The Wages of Sin

This is a story of a loving family—mom, dad, and two girls, aged 13 and 11, that is almost destroyed when the mother cheats. Mostly, the story tells about how they survive. I'll give you a hint—they get help from an unexpected source. I dislike stories that begin with children who disappear into dust as the story progresses. The children are an integral part of this story so they are in it from the beginning to the end. Of course, they are not involved in any of the sex that is depicted. That is reserved for the adults.

If you've read anything I have written you will know that the story is always the most important element. Any sex that is described is also an integral part of the plot so if you're looking for one sex scene after another, I'm afraid you will be disappointed. If you only read the first half of this chapter, you'll think it's in the wrong category, but the story IS a romance and that's why it's here.

I hope you enjoy this one. Please remember that I can only write what pops into my head even if you disagree with it. THE WAGES OF SIN—a romantic story in three parts.

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THE WAGES OF SIN—PART 1

There was nothing particularly special or planned about how it happened. I hadn't installed tiny surveillance cameras or contacted a private investigator. Indeed, I knew nothing until that very moment. I just walked into the house unexpectedly. I'm Tim Moran, owner of Moran Plumbing, Heating, and Air Conditioning in Smithtown, Long Island. It's a good business with seventeen full-time employees, including the two who work in my office.

On this day I had been called by Chuck, one of my plumbers, for assistance on a job. The homeowner's sewer line was clogged and Chuck had been unable to clear the pipe. I had a fiber optic lens and high intensity light at the end of a long coil of a twisted steel cable. It's an extremely expensive piece of equipment so I always kept it locked in my truck.

I had just arrived and had unloaded the camera. I was crouching over the open house trap when someone had forgotten that we were working there and flushed the toilet. The raw sewage gushed out of the open trap, running all over my hands and arms. The homeowner apologized profusely, but I barely listened. You don't become a fireman if you're afraid of fire and you don't become a plumber if you're afraid of a little shit, besides I had learned long ago that almost anything can be removed with a little sanitizing soap and water.

My camera found the problem—a toy truck had somehow made its way down the pipe and was wedged in an elbow. Fortunately, we had a solution. Most people have heard of Roto-Rooter. We have the same machines—fifty feet by one inch twisted steel cable fed into the drain pipe and turned by a powerful motor. In this case a special blade that could cut through wood and metal was added to the front end of the snake. It cut the truck into tiny pieces that flowed easily to the main sewer. Then Chuck told the homeowner to make sure the cleanout plugs on the house trap were always wrench-tight. There was no way a small truck could find its way through a toilet or sink. It had to be placed into the house trap and flushed down the line.

I cleaned myself at the nearby hose, using a bacteria-killing liquid soap. Soon enough my arms and hands were clean. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for my uniform shirt and slacks. I usually have a spare in the truck, but that's what I was wearing now. "No problem," I thought. "I'll stop off at the house on my way back to the office." That would prove to be a momentous and life-changing decision.

My wife, Terri, worked as a secretary for a major national accounting firm. I've often heard her criticize me because they have MBA's and I have a diploma from Wilson Tech, our county's vocational high school even though I earn roughly six times what she does and more than double what her asshole boss does. If she was so dissatisfied, why the hell did she marry me?

I'd always thought that we had a really solid marriage and a mutually satisfying sex life, but, apparently, I was wrong on both counts. There was a strange car in our driveway when I pulled in to change my clothes. I've read plenty of stories about spousal infidelity online so my suspicions were raised even though there could easily have been an entirely innocent answer to my concerns.

I walked in quietly, but I wasn't about to sneak around in my own house. Sure enough, I could hear the moans and groans coming from the bedroom so I made a quick stop in my home office for my camera. They were so into it that they never heard me when I climbed the stairs, walked into the office, or entered the bedroom. I took a few quick shots, getting their bodies in the pictures, but not a good look at their faces. I had the solution for that.

