marge, and I were friendly with several other couples that lived in our little community. We usually had a gathering about once a month at one of our homes. The last one had been just over a week ago at Jeff and Elizabeth Baker’s home. Tyler had been very much alive that night. After learning everything my neighbor Bill could tell me, I decided to tell my wife about the situation.
“Marge!” I called to my wife as she sat in the living room watching TV. “Did you hear that Nancy Robinson found Tyler dead in their kitchen?”
“No!” replied my wife as she quickly made her way to my side. “What happened?”
“Nancy came home and found him shot to death. Bill says that the Robinsons don’t even own a gun. The doors were locked when Nancy got home, and there was no sign of forced entry. Maybe it was a robbery gone bad,” I mused.
“Was anything missing?” asked Marge. “If things are gone, that would indicate that they were probably being robbed when Tyler surprised the thieves.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agreed. “I guess it pays to watch all those crime shows. Bill hasn’t heard any details yet. The police are still at the scene.”
“We need to always be sure the doors are locked,” worried Marge. “There’s no reason to think the same thing couldn’t happen to us.”
“I’ll check to be sure my shotgun is close at hand. I’ll stash some ammo around the house, since it’s a double-barrel and only holds two shells.”
“That shotgun is kind of awkward,” observed Marge. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to get a handgun of some sort?”
“I don’t have the time or inclination to practice enough to become accurate with a handgun. With my trusty 12 gauge, all I need is to point it in the right general direction,” I reasoned. “There’s nothing more terrifying than to find one’s self on the wrong end of a shotgun.”
“I sure hope you never have to use it,” responded Marge with a shudder.
It took almost a week for any reliable information on Tyler’s death to filter back to the community. The cops were staying tight lipped about the entire situation.
It somehow became known that police did not believe robbery was a motive in Tyler’s death. That fact became more evident once it appeared that everyone in our group was to be thoroughly questioned by the lead detective on the case. He was reputed to have solved several tough cases over the years, although he didn’t appear that formidable when I met him for the first time.
I was putting my lawn mower away on a Saturday afternoon when a somewhat overweight guy in a shiny suit walked across my lawn and stepped into my garage.
“Are you Daniel Page? I’d like to ask you a few questions,” began the cheap suit as he held up a badge. “I’m Detective Cook, with the Millville Police Department. What can you tell me about Tyler Robinson?”
“For starters, he’s deader than last year’s dandelions,” I replied as I reached in and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator I kept in my garage. “I’d offer you one, but I know that you’re a professional and would never drink on the job.”
Cook’s eyes went to my Bud Light and remained there for several seconds. I began to wonder if there was a picture of a naked woman on it from the way he stared.
“Yeah, I could use one,” conceded the detective as he snatched the bottle from my hand. “It’s quite a coincidence that Tyler Robinson had five bottles of Bud Light in his refrigerator the afternoon he was shot, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, especially considering that he drank Bud Light and usually kept a few cases in the house. That is weird,” I responded smoothly before taking a long pull on my beer.
“Okay, Mr. Bud Light, where were you when Tyler Robinson met his untimely end?” demanded Cook in a rather unfriendly manner for a guy drinking one of my beers.
“What time did he die?” I shot back.
“I can’t reveal that information!” snapped Cook before chugging the last of his beer.
“Then I can’t answer your question!” I snarled in return even as I marveled at Cook’s beer drinking talent.
“You don’t know where you were March 4th at three PM?” sneered Cook as he reached into my refrigerator and pulled out another Bud Light. “Maybe I should take you down to the station and question you under the heat lamp we have just for guys like you.”
“I was attending a meeting with seven coworkers when Tyler bought the ranch,” I answered with a slight grin at Cook’s obvious gaffe.
“I knew the threat of being interrogated at the station would help refresh your memory,” smirked the detective as he plopped his ass down on my work bench.
“Do you own a handgun like the one used to kill him?” was his next question.
