Teaching a Lesson

Warning, you are entering a cuckold free zone. If you do not like stories of temptation, human frailty, and redemption, please do not read this story. You will not enjoy it. But, if you take solace that there are husbands and wives who fight dirty to save their marriages I bid thee read on.

I have received much encouragement and support after my first five stories. Today's story tells of another jealous woman who tries to ruin her best friend's marriage because she can.

As always, I remain a mere scribe and made no effort to verify the facts. Of course the names and locations have been changed to protect privacy.

If you enjoy Teaching a Lesson I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.

*****

The bar I hang out at has a sign in the men's room that says, "A good friend will bail you out of jail at 3AM. A great friend is sitting next to you in the cell saying, "Damn, that was fun. Let's do it again."

Bobby is a great friend and, yes, we have spent a night together in a jail cell...make that a couple nights. Someone once said we complement each other like whiskey does beer. I honestly believe he would do anything for me.

My wife Dianne also has a best friend, Patti. Patti's problem is she knows she's hot. Make that smoking hot. She learned early on how to use her looks to manipulate men, and women. She, on the other hand, wouldn't lift a perfectly manicured finger unless there was something in it for her. She is a total bitch who eats men for sport.

Before we met, Dianne and Patti were small time hell raisers but I made a respectable woman out of her. The day I proposed I swore on all that is holy I would never cheat and demanded the same from her. That day my hellion pledged eternal fidelity. I told her I would hold her to that because I'm very jealous of my things...and bad things happen when someone tries to take them.

Bobby was our best man; Patti our maid of honor. She took an immediate disliking to him when he introduced his date. Seems she thought he would take her up to his room and prove he really was the best man. His date must have thought so because one year later they became Mr.& Mrs. Robert Hoffmann. They're the proud parent of twin two year old daughters and are as much in love as the day they tied the knot.

Our life was good, make that very good. We had great careers, a nice house in the suburbs, a lush green lawn, and a dog who was as loyal as they come. Yep, a regular Norman Rockwell painting.

Over the next couple of years most of their sorority sisters get married and started families,

Seeing her circle of unmarried friends shrinking Patti realized the last thing a new bride wants is her single, slutty friend from college hanging around her spouse. She did not enjoy her new role as pariah and went big time husband hunting.

It didn't take her long to find a quiet mouse of a man whose father owned a chain of liquor stores. She hooked Willard on their first date and reeled him in by the third. A tacky Las Vegas wedding soon followed. Dianne and I represented the old guard at their nuptials. Hey, how often does someone get a free trip to Vegas?

Life settled into a routine. We would get together with Patti and Willard a couple of times a month for dinner; he was soft spoken and his bride didn't give him a chance to say very much. If only she knew what was going on behind that blank expression on his poker face.

When the check came Patti would always grab it and say, "My treat" as she handed the waiter Wilbur's platinum American Express card. I thought that poor puppy never had a chance as she treated him like a walking wallet.

Then Dianne and I would settle down to normal until the next dinner. This isn't to say the girls didn't talk regularly. Patti would call several times a day just to chat; usually about nothing in particular. Every now and then, however, Dianne would leave the room to continue the conversation. I never made too much of an effort to eavesdrop but I could hear my wife alternating between gasps and giggles as Patti regaled her with her latest escapade.

Whenever I asked what they found to talk about; the answer always was "bragging about our husbands."

One night, however, I heard Dianne pleading, "Please, don't make me do that again." That got my attention and I moved closer to see what else I could glean.

"I told you last time, I won't lie for you again."

I made my presence known, "Lie for who again?" I asked.

"I'll call you back." She looked guilty as she ended the call.

"Lie for who again?" I persisted.

"No body. It was nothing."

"I know who you were talking to. Who does Patti want you to lie to?

"Her husband."

"Why?"

"So she can go to lunch with a friend."

"Who's the friend?"