I had just had someone else's shit on my hands so I wasn't too worried about grabbing this asshole's scrotum. Holding the camera in my right hand I reached forward with my left. Plumbers usually have strong hands and arms. That was proved once again as a second later I had gripped his balls tightly, twisted, and pulled. He came off my wife like a bullet from a rifle and his scream was sheer joy to my ears. Terri looked up in shock as I stepped back and took a few more photos. This time I was able to get both of them—faces and bodies—framed nicely in the lens—and some nice shots of semen on her chest, face, and hair. I set the camera on my dresser once I had removed the SD card which went into my pocket. My wife finally decided to speak, but it wasn't anything I wanted to hear.

"Tim, what did you do to Robert? You're completely overreacting. This has nothing to do with you."

"Really? You'd better stay in bed. You're having delusions. I think you need a doctor."

"Very funny...and, by the way, you smell like shit. Why don't you clean yourself up while I see to Robert?"

"Well, isn't that a surprise? Why don't you just take care of Robert? You seemed to be doing a really good job of that a few minutes ago."

"I already told you, Tim—you're overreacting. I'll make you a sandwich while you're in the shower and then we can talk. I'll explain everything, especially why this will have no impact on our relationship." I looked at my wife in disgust then began to walk to the bathroom. I couldn't help but give good old Robert who had slipped to the floor in pain a good kick in the groin with my heavy work shoes as I walked by. I was pleased when Terri whined again.

I locked the bathroom door before shedding my clothes and removed the SD card, placing it in my sock. Five minutes later I was drying my body and was ready to dress in a new uniform. Terri was waiting for me in the kitchen with a Virginia ham on rye and a Pepsi. Robert and his car were long gone. I sat at the table and waited for her to speak. I was sure I had heard or read all of it before and she didn't disappoint—not even a little.

"This has nothing at all to do with you and me, Tim. I have needs that you can't fill."

"Really? And what would they be? Don't try telling me that he's bigger than me because I know better. You know that I have excellent vision. He has a dinky dick, flabby pasty skin, and a rather large pot belly so I fail to see the attraction. Terri, you've destroyed two marriages."

"No, Tim, that's not true. This has had absolutely no impact on us. You would never have known if you hadn't come home early."

"Really?"

"Yes, really; is that all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say, Terri? I come home to clean up and find you fucking your boss and that's not supposed to upset me? Well, let me tell you...I'm not done with him or you, either."

"You wouldn't dare divorce me, Tim. I'd take you to the cleaners. Not only will I get your daughters, but I'll get the house and half of your business, too."

I couldn't repress a smirk. "You may work for an accountant, Terri, but you know absolutely nothing about the law. You'd be entitled to half of everything accumulated since we got married. However, do you recall when I first showed you this house? Do you remember that I had bought the lot as an investment and had the house built with the intention of selling it at a profit? When you agreed to marry me I showed it to you thinking that you might like it and, if you did, I'd finish it with you in mind. That was more than six months before we were married. That probably means that I'll get the girls, also because I can afford the extra help either of us would need much more easily than you can.

"The same principle applies to my business. I won't have any trouble showing that I incorporated the business more than two years before we had even met. Here's something else for you to consider—we don't have that much money. All of our savings is in accounts listed under the business. That was on the advice of MY accountant. We have about $6,000 in our checking account and maybe twenty in a savings account. Everything else has gone into the college funds for Andrea and Chrissy.

"Now I have a few questions for you. How long has this been going on? And don't expect me to believe this was the first time. You weren't acting like first-timers in there."

"I told you it had no effect on us and it hasn't. I've been seeing Robert for almost six months...one or two times a week." She had a satisfied smile on her face, but not for long.

"No effect on us, eh? Okay, we used to make love at least three times a week. When was the last time we made love?"

"Over the weekend, so there!"

"No, we didn't. I wanted to, but you were 'tired.' Try again."

"Then sometime last week...Wednesday or Thursday. I forget which day."

"We did have sex, but we certainly didn't make love. I approached you and you tried to get out of it until I insisted. All you did was lie perfectly still while I fucked you. The truth is that we've averaged only once every ten days or so over the past six months. Tell me again how this is having no impact on our relationship."

"That can't be right."

"Yeah...right! Okay, next question—are you going to stop now that you've been caught?"

"Why should I? Robert is an educated and genteel man. I'll just have to take better care of you--that's all."