“With what kind of gun was he shot?” I asked before I took another pull on my cold beer.
“That information is not being divulged yet,” answered the cop as he emptied yet another bottle and released a loud belch.
“In that case, the answer is a firm ‘no’. I don’t own a gun like the one used to kill poor Tyler,” I stated firmly.
“Aha!” chuckled Cook as he reached for the gun in the holster near his armpit. “Only the killer knows what caliber gun was used to spread Robinson’s brains across the microwave! That makes you my prime suspect.”
“Do you know what caliber the gun was?” I asked Cook as he clutched his gun tightly in his left hand as he grabbed yet another Bud with his right.
“Of course I do!” replied Cook with some mirth as he twisted the cap off and threw it in the general direction of the trash can. “I’m thinking about arresting you for murder. Care to say anything that might help convince me of your innocence?”
“You told me that the only person that knew the caliber of the murder weapon was the murderer. Then you told me that you, in fact, do know the caliber of the aforementioned gun. I should make a citizen’s arrest and take you in. They’d go easier on you if you confessed right now.”
“For one thing, I don’t even own a .38! For another, I was at the station surfing porn at the time of the shooting. I can prove it because I was written up for it! Last, but not least, all of the cops know about the .38. I was talking about people outside of the department when I said no one knew the caliber of the murder weapon. We’re going to keep it that way for a week or two,” concluded Cook.
“Okay, you convinced me,” I admitted as I took another sip. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“Don’t worry about it,” soothed Cook between gulps. “It was a reasonable assumption based on what you knew at the time.”
“You do know that the spouse is always the first suspect,” I pointed out.
“Of course! We grilled his wife pretty good. She has twenty kids in her 9th grade math class for an alibi,” revealed Cook. “The only better suspect in a murder is the butler, of course. The butler always does it.”
It was apparent that the detective was a talkative guy, if not overly bright. I reached into my fridge and pulled out another beer and offered it to him.
“It’s too bad you couldn’t find a motive for the murder,” I mused as I handed him the cold brew. “It’s usually money, sex, or power.”
“We have a few leads,” admitted Cook as he took a pull on his fresh brew. “We think Robinson was romantically involved with an unknown woman, or women.”
“No shit?” I exclaimed. “I guess you found some strange perfume, or a stray pussy hair at the scene, or even some lipstick on his dick? His lover shot him in a jealous rage?”
“Hardly,” chuckled Cook before he once again chugged his beer and tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin. “We found a very short clip on his laptop. I’ll be looking for more clips in my spare time. It featured a married woman sucking a cock. Now we have to determine if the woman is someone he knew, and if the cock is his. The guy’s face wasn’t in the video.”
“Seriously?” I asked as I handed Cook yet another beer. “Can’t you just look at his pecker and see if it’s the same one in the video? How hard is to identify the married cock sucking slut, and how can you even be sure she’s married?”
“You’d think,” laughed Cook before taking a long swig of his brew. “This bitch didn’t leave any cock showing. I never saw Robinson’s body but the guy in forensics said his dick was a pretty respectable size, so if it was him the slut was sucking off, she was pretty damn good. Very little of her face showed in the video because it was taken from the side and a distance away from them”
“You realize that just because a woman is an accomplished cock sucker, it doesn’t necessarily follow that she’s married. In fact, single women are more apt to develop that particular skill than married women,” I suggested.
“Her big old wedding band was showing clear as day, along with an unusual ring on her pinkie finger. If we find the woman that wears that ring, we’ll have our cock sucker,” declared Cook as he once again tossed his empty into the bin. “All we need is to find a fellatrix with a dolphin pinkie ring and we’ll have a suspect.”
I quickly stood and trotted over to the rose bushes and spewed out the beer I had just finished drinking. Cook helped himself to my last beer as I remained hunched over with my hands on my knees and a string of spit dangling from my chin.
