"How long?"
"Just, three weeks. Although he has been after her for months. Oh, John, she... you're... fuck. Listen, I told her not to..."
"I bet. If you call her to tell her I know, I will tell Frank that you and I have been fucking for the last year. You got that?"
"I won't. Besides, Frank wouldn't believe you."
"Wanna bet? I'm pretty good with Photoshop," John said.
"Fuck."
Anna had seen some of John's work with Anne's head on different bodies he did as a joke for their last anniversary. They were women, who were all dressed sexily with all the lady bits covered but they were good.
"Maybe after the divorce, if you're still offering," John said chuckling.
"I'm not, nor will I ever," Doris said.
"You know what happens if you tell her, don't you?"
"Yes."
John just hung up and sat back in his chair with a rage boiling in his gut he had never felt toward his wife before. He thought, well she's no longer my wife. The only thing he thought about, other than the disgust he felt for her, was how the pansy-ass state he lived in only allow a divorce based on irreconcilable differences, which meant she would get half of everything. He would talk with an attorney in the morning to see if there were ways around that. Looking up at the clock on the wall he saw that it was going on one in the morning. Anne had always been home before midnight for the past three weeks.
At one sharp, the door to the garage went up and John heard a car pull into the garage. The sound of the door going down alerted him that the door to the kitchen was about to open. It did and in walked his wife, Anne, hair messed, clothes disheveled. In fact, her blouse was on inside out. Her makeup was smeared and her eyes were red as if she had been crying. Closing the door behind her, Anne went to the kitchen sink and started the water running. John rose from his chair and walked to the doorway into the kitchen. He stood there watching as Anne took her panties off, her back to John.
Walking as quietly as he could he was standing right beside her as she went to rinse her panties out. John reaching in grabbing them from her hand startled her. Her eye widened, her mouth hung open her hand coming up to cover it as she gasped. Looking down at the panties in his hand John could see the cum laden crotch. Looking down at Anne's legs, he could see the cum running down them almost to her ankles. Shaking his head, he turned, panties in hand, and went into the living room.
"Don't bother coming to bed in my bedroom. Find somewhere else to sleep from now on," John said over his shoulder.
Anne dropped to the floor shrieking with pain. Her husband had found out. She vomited right there in the middle of the kitchen. Then flopped down on her side crying. She was still drunk yet she knew her life was over, as she knew it would be if John ever found out what she was doing. She passed out, lying in her vomit on the hard, cold kitchen floor.
### The End ###