It took better than twenty minutes of back-and-forward before she finally admitted the whole scheme. Patti would tell Willard she was meeting Dianne for lunch. They would rendezvous at a local hotel which had a very trendy little café. Just before her friend showed up she would call her husband and ask if she could bring him home something. Willard always asked for a slice of their Dutch apple pie. Before she hung up Patti would pass Dianne the phone so she could say hi. Then, while Dianne ate, she would slink off to share a room with her lover for the next couple of hours. Patti always grabbed the check to document their lunch.

"That's disgusting. You're not only condoning adultery but enabling her to do it. I have never been more ashamed of you. Willard may not be the most exciting guy in the world but he doesn't deserve having someone he considers a friend stabbing him in the back."

The argument raged on through the evening until I ended it by asking, "How would you feel if I asked Bobby to lie to you so I could have an affair?"

That shed a whole different light on it.

Dianne began to cry and admitted she would be devastated. I made her promise to never lie for Patti again, which she reluctantly did. Unfortunately, this marked the beginning of a new chapter in our relationship, one in which my wife became very secretive; starting with a new password protected cell phone. From that day, on virtually every fight we had was because of Patti. Our marriage was at a low point.

One morning about a month later I awoke with an ominous feeling hanging over me. That's how it begins. I knew something was going to happen that would put my marriage of eight years to the test. Later that day Dianne called in tears to say Patti was getting divorced and needed a place to stay for a few days. I had enough high school math to put two plus two together and come up with nothing good.

Yep, Whispering Willard really surprised us all. Seems he had private detectives following her, documenting every time she violated the prenup agreement. After accumulating enough evidence to destroy any claim she had to his assets the mouse roared.

From what I've been told Willard had a Process Server hand her divorce papers while she was impaled on her paramour's cock. One second she was screaming in orgasmic delight, the next she was screaming as her world crashed down around her. He even had a photographer record the tryst for one final piece of evidence.

And just in case there was trouble two sheriff's deputies were on hand. Willard stood stoically behind them, flanked by his attorney and investigator, not saying a word.

Nana always said, "Beware the silent one."

As soon as Patti managed to extract the offending member she ran to the bathroom screaming "Everyone get out of my house!" and slammed the door. Her former fucker grabbed his clothes and was allowed to leave unmolested.

That was the cue for two movers to enter her enormous walk-in closet and box up all of her clothes and shoes. They packed her Escalade to the gunwales with box after box of designer fashions. When they finished the sheriff's deputies ordered her to vacate the premises or they would kick the door down and physically remove her. Patti slunk out with a bath towel wrapped around her.

They say she passed out when she walked into her closet to get something to wear and found it empty. One of the sheriff's deputies carried her to the bed while the other chased down the movers to get her something to wear.

An hour later Patti was at our door, wearing a faded Northwestern sweatshirt, dragging a suitcase, and announcing, "I have no where to live". Thus our peaceful life was shattered by Patti moving into our guest bedroom. I guess you could say Willard got divorced and we got custody of the tramp.

Oh, and guess who got to haul all those boxes into the house.

Patti spent the rest of the evening lying on the bed convulsing in tears. Dianne sat next to her and kept assuring her that things would work out. A couple of tranquilizers barely made a dent in her hysterics. It was almost 1 AM before she quieted down enough for us to go to bed.

Later that night I bolted upright in bed, knowing it was Patti who would tempt my wife of eight years to do something bad for me and our marriage. That began a pattern of my sleep being interrupted by warnings.

Patti spent the next day crying on Dianne's shoulder. I guess killing the goose that laid the golden egg will do that to a money grubbing leech.

When I came home from work she was still wailing lamentations.

This went on for the next five days. It didn't matter if we were eating dinner or getting ready to make love, my wife dropped everything to comfort her. When I protested she would coo, "Cut her some slack, she's devastated," like I was some kind of restless child. 'Devastated,' I thought, she's damn lucky her husband didn't beat her unconscious with a baseball bat like she deserved.

Nightly a spectral visitor announced our vows to forsake all others would soon be getting tested. Until Patti got dumped by her husband I never had the slightest reason to question anything my wife did. But now my throat burned with bile and my soul with an anxiety which fanned the embers of suspicion in my mind.