“Thanks for your time. Maybe you should switch to nonalcoholic beer,” advised Cook as he staggered toward his car while shaking his head. “Lightweights like you give beer drinking a bad name.”
Marge came home from shopping about half an hour after Cook had left. I checked her hand immediately to determine if she was still wearing the dolphin ring that her grandfather had given her years ago. I had hoped against hope that she had given or loaned it to someone else, but no such luck. It appeared that my wife was the cock sucker Detective Cook sought!
I tried to behave normally while I struggled to consider the situation logically. Marge was the mother of our two kids. She was a great wife and mother. She had a good job and was well liked by everyone that met her. I always assumed that was because of her outgoing personality, not her oral skills, which I had to admit were more than satisfactory.
Was it Tyler’s cock she was sucking in the video, or someone else’s? Did it really matter? The fact that a woman with a dolphin ring was videoed sucking a cock and my wife wore such a ring was upsetting. I had never even suggested filming any of our bedroom activities. I had honestly never even considered it and I knew for certain that Marge would not agree to it even if I made the suggestion.
Was she the phantom cock sucker? If so, who owned the sucked cock? Was it Tyler’s? If not, why would he have a clip of Marge slurping someone else’s cock? How long would it take for the cops to determine that she wore the ring shown in the video? Would they arrest her for murder? Was my wife a cold blooded cock-sucking killer?
“Marge, why don’t you give me that dolphin ring and I’ll drop it off at the jewelers to have it cleaned?” I asked that evening after another one of her delicious dinners.
Marge looked at me like I had two heads for a few seconds before responding. “Thanks, but I clean it myself. It’s not that valuable. I just wear it because Grandpa Roberts gave it to me on my twelfth birthday.
“How come you offered to do that? You’ve never done that before. I doubt if you even know where the jeweler that I use is located.”
“I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me and the kids,” I quickly responded. “I don’t want you thinking that I take you for granted.”
After looking to be sure the kids were in the living room, Marge gave me a grin. “How about showing me some of that appreciation later tonight? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”
Shit! Now she expected me to make love to her. I wondered if I would even be able to get hard now that I knew she could be a murderous cock-sucker. Hell, maybe she liked to blow guys and then blow their heads off. That was one ‘blowjob’ I could do without.
The kids were still up when I announced that I was tired and headed for bed. It was my hope that I would either be asleep or able to fake it well enough that Marge would forego her sexual expectations. I quickly showered and brushed my teeth. The kids would never get ready for bed early on a Saturday night, so I felt pretty certain that I could fall asleep before Marge got them into bed.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Marge was sitting on the side of the bed waiting for me. She was naked and caressing her slit with her right hand while giving me the ‘come hither’ motion with her left.
Somehow, this had become our foreplay over the years. Marge would sit on the bed and suck my cock until I came. Then she’s simply flop back with her legs spread wide in invitation. I would drop to my knees between her legs and munch on her little pussy until she had at least a couple of orgasms. By that time, my dick would have recovered and the games would begin.
I tried to think of a way out of the situation, but my traitorous cock refused to help me. He was quickly coming to life and once again took control of my body. He made me walk over to what appeared to be a very eager Marge. As I neared her, she leaned ahead and sucked my little soldier in to the hilt.
I tried to focus on the possibility that she had recently murdered a man after blowing him. Thinking about your wife like that should be enough to make any man lose an erection. My problem was how much I adored the woman feverishly servicing my throbbing organ. Her eyes sought mine as she smiled around my cock. Marge was a very attractive woman, but she was never more beautiful than when she looked at me while blowing me. I could see her love and desire, and it always affected me the same way. As I watched her hand with her wedding band and her dolphin pinkie ring slide up and down my member, I came long and hard.
After we had finished our love making and Marge was sleeping with her head on my shoulder, I lay awake considering the situation. I was certain that Marge was not capable of murder, but she sure as hell was able to deliver an incredible blowjob. Was it possible that she had given one to Tyler? If so, could she have also been involved in his demise somehow?
