Chapter 89

WEDNESDAY NOON — SEPTEMBER 25

... The bedroom door was open and he walked in unsnapping his belt keepers, intending on hanging his gun belt over a chair until he finished lunch.

His world turned and slapped him in the face — hard.

The big Sheriff stumbled to a stop, his breath catching in his throat. His wife, Virginia, and her sister, Elizabeth, were lying on their sides, totally nude. But that wasn't all ... each had her face buried in her sister's crotch. He supposed they hadn't heard him because of the other woman's thighs covering her lover's ears.

"Honey, I'm home," he called loudly in a forced jovial voice.

Nothing. Well, other than some whimpering.

Sniffing, Tate realized that the room reeked of excited female. "Virginia. Elizabeth, we might have a slight problem here," he snarled.

Nothing, well maybe something, he decided as both women tumbled into orgasm. Judging by the thrashing around and the sounds, it was a good one, and that was a disastrous understatement. He hadn't seen Virginia act like that in years — many years.

He called out again, this time with less volume, but they weren't listening; the orgasm seeming to continue forever.

Shit! Maybe this will get your attention.

Taking a magazine off his belt, he ejected two shells into his hand. Putting the magazine back into its holder, he put the bullet end of a shell into each ear. Impromptu ear muffs that any old cop knows about. Walking to the closet, he opened the door, drew his pistol and aimed it at the floor near the wall. Having built the house himself, he knew that the double sills, two by twelves, were under the wall at the back of the closet. Calculating the angle, he sighted at the floor, then looked back over his shoulder at the women. Checking the alignment of his weapon again, he focused on the women and squeezed the trigger.

BAM! The round sliced through the double floor and stopped harmlessly in the sill.

That got their attention.

Both women sat bolt upright, screaming, this time not in orgasm, but in fear.

When they saw Quinton, they both tried to grab the sheet, but they were lying on it. As they scrambled, Tate holstered his Glock and walked back to the chair by the door. Putting the shells back in the magazine, he picked up his keepers from where he had dropped them on the floor and snapped all four of them together from habit, dropped them over the back of the chair, then hung his gun belt with them.

(Note: Belt keepers are strips of leather about three quarters of an inch wide and maybe six inches in length. They have a large male snap on one end and a matching female snap on the other end, or else Velcro tabs. When the gun belt is secured around the waist, it rides on top of the pants belt. Moving around, getting out of a car, etc., will cause the gun belt to ride up. This produces an awkward feeling and looks ridiculous. The keepers {usually four of them} loop around both belts {equally spaced around the body} and snap back to themselves, securing the two belts together. To keep track of the keepers, an officer will frequently snap them together when he/she takes them off, as Tate did when he looped them over the chair back.)

As he turned, the women had managed to get under the sheet, both looking fearfully at him. Chuckling, which scared them even more, he took the few steps to the bed and snatched the sheet away.

"Don't you think it's a little ridiculous to hide yourself under a sheet, Virginia, after all the years that we have been married?"

"I can explain..." Virginia started, inanely.

"Oh, let me guess, now," he said, barely keeping his voice from a snarl. "It must go something like this. Elizabeth and I were just changing clothes after exercising and we tripped and fell over into the bed, and our mouths sort of got stuck to each other's pussy. Fuck, Virginia, how damn dumb do you think I am?

"You," he said, suddenly roaring, pointing his finger. "The most jealous fucking bitch in the world. The bitch who has cut me down to one piece of ass a week for years, and even that one with you faking death while we do it, is fucking her sister, for God sakes. Your sister. Hell, I guess that's better than me walking in here to find you fucking some guy, but all I can think of right now is how damned jealous you are if I'm even in the same fucking room with another woman. How many times have you embarrassed me at luncheons that you know I have to attend? How many, Virginia?

"All the while, you're licking a cunt. I'm almost fifty years old and I have to jerk off in the shower like a teenager, while you get your cookies whenever you want. Now that I know it's going on, I can see how damned dumb I've been.

"Hell, if you had come to me and talked about it, I think I could have lived with it, but instead, you virtually cut me off, then harassed the hell out of me about every woman who got within fifty yards of me. Well, here's a headline for you, you cold-assed bitch. I've never touched another woman. Never, since we started dating. Yet. But that might not damn be the case from now on.

"And you, Elizabeth, I've loved you from the first time I saw you, but you were too young to date then, only fourteen. Virginia and I got married and I," Tate said, his voice breaking, "loved you with all my heart," he said, looking at his wife. Then as his eyes shifted back to Elizabeth, "When you got married, Elizabeth, it hurt so much I about couldn't breathe when I saw you kiss your husband standing on that stage after you said your vows.

"He became a good friend, though. Virginia and I gave you two the property and we helped you build your house. It hurt like hell when he died, and I did everything I could for you. And I still love you. Yet, the two of you have done this to me."

Picking up his gun belt, he slung it around his waist, fastening it. Forgetting his belt keepers, he turned out of the bedroom, the doorway a blur through the mist in his eyes.

"No," both women screamed in unison. Virginia scrambled from the bed, Elizabeth only a step behind her, their nudity forgotten.