"You're dreaming. If you think I'm going to accept that you're sick. If you're fucking him, I'm not fucking you. Who knows where his cock has been?"

"That's unfair."

"Is it? Who started this affair? Who chased whom? He chased you—a married woman without any concern for his marriage or yours. If he'd do you--why not any other woman? He's anything but genteel. He's a pig. Here are your choices, Terri. Either dump him immediately or get ready to live on your own because we'll be finished."

"You don't really mean that, Tim."

"No? Try me. I have to go. One of us has to work. Aren't you on the clock? Expect nothing but trouble if you continue to fuck while you're supposed to be working." I got up and walked out the door, but not to work. I'd have a busy afternoon.

I phoned my secretary, Carolyn, to tell her I'd be late getting back then I went to WalMart where I made three copies of each of my photos—8 by 10's and bought some large manila envelopes. Finally, I phoned Chet Collins, a friend from Kiwanis, to ask about lunch tomorrow. "Hi, Chet," I began. "Can we possibly get together tomorrow? I'd prefer to do it away from your office. How about lunch at The Crossroads...my treat?"

"I have a busy day, Tim. Is it Kiwanis business?"

"No, it's personal, but it's partly business, too. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Care to tell me what it's about?"

"Not over the phone; it's something I have to do in person."

"Okay...I think I can reschedule a few things. How about at one?"

"It's a date. Thanks, Chet; I'll see you then." I phoned Carolyn again, asking her to make the reservation. The Crossroads is an upper crusty kind of place so I'd have to remember to bring a suit with me tomorrow. I drove next to St. Brendan's Lutheran School to give them an estimate on a major overhaul of their heating system. Once there I met with their church council. I'd already taken a good look at their antiquated system and had some major suggestions that would improve conditions in the school and save them money, too by integrating large solar panels into their hot water system. I thought their building layout was perfect for it. All told, the meeting took more than an hour. I had a formal presentation with copies for all of the committee members and I had all of the figures down pat. There were plenty of questions, but I had anticipated that, too. I knew that there would be at least two other bidders, but I felt that I had the upper hand, having worked successfully with the church for almost eight years.

I returned to the office and Carolyn brought me up to date on the day's phone calls. There were six repair jobs from repeat customers, the bread and butter of any service company, and requests for quotes on four others. She confirmed tomorrow's lunch reservation then I gave her a tentative schedule for tomorrow's appointments, hopefully arranging them so I'd be close to the Crossroads around noon. I could change in their restroom, if necessary.

The rest of the afternoon I spent planning what to do with my wife. I couldn't understand Robert Ernst's appeal. I was taller at six feet one inch to his five feet nine. I was physically fit at a muscular 195 pounds while he had a desk worker's gut. I had never considered myself handsome, but I thought I was better looking than Ernst plus after tomorrow I'd still have a job while he wouldn't. At 39 my future was golden. In his late forties his was in decline. Maybe that was why he did it. Some men have to prove their virility over and over. Unfortunately, doing it with my wife was a big mistake.

I knew that Chet was an extremely religious man. He'd served as chaplain for the Kiwanis for the past ten years, even before I became a member. He had been married to the same woman for more than thirty years and he was also the Executive Vice President who ran that accounting firm's local office. He was Ernst's boss, Terri's, too. I had a plan by the time I went home for the night. Only time would tell if it was a good one.

My girls were home from school when I got there. Each was in her room working hard at her desk when I walked in to hug and kiss them. My daughters were my reasons for living. That had been true for many years—their entire lives, thirteen and eleven years respectively—but never more than today. They gave me the strength to go on. They gave me the strength and reason to seek justice for my family.

Terri was in the kitchen preparing dinner just as she always was. She gave me a smirk as if to say, "See, I told you that my affair wouldn't affect you." I had always greeted her with a hug and a big juicy kiss. I walked away after giving her nothing other than the smirk she deserved.

I made a point of being cordial to Terri all night while the girls were up, but after tucking them into bed that changed. Terri was in her chair pretending to read, but I noticed that she hadn't turned a page in more than ten minutes. "Let's go to bed. I need to take care of you."