My thoughts kept came coming back to motive. Why would Marge have anything to do with Tyler? Why was he murdered? The only time Marge had any contact with Tyler was when our social group got together. I couldn’t recall the two of them ever being alone with each other, or even being very friendly.
I decided to stop letting a few words from an inebriated detective alter my relationship with my wife. Marge was a great mother and an even better wife. I had no reason to doubt her, except for the ramblings of that asshole detective.
It was two days later that I came home to find Marge home already. She sat at the kitchen table drying her red, teary eyes. She jumped up and rushed to hug me almost before I had the door closed.
“Dan! I don’t remember having sex with Tyler and I certainly didn’t kill him! You have to believe me,” was all she managed before breaking down completely in my arms.
I held her for a couple of minutes as I waited for her to calm down. When her sobbing finally ended, I asked what I felt were reasonable questions.
“How many times did he fuck you? Where and when did it happen?”
“I don’t know!” wailed Marge as she once again broke down.
My blood was beginning to boil. She was the cheater, so why did I have to be patient? Why was she crying when I was the victim? Then I had an even more unsettling thought.
If Marge and Tyler had been fucking around, I would become a likely suspect! The husband always does it. I watched enough old Perry Mason courtroom dramas to know that, especially since no one in the entire community had a fucking butler. If it isn’t the butler, it’s the husband.
“Marge, you need to get your shit together right fucking now!” I snarled as yet more implications of her infidelity occurred to me. “How can you not know when you fucked that bastard, or how many times? I’ll settle for a ball park figure.”
“I never had sex with him that I can remember, but Detective Cook told me he had videos of me giving Tyler oral sex. He was even able identify my dolphin ring in the video. I must have been drugged or hypnotized because I have no recollection of any of it.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that there could be more than one dolphin ring in existence?” I demanded. “Cook isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He could be wrong.”
“He told me that he could make out the birthmark on my left breast in the video! How many women have a dolphin ring and a birthmark that’s shaped like a very small apple below their left nipple?” managed Marge before sobbing loudly.
“Can I assume that you didn’t confess to killing your lover when Cook grilled you today?” I demanded angrily. “Your ass, your dolphin ring and your apple tit would be in jail if he had dragged a confession out of you. Goddamn it, Marge! Now we’re both suspects in a murder investigation because you had to have some strange cock!”
“Why would you be a suspect? You didn’t know about Tyler and me. Hell! I didn’t even know about Tyler and me! You had no reason to kill him since you didn’t know he was slipping me the salami,” reasoned Marge.
“You can’t be that dumb,” I snapped at Marge as I filed away her ‘salami’ comment. “The cops don’t know what I knew, when I knew it, or how I’d react once I became aware of it. As far as they know, I found out about your affair and drove over to Tyler’s and shot him dead.”
“You killed Tyler because we were having an affair?” gasped Marge. “We need to find a good lawyer. You can plead temporary insanity!”
My response was cut short by the ringing of the doorbell. Marge was closer, so she stepped over and opened the door.
“Marge, I think Bill might have killed Tyler because he was fucking me in the ass!” exclaimed Sue Jackson before she realized I was standing by the refrigerator.
“He fucked you in the ass? Wow!” marveled an obviously impressed Marge. “Don’t worry about Bill. Dan just told me that he shot Tyler because he found out that I was sucking his cock.”
“Holy cow!” gasped Sue. “I hope you sucked him off before he fucked my ass!”
“So do I, now that you mention it,” agreed Marge. “If he had me blow him after he fucked your ass, I would have killed him myself!”
“Dan, you shot Tyler? You must have been pretty upset that Marge was blowing him. Did you, by any chance, know he was fucking my ass? Did he tell you, or maybe show you any videos?” asked Sue.