I knew these nocturnal warnings spoke the truth. My grandmother said we had Gypsy blood running through our veins which gave me a special sixth sense. I would sit in amazement as Nana regaled me with stories of growing up in the old country, her family living in a brightly colored horse drawn wagon while her mother told fortunes to outsiders to keep them fed.

My favorites were tales of fleeing Nazi storm troopers who were rounding up the Roma and sending them to death camps. My great-grandfather was a skilled grifter who knew how to live off the land. He also knew how to read a man and know he wouldn't betray them to the Gestapo. My family spent four years on the run, disappearing like mist before the sun whenever great-grandmother sensed danger.

Nana also taught me about the evil eye and how to place a curse on someone.

My mother would tell her to stop filling my head with foolish superstitions; we were Americans now. Sorry mom, but I believe her because I was living it.

Throughout my life I had numerous episodes where I knew something before it happened, like running into someone I hadn't seen a decade right after I spoke his name. Spooky stuff like that. Mom called them coincidences but I knew when I got that feeling something was going to happen. Usually, it was harmless things, like knowing the name of the next song on the radio just before they played it

When we were first dating it used to drive Dianne nuts when I would announce the title of the next song before the disc jockey. At first she was convinced it was some kind of a trick and vowed to learn my secret. She would change channels to try to trip me up. I assured her I had no idea how I did it.

Now the premonition that something bad was going to happen was growing stronger. It became so real I could almost hear ominous music playing in the background. I knew Patti would try to come between my wife and me.

Every night Patti would go to her room and wail like she was an innocent victim. And each night I laid in our king size bed staring at my beautiful wife, sound asleep, as the clock announced each passing second, wondering what seeds of discontent had been sown in her mind. Each morning Patti would be sitting at our kitchen table emptying yet another bottle from my liquor cabinet. She barely acknowledged my presence as I ate breakfast.

One morning, as I was eating a bowl of cereal, her robe accidentally opened and she flashed me her naked breasts. I shook my head and said with disgust, "In your best friend's house."

I woke Dianne and told her what our resident alcoholic had done. As expected, she jumped to her defense, claiming it must have been an accident. "Don't worry; I'll have a talk with her." The next morning Patti flashed her pussy.

After a running argument that lasted an entire weekend Dianne said she would tell Patti she had to find her own place to live. I agreed to stake her to her the first months rent and security deposit provided she got a job. I suggested she get one that took advantage of her talents, like pole dancing or streetwalking. Dianne was not amused.

Patti did not react well to the news. She lashed out vowing revenge on me. That was no surprise as she was still blaming me for Willard catching her cheating.

She became an uber-bitch and began to mess with Dianne's mind, planting subtle doubts about my upcoming west coast trip. I was being promoted to regional vice president of marketing and had to go to California for two weeks training. When I returned a one week, all expenses paid trip for two to Hawaii would be our reward. That gave Patti about a month to move out.

Patti kept trying to cause trouble by asking questions, like, "So how many women will you be training with?" and "Will the women be staying at the same hotel as the men?'

The one that really pissed me off was a crack she made after seeing I had classes scheduled everyday including Sunday, "Too bad you won't be able to fly home for the weekend." By the smirk I knew she was gloating because I couldn't be around to interfere with her plans.

I even debated calling my boss to pass on the promotion but didn't want to torpedo my career because of that bitch. Instead I decided to take preemptive action.

A couple days before I left I asked Bobby to keep an eye on Dianne. I told him I was getting a bad feeling. He said I was imagining it, "You two are the most married people I know." I reminded Bobby of the time one of my hunches saved our lives. My car was in the shop and he was driving me home from work. As we approached an intersection with a green light I suddenly screamed, "Stop!" I spooked his so much he slammed on the brakes. Not more than a second later a semi trailer hauling gravel blew through the red light missing us by inches. Neither Bobby nor I said a word as we realized we would have been T-boned if we hadn't stopped.

"I got that same feeling of dread right now."

"That's good enough for me."