Both women piled into him a few steps down the hall, Virginia throwing her arms around him from behind, trying to stop him from walking out. "No, Baby. No. We've got to talk."

Tate tried to peel her from his back, but she locked her fingers together around his waist and hung on. Elizabeth grabbed his right arm and did the same. "We're not going to let you go like this. Please hear us out. I know that what we did is wrong, but you don't know the whole story. I told Virginia that she was messing up being so jealous of you, but she wouldn't listen. She really does love you, and I ... do too. Please wait and talk to us."

Quinton sat on the couch, a glass of iced tea in his hand. He stared numbly at the tiny ripples in the liquid; the shaking had slackened, but hadn't totally gone away.

Virginia sat beside him, offering him a sandwich that she had just fixed. "I called headquarters and told your secretary that you were taking the rest of the day off, that you were exhausted from being up late last night with the warrant and everything. Oh, Quinton, she's so proud of you that you can hear it in her voice, even on the phone. She said that she would tell the Captain and they would take care of everything.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, listlessly. "And you're always so fucking jealous of her, even though she's half my age. Why are you all of a sudden thrilled that she's proud of me?"

His sister-in-law reached over and touched his hand as she sat on the other side of him, both women now hastily dressed, although neither had taken the time to put their bras on. "Yes, she should have, Quinton. We need to settle this today, this afternoon. If you love me, then all of us in this room love each other. If we love each other, then we can work this out. Please, Quinton, don't lock us out," she finished, taking the glass of tea from him and setting it on the coffee table before reaching back to hold his hand.

His voice dead, Tate said, "Do you realize how many times I've fantasized about you two? How many men fantasize about their wives, especially after being married as long as we have? But to be truthful it was about both of you together. Mostly things about you two on your hands and knees with your asses near the side of the bed. I would fuck one of you for a while, then the other. Another fantasy was having both of you side by side on your backs. I would fuck Virginia a while until she came a few times, then push my dick up you and come, Elizabeth. I always wanted to fill you with my seed.

"But all I got was my wife becoming a shrew, whining and bitching at me about supposed indiscretions on my part. Supposed. Dammit, I've never looked at another woman, well other than you, Elizabeth. But I've never touched you or even said anything out of the way. Have I?" he snarled.

"No," Elizabeth sighed. "Maybe it would have been better if you had. I don't know."

"How long has this been going on? Ever since Scott died, I assume?"

Both women were quiet, looking at each other as each held one of Quinton's hands.

"We've ... been making love since Elizabeth was thirteen," Virginia said so quietly that Quinton had to strain to hear.

"You've been... Shit."

Tate took a bite of his sandwich, dislodging his wife's hand. He didn't notice what the bread contained. "So, if you two are lesbians, why in the fuck did you marry us in the first place?"

"We're not lesbians," Elizabeth indignantly said. "Well, I, uh ... guess we're bi, or at least for each other. We've never done anything with any other woman."

"Is that right, Virginia?" he asked, turning his gaze to his wife.

"I've never even thought about doing it with anyone else. It's an act of love, Quinton; although, I don't expect you to believe that right now."

"Love, is it? Well, you two were having one hell of an orgasm when I walked into that room and tried to tell you that I was home."

"You did?" Virginia squeaked. "We didn't hear you."

"Well, no shit," he snapped. "You had your thighs clamped so hard on your lover's ears that neither of you could hear, and with all the squealing you two were doing, I guess you weren't paying much attention to anything else other than the pussy in your face and your own orgasm."

"You said something to us, before you fired your pistol?" Elizabeth asked, again.

"Well, hell yeah. 'Honey, I'm home, ' didn't do it. So I told the two of you that we might have a problem. Hell, you were too busy bucking and screaming to hear me. So I made a louder racket. That got your attention," he finished, grinning despite himself.

"You two scrambling for that sheet was about the dumbest thing I've ever seen. About as fucking dumb as making my life a living hell by becoming a jealous shrew," he said, taking another bite and glowering at his wife.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

"'Honey, I'm sorry, '" he mimicked. "Fuck, Virginia, that isn't going to cut it. You treat me like shit for five fucking years, and then say you're sorry. Then tonight you'll lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling while I try to get my rocks off in a totally unresponsive pussy. It ain't going to happen, Baby."

"Then you're going to ... divorce me?"

"Hell, no," Tate said turning his stare totally upon her. "We spent too many years building up what we have, the house, our savings, the ranch, the horses — everything. Damned if I'm going to divorce you and become a pauper. And you put just as much time as I have into our finances. I'm not leaving this house, and I wouldn't expect you to. I'll move into one of the other bedrooms. We can live our separate lives. But I'll tell you now. From now on, my life is going to include pussy. There are plenty of women out there who will spread their legs for me just because I'm the top cop around here — if for no other reason. I've got a lot of catching up to do."

Taking another bite of sandwich, he reached for his tea, dislodging Elizabeth's hand. After taking a gulp, he put the glass back. Elizabeth put her hand back.

The women silently cried while Quinton thought, then, "Neither of your girls has dated, have they Elizabeth?"

"Well, Rachel has a couple times, but Cindy hasn't. But they've been home-schooled. They haven't had a chance to meet many boys," she finished, a bit lamely in Quinton's opinion.