“I never said that I shot Tyler!” I roared at the two excited women, but with no noticeable effect. “I didn’t know Marge was blowing him and I certainly never knew he was fucking your ass. How long has that been going on?”
“That’s the funny part. I really don’t know,” replied Sue. “Detective Cook told me today that he found a video of Tyler sodomizing me. I have no memory of it. Cook said we were doing it doggy style and my face was clearly visible. He even complimented me on having nice tits!”
“He told me the same thing, about my tits, that is!” exclaimed Marge. “Do you think he really does think we have nice tits, or was he just being polite?”
“He meant it in my case. I’m sure of that. He said he could watch my girls ‘swing to and fro all day long’, as he put it. He told me he watches a lot of porn and my tits look a lot like Jenna Jameson’s!”
“Really? He told me mine were like Marilyn Chambers’ in her early years,” admitted Marge. “That’s probably why he’s a detective. He pays attention to details.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” I practically shouted. “You both claim you have no memory of having sex with Tyler, but you’re both convinced that you did. This makes no sense. Sue, did you ever wake up with a sore ass? It seems like that would be an indicator of being ass fucked,” I reasoned.
“Not in the past few years. Bill has gotten to be quite the bugger, if you know what I mean. He plunders my little rosebud at least once a week. He’s quite gentle and I must have calloused up or something, because it never hurts the next day anymore,” confessed Sue.
“Marge, can I ask you how big Tyler’s cock was?” questioned Sue. “Were you able to swallow his entire sword? I don’t remember it at all and I’m wondering of it was smaller than Bill’s since I never felt any pain afterward.”
“He had a nice cock, but I can deep throat pretty good, so I...”began Marge before she noticed my angry scowl as I squeezed my beer so hard the pop top popped and beer shot to the ceiling.
“I never really saw it,” corrected Marge quickly. “I just assume he had a nice cock. I give a pretty damn good blow job, so I imagine I was able to swallow it all. I can’t actually remember ever being alone with Tyler, never mind polishing his knob.”
The ringing of the doorbell once again interrupted my journey down the rabbit hole. Marge turned around to open the door only to have it pushed open. A rather distraught Bianca Landers rushed inside.
“Marge! Sue! I don’t know what to do! I think Steve may have been the one to send Tyler to the happy hunting ground! Tyler was making me dress up like a pony girl. He played all sorts of wicked games with me. He called me his mare and would pull on my reins when he mounted me!”
“Well, fuck me!” I shouted to silence the three women as they now jabbered nonstop. “How long as this been going on? Did the police find your harness, or saddle, or whatever the fuck you wore as a pony girl?”
“You don’t have to get nasty,” snapped Bianca as she gave me her best stink eye look. “I don’t really know how long we’ve been doing it, okay? Tyler must have drugged me, or hypnotized me, or something. At least that’s what that nice Detective Cook thinks.”
“Detective Cook?” repeated Sue. “By any chance, did he mention that you have nice tits?”
“As a matter of fact, he couldn’t help but notice. When I have my outfit on, it pushes these babies up and out like you wouldn’t believe. There isn’t a man out there that wouldn’t admire them. Is your interest simply prurient, or is there some other reason you ask?”
“That weasel told Marge and me that we had nice tits, too. He must tell every woman that when he see their tits,” reasoned Sue. “Now I wonder if he’s full of shit, or if he really does like my tits.”
“What the goddamn hell difference does it make?” I demanded as I began to pace the room. “All three of you were in a sexual relationship with Tyler, yet none of you realized it? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I never said Marge and Sue were pony girls,” corrected Bianca. “I doubt Tyler had the time or inclination to bother with them when he had me in his stable.”
“Oh yeah?” snarled Sue. “He was fucking me in the ass all the time. He loved how tight it was!”
“I was sucking his cock every chance I got!” insisted my wife proudly.
“Only after he fucked my ass!” retorted Sue with an evil grin. “He told me it saved him having to take a shower.”