Bobby enlisted the assistance of two friends from out of town to carry out surveillance.

"You don't want anybody local that might get recognized." He said they were former private contractors back from Afghanistan who were experts at observing a target while blending into the background; they also knew how to persuade bad guys to leave a lady alone.

He arranged a meeting one night two miles past the end of civilization, on a dark gravel road to nowhere.

I shook their hands and introduced myself. Nether offered a name. "Ain't here to make friends." Bobby smirked and said call 'em anything you want. I started calling them the outsiders; this soon was shortened to out one and out two.

The first thing out one insisted on was pre-paid phones. "Don't want somebody tracing any calls."

As requested, I put together an extensive file on Dianne, including several pictures, a list of phone numbers, home and work, as well as a schedule of a typical week in her life. I also gave him a set of keys to our house and to her cherry, matching numbers, 1967 Mustang convertible. "Sometimes I think she loves this car more than she does me."

Part of their service would be installing hidden cameras in my house so I could monitor comings and goings on my lap top. Next I gave them information on people who she could be expected to come in contact with, like her mother and sister Kris.

Patti had her own special folder. "This is the bad influence I told you about."

The last thing I handed was an envelope thick with twenty dollar bills. They assured me they would keep her out of trouble.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dianne drove me to the airport Sunday evening. My training began the next day at 9 and we had spent most of the day in bed saying our goodbyes. This would be the first time we had been apart since we were freshmen in college.

We met at some kind of sorority fundraiser. I didn't know anyone there and was ready to book out when I saw two beautiful blondes working one of the booths. I walked over and said I would like to take a chance. The shorter one, Patti, said 'that'll be a dollar." I had already locked eyes with the taller one and asked, "If I win will you go out with me?" Dianne smiled and said, "Okay, but nobody's won tonight." I spent every dollar I had in the world trying to win something, anything, but it was all for naught. Patti saw my empty wallet and horned in, "Sorry stud, you lose."

Nana had told me how love's lightning bolt sent spasms of infatuation of Richter-scale force through a young man and I was experiencing it first hand. My pulse was racing a mile a minute. I was flat broke but had to have her. Then I remembered my gift. I challenged Dianne, "Write down five numbers. If I can guess all five of them you leave with me when you're finished."

Patti taunted me, "Why not ten?"

I leered at her and said, "If I get all ten correct can we leave right now?"

Patti laughed and said, "Go ahead, the Amazing Kreskin will be lucky to guess one."

Dianne said, "Well, okay. You've got a deal."

I instructed her to get a piece of paper and write down ten numbers between one and a hundred. I told her to fold it up and place it in her shoe so I couldn't possibly cheat. I concentrated and said to myself, 'Nana, I just met the girl I'm going to marry, don't fail me.'

I asked Patti for a blank piece of paper and a pencil. "Here you go Houdini," she mocked me.

I began to write numbers 99...4...01...55...63...75...08...43...22. I paused before the writing the last number and said to Dianne..."I think you're pretty cute too" before I wrote URaQT.

Patti thought I had blown it for sure with my last guess until she unfolded the paper and called out the numbers. Each one, including the last flirt, was a spot on perfect match.

The look on Patti's face was priceless. "I believe my date and I will be leaving." We went back to my room and got to know each other much better. From that day on Patti and I were like fire and water.

The dorm wasn't technically co-ed but the RA was willing to look the other way as long as we were discrete. My roommate majored in getting stoned and dropped out after flunking every class. Soon Dianne was spending every night in my room. As sophomores we we're able to live off campus and settled into a tiny studio apartment and screwed our brains out every night.

Enough history, by Friday night I was mentally exhausted from a week of non-stop training. As I did every night, I called Dianne the minute I got out of class. Tonight, however, I invited her to have dinner with me. She sounded confused and excited, "Are you coming home?"

"No, I wish I was. I ordered room service; it should be here in a few minutes. Your pizza should arrive in about five minutes. Now go turn on your webcam." It wasn't the most intimate dinner but I thought it was pretty romantic. For dessert we had some very tasty phone sex.