For weeks my wife had been disrespecting me ... going out with the girls after work. Then she hung herself.

I have rules that I live by. I respect other people and expect other people to respect me.

My wife had gone out with the girls when, an hour later, I got a call from a friend that she was rubbing her pussy all over some cunt hound on the dance floor. We connected on Skype so I was able to watch her actions and see who she was doing it with. To say that I was furious would be putting it pleasantly.

A couple of hours later, she came home half-drunk and horny. I knew it was just a matter of time before she fucked one of them so I sat her down at the table and made her drink coffee until she was sobered up enough to understand what was going on. When I started, she denied it and started yelling at me as if I’d done something wrong.

That’s when I’d had enough of her shit and slapped her hard, knocking her ass over teakettle, right the fuck out of the chair. She ended up next to the refrigerator with the dog’s water bowl upside down with water and dog food scattered all over the floor. She was stunned and unmoving for several seconds ... her hair and the clothes she was wearing soaking up the water and dog food gravy.

When she finally sat up, there was the beginning of a nasty bruise on the side of her face the size of my hand. She’d been borderline unconscious so it took her two or three minutes to pull herself up, using the refrigerator door handle. Once she gained her feet, she stood there for another minute or so, just holding onto the refrigerator’s door handle ... waiting for the dizziness to pass.

When she finally had her wits about her, she turned back to face me and yelled, “You son of a bitch! I’m going to...

I was out of my chair in a split second, closing the distance between us to deliver another hard slap to the other side of her head, knocking her back down into the corner and into the dog food gravy and water.

Since the first slap, I hadn’t said a word and if she’d been looking at my face, after the first one, she’d have seen the utter fury in my expression and would never have said the words that sent her sprawling the second time and left her unconscious for all of five minutes.

When she finally began to stir and moan, I just stood there looking down at her ... waiting. It took her a lot longer to push herself up into a sitting position, that time. There was a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth. As her eyes came into focus, she saw her husbands’ legs just three feet away from her and fell over backward onto the floor ... a newly taught and learned reflex ... except that this time she hadn’t said anything. She lay there just looking up at me ... a bruise matching the first one already developing on the opposite side of her face. Not saying a word, I just pointed to the chair that she’d been sitting in ... indicating that I wanted her to get her ass back over to the chair and sit in it.

When she looked from me to the wall phone, I bent down, grabbed a handful of hair and dragged her across the kitchen floor to the chair before pulling her up by her hair to her original seated position in the chair.

Speaking for the first time since slapping her out of the chair and across the room, I said, “Now, you disrespectful slut, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut and listen or I’ll slap your ass out of that chair and into a coma. Nod your head if you understand me.”

There was now fear on her face as she pressed her lips together and nodded.

“You’d better listen close and make damned sure that you understand because I saw you eyeballing the phone before I dragged your ass over here. You can call the law if you want to and have me arrested. If you do, I’ll probably go to jail but when I get out, I’ll be a convicted felon. That means I won’t have my job anymore and, with a felony conviction, I’ll never get a good job again ... so guess what I’ll do. I’ll come find you and when I do, I’ll go back to prison for a really long time but you won’t be in the courtroom to testify or to see me convicted or sentenced because you won’t be anywhere. Nod if you understand my meaning.”

When she nodded, I looked at her and then, in a low, flat and quiet voice that was as hard as concrete nails, I asked, “Do you think there’s any possibility that I’m bluffing?”

With her fear filled eyes locked onto mine, her head moved distinctly from right to left to right.

“That’s good ... because I wasn’t ... not one fucking word of it.”

After a pause, I said, “Now you can talk to answer this question. Did you enjoy rubbing MY PUSSY AGAINST THAT FUCKING SCUMBAG ON THE DANCE FLOOR IN FRONT OF YOUR FRIENDS AND SEVERAL OF MINE, TONIGHT, AND ARE YOU SO STUPID YOU THINK I WOULDN’T HEAR ABOUT IT??”

“I ... I was just dancing with him. I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, really? You didn’t DO anything, huh? I GOT A SKYPE MESSAGE AND WAS WATCHING THE LIVE ACTION VIDEO WHILE YOU WERE DOING IT!!!”

Feeling the impact of the vehemence in my question and statement that I’d watched her in action, there was stark fear on her face as she looked at me ... her mouth was moving but no words or sounds were coming out of it.

I continued... “Assuming you’re NOT going to have me arrested, so you can keep on breathing, I hope you did enjoy it because your dancing days are over. If you EVER go back there or anyplace like it, you won’t have any feet to go back there with after that ... just bloody stumps where your knees used to be. Of course, if you have me arrested for tonight, we both know what’ll happen when I get out of jail or prison.

“I’m going to see your dancing partner, now. He knows me and that we’re married so he disrespected me, too. There’s the phone. You can call the cops but you know what’ll happen if you do. If you call and warn your dancing partner that I’m coming to see him, I’ll slap you into next week when I get home. In case you think I’m bullshitting you, just call and let him know I’m coming. Any questions?”

Her quickly verbalized “No” was accompanied by a violent negative head shake.

“Good ... so we understand each other ... And, while I’m gone, move all your shit out of my bedroom. I don’t sleep with sluts who act like two dollar whores. Move your shit into one of the other bedrooms. If you’re not here when I get back, you can stay wherever you went because we’ll be done.

I left the house to make a surprise visit to the arrogant fuck I’d seen using his prick to fondle my wife’s ass, hips and belly, while supposedly ‘dancing’. Karen didn’t know it but I knew who Gary Norsen was and where he lived.

I’d first heard his name a year ago, when the word got around at work that he was heard bragging about fucking the wife of one of our sales reps while he was out busting his ass to feed her and their two kids and pay for their new home, cars and insurances.

The sales rep soon heard the rumor, found out that it was true and got a divorce. Big fucking deal. After Norsen fucked his wife, the Legal System (Lady Justice after her legislated Lobotomy) stuck their dick up his ass and broke it off. His ex-whore gets to live in the house, rent free, until their kids are 18 years old while he pays for its upkeep, makes the mortgage and insurance payments along with stiff child support payments PLUS alimony payments to the whore for BEING a whore. I can’t tell you what I’d like to do to the asshole legislators who wrote and passed those laws.

There are ways around the injustices of the ‘Justice’ system. The sales rep made two mortgage payments but the pressure and unfairness had affected his effectiveness as a sales rep and caused a dramatic falloff in his commissions. One day he just didn’t show up or call in. He’d already collected his last commission check. When someone stopped by to see if he was alright, his mini apt. was empty and he was GONE.

The mortgage company is foreclosing on the house that the cheating cunt will have to move out of and GET A FUCKING JOB TO HOUSE AND SUPPORT HER KIDS AND HER OWN CHEATING ASS.

I smiled because Carl was a good guy and didn’t deserve the fucking he’d gotten and reflected on having introduced him to an anonymous friend, “Joe”, who helped him change his identity and disappear. The day he left, I’d handed him an envelope with $3,000 in it and told him that, unless something happened to his ex, I never wanted to see him or the money again. He thanked me, grinned and said, “I hope I see you again.”