I managed to grab Marge as she lunged for Sue. I thought I had caught her in time, but when I hauled her back next to me, she had a major portion of Sue’s blouse in her hand.
“I’m sorry, Sue,” managed Marge as she, Bianca and I stared at Sue’s exposed breasts.
“That’s okay,” responded Sue as she placed her hands to conceal her ample melons. “They’re probably all over the internet by now anyway. Tyler probably posted our illicit affair on some of those pay sites and made a fortune off my tits and ass.”
“I never thought of that,” admitted Marge. “I’ll probably be getting calls from random guys wanting one of my amazing blowjobs. I don’t even know the going rate.”
“What in hell is wrong with you three?” I asked as I shook my head in disbelief. “You don’t know that Tyler posted anything to the web. Hell, you don’t even know for certain that you had any sort of sex with him. The only thing we can be sure about right now is that Sue has seriously nice tits.
“Bianca, you said that your outfit made your tits stand up and out. How do you know that if you have no memory of ever being with him in that way?” I asked since I had been considering her statement ever since she had made it.
“If you must know, Steve likes me to pretend to be his pony. He likes to train me, ride me, feed me treats, discipline me, you know what I mean. We’re adults and what we do in our home is no one else’s business,” insisted Bianca defiantly.
I took a slow pull on what was left of my now warm beer as I considered the situation. The women wandered into our bedroom in search of a top Sue could wear home. Things just didn’t add up.
I had known Tyler for fifteen years. He was a quiet guy. He had his own consulting business and worked from home. That would have given him the opportunity to have kinky sex with every one of the ladies in our group, but it seemed way out of character for what I knew about him.
I trusted the guy. We all did. In fact, he kept the keys to most of our homes since he lived in the community and worked at home. It wasn’t all that unusual for one of us to call him and ask for a favor during the day. It could be anything from letting the cable guy in to helping the kids when they forgot or misplaced their house keys. He was always willing to lend a helping hand.
I just couldn’t see him drugging or hypnotizing at least three women into being his sex toys. I was a bit pissed at Detective Cook for suggesting it. On the other hand, what other explanation could there be? Cook claimed to have videos of Tyler living his fantasies with at least three married women, one of whom was my wife.
I began to wonder if the other wives in our group believed that they were involved sexually with Tyler. The common denominator seemed to be Detective Cook and his crazy assertions about blowjobs, ass fucking, and pony girls. The odd thing was that all three women actually did those things with their husbands, or so they claimed.
With so many people in the community being questioned by Detective Cook, the residents in our neighborhood seem to withdraw into themselves. It was apparent that the killer was not only still at large, but quite possibly one of our neighbors. Social events became nonexistent. Residents stopped taking walks in the evening and most people made their children play inside.
I was due to take a week’s vacation when Ralph Johnson called me on Sunday afternoon. “Dan, I hate to ask you this, but I’m in a bind. I’m going to put the house on the market and I need a little help cleaning out my tools and stuff. I rented a storage unit from Cube Smart over by the mall. The reason I’m calling is my back went out yesterday and I can barely walk.
“Grace and I are supposed to meet with the realtor on Tuesday and we want to get rid most of the clutter. I plan to place a lot of my stuff in a small storage unit until we find a new house closer to Grace’s new job.
“I remember that you always took the first week in April off to start your garden and do maintenance on your house. Would it be possible for you to come over tomorrow and sort out my stuff and take the items worth keeping to the storage unit? I’d pay you for your time and you can use my pickup to haul everything.”
“Sure, Ralph,” was my immediate reply. “I’ll be over first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe we can get it all cleaned up by noon or so.”
“Was that Ralph Johnson?” asked Marge. “What did he want? Was he hoping I’d blow him since Tyler died and I must be desperate?”