"What part of my comments this afternoon didn't you understand? If you're going to fuck Ernst, I'm not going anywhere near you. Even if you give him up I'm not doing anything until you've been checked for STD's. Think about that while you tell yourself that your sordid affair has had no impact on our relationship. I'm telling you again, Terri—if you want our marriage to survive you have to stop seeing dickhead Ernst."

"There's no reason to be so juvenile, Tim. He hasn't done anything to deserve name calling."

"So chasing and fucking another man's wife is a laudable activity? Is that what you really think? If it is then I readily admit that I don't know you and—even worse—you obviously don't know me at all. I will never accept that kind of behavior. I already know what I'm going to do with him, but the jury's still out on you. It will all depend on what you do. Try thinking about your family—your daughters and your husband—instead of your cunt for a change."

"That's just what I'd expect from an ignorant jerk like you...gutter language."

"It's one thing to talk about it, Terri. It's another to actually live there. Incidentally, there are only two reasons why you and I are even sleeping in the same bed. If not for Andrea and Chrissy you'd be in the office or the basement." I'd had enough. I walked away to shower and go to bed.

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As always, I was up early to wake the girls and make our breakfast. My employees officially began work at 8:00, but came in around 7:30 to prepare for the day. That was the time I made new assignments, both in terms of work and manpower and it was the time that the men gathered the pipe and fittings they thought they might need for their day. The office was empty by 7:45 so I phoned Mrs. Johansen to confirm our appointment and rang her bell at 8:30 on the dot. She was a little older than me, but almost as tall, speaking with what I assumed was a Scandinavian accent. I entered her home after introducing myself, handing her my business card, and carrying a thick three-ring binder under my arm. She led me directly to the bathroom they wanted to remodel.

I could tell by the architecture of the house that it had been built in the 1970's and the bathroom confirmed my assessment. "Can you give me a price," she asked.

"Truthfully, I can't. It will all depend on what you decide to do and there can be dozens of decisions to make. You can get a company in here to replace your tub and shower in a single day at less than a thousand dollars, but then you'll still have this tile that screams '70's' and this old high water-use toilet and antiquated basin. Or you can make major renovations and spend as much as twenty thousand—maybe even more. How much you do is a decision only you and your husband can make. I have some renovations I can show you here in my notebook.

"The difference between my company and most of the others is that I've worked with the tile company, the electrical contractor, and a general contractor many times and I will guarantee their work. These projects can get out of control in a hurry when one contractor blames another for some problem and nobody assumes or accepts responsibility. I take responsibility for every step, even if my people don't make the problem." A few minutes later she had offered me coffee and I began to show her some of our work at the kitchen table. I began with the "ultra" renovations--$20,000-plus that turned an ordinary bathroom into a dynamic modern spa. Eventually, the photos became much more realistic for most people. Even then I thought that they showed outstanding work and excellent value for the cost.

"You need to discuss exactly what you want with your husband. The final cost will depend on the fixtures you choose, lighting, and tile. That's something that can really drive the price up. Some tiles are really expensive. I'll be happy to meet with you as many times as necessary. I have a computer program that can illustrate virtually anything you come up with." I rose and she thanked me at the door. It was all in a day's work. My next appointment wasn't, unfortunately.

The drive took me almost forty minutes. Parking in the street, I grabbed the manila envelope and walked slowly toward the door. It opened only a few seconds after I'd rung the bell. I had waited until mid morning in the hope any kids would be at school. Her face showed her confusion. "I didn't call a plumber."

"I know, Mrs. Ernst. I'm Tim Moran. I'm here about something else. May I come in?"

"Oh...sure; I remember you now. You're Terri's husband. How is she?"

"Actually, she's why I'm here. I think you might want to sit down before I explain." She showed me to the living room where she sat on the couch. I sat on a nearby chair. "There's no easy way to say this Mrs. Ernst, but I'd want to know if our situations were reversed. I went home yesterday morning to change clothes and I walked in to find my wife and your husband in our bed." Rather than continue I simply handed her the envelope. She was remarkably calm as she opened it and inspected the photos—the proof of her husband's and my wife's infidelity.