My relationship with Marge had been more than a little strained since Tyler had been killed. She would frequently mention that she had oral sex with Tyler when the kids weren’t around to hear it. It was almost like she was trying to make me angry enough to throw her ass to the curb, and she had me considering it. If it hadn’t been for the kids, I probably would have done exactly that.
“I’m going to help move Ralph’s tools and other valuables to a storage unit so they can get the house ready to sell,” I explained. “He knew I always take time off the first week in April, so he asked me to help him tomorrow.
“It may be hard to believe but not every man wants you to blow him. At least they wouldn’t admit it to your husband. You and Tyler had something special going.”
“Dan, it wasn’t like that! He drugged or hypnotized me into that stuff. I’ve never knowingly cheated on you in any way. I never would. I just hope they catch the killer pretty soon. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is driving me crazy,” admitted Marge. “I hope I never see that Detective Cook again.”
“Has he been asking you more questions?” I demanded.
“He’s been making a point of showing up in strange places when one of the wives in our social group is out and about. I saw him in the grocery store three days ago. Bianca told me that she ran into him at the mall last week while Sue keeps seeing him at the coffee shop near her work.
“He asked me if I remembered anything more about blowing Tyler and a couple of even more personal things,” admitted Marge.
“He asked something more personal than giving blowjobs to a murdered friend?” I repeated in amazement.
“It was pertaining to Tyler’s death,” explained Marge. “He wanted to know if I swallowed every time Tyler came, or if I ever let him cum all over my ‘nice firm tits’, his words, not mine.”
“He asked that? What did you tell him?”
“I told the truth. I always swallow, but I’m sure that if Tyler told me he wanted to cum on my firm tits, I would have been happy to oblige. I’m an unselfish lover,” stated Marge proudly.
“You told Cook that? What in hell is wrong with you? You don’t remember even being alone with Tyler, never mind swallowing his spunk or letting him shoot his load on your firm tits!” I exclaimed.
“Thanks for the kind words about my girls,” beamed Marge. “You like them, Cook likes them and Tyler literally got off on them.”
When Marge moved her admiring eyes from her tits to my face, she suddenly stopped smiling. “I mean he probably loved to cum on my tits if we did what Cook has the video proof that he claims.”
“I’m going to help Ralph cleanout his clutter tomorrow. I want you to make an appointment to see someone about your memory lapse and your eagerness to believe that you and Tyler were having an illicit affair,” I insisted.
“You, too? Sue said that Bill was making her go to a psychiatrist because he feels that she’s developed a strange anal fixation on Tyler. Maybe we can get a group rate or something. I’ll get her doctor’s name and number from her and call tomorrow.”
I was at Ralph’s at eight o’clock the next morning. It didn’t take me long to determine that just cleaning out his garage would take the better part of the day. It was early afternoon by the time I had carted enough stuff away to be able to open his trap door to the attic over the garage. It was one of those doors on springs that unfolded when you pulled the string down that was tied to it.
With more than a little trepidation, I climbed up the ladder and looked around. Ralph said he was going inside to lie on the couch and he was taking a cold beer and a bottle of Tylenol with him. I had suggested it wasn’t the best combination for a sore back, but he felt that he was self-medicating just fine.
I was pleased to discover very little junk had accumulated in Ralph’s attic. I stepped onto the plywood nailed across the joists and turned on the overhead light. The first thing I noticed was a laptop sitting in a far corner. It was open and the monitor showed movement.
I moved closer and quickly made out Grace in what appeared to be her bedroom. As I watched, Ralph gingerly walked into the room and approached his wife. To my surprise, I was able to hear him speak as clear as day. He reached for Grace’s shoulders and slid her robe off and let it drop to the floor.
Everyone knew that Grace had a large rack, but I was still amazed at the amount of tit flesh the woman possessed. They were very large, yet they seemed to defy gravity.
“I need a quick tit fuck,” insisted Ralph.
“What about Dan?” asked Grace as Ralph began mauling her amazing tits.
“He’s working on the attic now,” responded Ralph. “He’ll be busy for a while. Now wrap those puppies around my cock and get me off.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea with one of our friends in the house,” responded Grace, although she made no effort to stop Ralph from taking a nipple into his mouth and nursing like a starving baby.
“Don’t tell me that you want him to tit fuck you, too? I’m trying to get past Tyler shooting his load between the twin peaks, but there’ll be trouble if you try that again,” shot back Ralph as he pulled his mouth off his wife’s left nipple.
“I told you that Tyler never touched me like that. He never saw my breasts and certainly never slid his cock between them. Why do you believe that detective over your own wife?” asked Grace.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s seen the video and told us about it while asking me questions which suggested he may believe that I killed Tyler out of jealousy,” responded Ralph curtly.
I was no expert on women, but as I watched the anger on Grace’s face, it quickly occurred to me that Ralph was not going to be getting any. Not surprisingly, Grace bent over, grabbed her robe and disappeared into the bathroom. Ralph grumbled something and lurched back through the open doorway. Ten seconds later, the monitor went dark.
The entire thing was really strange. Ralph didn’t even do email. He hated computers and refused to use them. Either Grace or Ralph had forgotten that they had placed a computer in the attic that was capable of recording their bedroom activities, or they didn’t know of its existence. The latter seemed more likely.
That was when I saw a small tag with my name! It was the laptop I had given to Tyler almost a year ago. I had purchased a new one after struggling with my old laptop for years. It ran Windows XP, which Microsoft had stopped supporting. I told Tyler that I was going to throw it out one night at a party, and he asked if he could have it. Later that week I erased the hard drive and gave the machine to him. I remembered how much that simple gift had delighted him. How did it wind up in Ralph’s attic?
Suddenly the screen lit up and I saw Ralph walking into his kitchen. He carefully took two beers out of his refrigerator and wandered to the garage door. The screen went dark again.
I decided to explore the files on the laptop out of curiosity. Within seconds I was watching video of Ralph sliding his cock between what looked like pillows, but were actually Grace’s mammoth breasts. I was still watching it when I heard Ralph call my name. I shut down the file and grabbed some stuffed toys to carry down.
I had no idea what to say or do about the situation, so I decided to say nothing, at least until I could get a better handle on what was actually going on. By this time, I had a pretty good load on Ralph’s pickup. I drank the beer he offered and once we finished our brews, I hauled another load to his storage unit.
I made it home that afternoon around four, so I had an hour to kill before Marge came back from work. I strolled over to my garage refrigerator and took out a Bud Light. I almost shit my pants when a person behind me suddenly spoke.
“Could I have one of those while we have a little talk?” asked that damned Detective Cook.
I swung around in surprise and stared at him. How in hell did he suddenly appear in my garage? I never saw him outside when I pulled into the driveway and the garage was empty when the door went up.
As I moved my eyes to the driveway to see his department issued Ford parked a short distance behind my car, he reached out and plucked the unopened beer from my hand.
Shrugging, I grabbed another one and sat down on the stool I keep in my garage for times like this. Cook opened his brew, took a long pull and plunked his fat ass down on my workbench.
“What the hell kind of bullshit have you been telling my wife?” I demanded once my brain overcame the shock of having Cook in my garage.
“I guess that depends on what you classify as bullshit,” chuckled Cook. “You can’t argue that she has nice tits, or that she gives great head, so maybe you’re referring to her blowing the late Tyler Robinson.”
“That’s a good place to start,” I snapped. “Why in hell did you plant the idea that she’s been blowing Tyler? She doesn’t remember doing anything even remotely close to that.”
“Cheating sluts never admit it to their husbands,” pointed out Cook as he indicated he’d finished his beer and would like another. Being a good host, I went to my refrigerator and took out two more and handed him one. My first one was only half gone, but I wanted to be sure I kept one in reserve in case he drank the rest of the twelve pack.