The Wife's Boss Confesses

Melinda was cheating on me. I knew it. She'd been more and more standoffish since the July 4th company picnic her company hosted.

And I knew with whom she was screwing around: her boss, Doug Hemmings. I'd seen them talking off to the side at that picnic. At the time, I didn't really pay any attention, being involved in a horseshoe pitching tournament with a $50 gift card up for grabs. But, thinking about it in view of later events, I should have been suspicious at how intensely they were talking. And my wife's hand kept returning to her boss's arm.

Before the Fourth, Melinda and I had had a very fulfilling sex life. Shortly after that holiday, it all but disappeared. I hadn't realized before just how often in our marriage it had been my wife who had initiated intercourse. At least three times a week, I could count on her jumping my bones. She loved sex; lived for it.

And she never had refused me before, without a good reason. The only time I ever remember her saying "No" was a couple of years ago when she had the flu. Even then, she didn't actually say "No." What she said was, "Frank, I'm vomiting here!" I got the message.

But usually, a simple caress had her whipping off her clothes with enthusiasm.

A couple of weeks after Independence Day, she was suddenly too tired, too busy, or one time, too sore. When I ask her, "Too sore? From what?", she looked confused for a moment and then said she pulled a back muscle moving some files at work. It wasn't until after midnight when I was staring at the ceiling, still awake with blue balls, that I wondered why a salesperson was moving files heavy enough to pull a back muscle.

My loving wife was also becoming a screaming bitch. It might have had to do with my frustration at my enforced celibacy, which had me snarling and snapping at her. She'd then snap back at me, and then we'd be off to the races, filling the air with hurtful and hateful jibes. Our relationship would then descend into silence. Is it a wonder that our sex life was off?

We did have sex a few times, but it was at best, pity fucks, at worst, like necrophilia. Melinda would just lie there. I could almost hear her thoughts; "Hurry the fuck up. I've got to clean the hair out of the drain." I didn't feel better or any relief after the act. I just felt disgusted with myself for needing it and her. I was depressed and wondered where my wonderful wife had gone.

That's when I realized that, with her over-the-top libido, if I was hurting, my wife should have been crawling the walls. But she wasn't. She seemed happy to avoid sex with me totally.

She had to be getting it somewhere else. And the only other place that made sense was at work.

Melinda was a new paper salesperson. She had been hired in March to sell paper for Hemming's Mills to printers and publishers, coated or matte stock in rolls for off-set presses. She got a base salary with a commission on sales. Her territory included several mid-Western States, so she'd travel overnight to various cities to meet with clients. Lately, she seemed to need several days on the road, where previously overnights had done the job.

I just knew she was fucking Doug Hemmings, probably in beautiful hotels on an expense account. Before that picnic, all I heard was how great Doug Hemmings was. So handsome, so good at business, so practically perfect in every way. Made me wish he'd fly away like Mary Poppins.

After the picnic, there was not a word about wonderful Dougie. Just more time on the road, more time away from our bed, more time in hotels. I figured out that she was too busy screwing her boss to tell me how much better of a man he was than me.

I thought about demanding she quit her job. I did fairly well at my work, but we'd hoped to start a family soon, and over-extended ourselves when we bought a larger house with kids in mind and now needed her salary to barely eek by each month. Hopefully, her commission check would give us some breathing room. Commissions were paid quarterly on paid invoices, and her first one, in July, had been disappointing.

I was trying to figure out what to do. In fiction, I'd go get a divorce lawyer and kick her ass to the curb. But do you know how much lawyers charge? After the house payment, I don't have two nickels left to rub together.

If she quit her job, we'd lose the house, and what little equity our down payment had provided. To make it worse, the housing market was currently trending downward, so most of our down payment had disappeared already. The best I could do was to wait it out until the market rebounds. Then maybe I could afford to divorce her. In the meantime, her paycheck was necessary to make our monthly nut.

Additionally, if I made her quit and we divorced, I'd get hit with spousal support. I decided it was better to hold on for now. But in the meantime, I would get my ducks lined up in a row.

That was why I was out that afternoon, setting up new bank accounts in my name. I'd start siphoning off some income and hopefully get enough to hire a decent lawyer. That would surprise the hell out of the bitch. I mean, my wife.

But that wouldn't surprise her as much as I was to find Doug Hemmings waiting in my office when I returned from lunch. He rose from his chair when I entered and held out his hand in greeting. I clenched my teeth in anger, avoided his hand and moved behind my desk and sat.

"What can I do for you, Doug?" I asked through my still clenched teeth.

He looked down at his outstretched hand as if he just realized it was there. His hand opened and closed twice, then he gestured towards the open door. "Mind if I close the door?" he asked, as he moved to do just that.

When he returned to his seat, I glared at him in silence for several minutes. For a confident, successful guy, he seemed unsure of himself, having trouble meeting my eyes.

"Well?", I finally asked.

I could almost hear him gulp. "Frank, your wife is being unfaithful, and I think I'm responsible for it."

"I THINK I'M RESPONSIBLE FOR IT!" Did he actually say that? I felt like my head was ready to explode. I gripped the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white, trying to keep from leaping across my desk to kill this asshole.

Surprising myself, I spoke rather calmly, if still through a locked jaw. "So, you fuck my wife, come here to rub my nose in it, and then 'think' you're responsible?" I felt my face attempt to smile. It probably appeared more like a grimace. "I should fucking kill you." I hissed.

Hemmings' face showed confusion, followed quickly by horror, before settling into a look of panic. "Fucked your wife? Rub you nose... NO! NO!" Hemmings leapt from his seat. "NO, I never slept with your wife. I wouldn't do that! My wife cheated on me and it almost killed me. I would never..." He started hyperventilating. He sat back down and after a minute got his breathing under control. He looked up at me, appearing sincere. "I would never do that to you, Frank. Or to anyone. I respect marriage vows, even when my wife didn't."

Now I was confused. "Doug, why are you here? Why do you think you're responsible?" I think I stopped breathing for a moment. "And you seem sure my wife is cheating. Why?" My mind kept screaming "Why?" over and over again.

I had figured out my wife was cheating, but now it seemed like that was going to be confirmed. I felt like my world just ended. I didn't trust my voice not to break if I said anymore.

"I got a call from Nathan Hunsucker of Adventist Press. He's uber religious, a deacon at his church and a Seventh Day Adventist. He's been buying paper from me off and on for the last 10 years, but he called to say he couldn't do business with me anymore." He looked embarrassed. "Apparently, Melinda offered him 'benefits' if he'd buy paper from her."

"What?" My wife, prostituting herself to close a deal?

"Yeah." Said Hemmings, quietly. "I called several of her customers to whom she's recently sold paper. Two admitted enjoying our new 'perks', and the others, well, while they didn't admit it, they didn't exactly deny it, either."

"She whored herself out to sell paper?" I couldn't believe it. Melinda wouldn't do that. I was sure she wouldn't do that.

"Wait a minute." I continued. "You said you thought you were responsible. Did you put her up to this?" I really needed to blame someone, and if he was pimping my wife out for sales...

"No, I'd never condone..." He looked pained. "But maybe, kinda, I'm responsible." He stood up and started pacing across the room. "Look, you remember the Fourth of July picnic?"

"Yeah, I'm not likely to forget it. It's when my marriage started circling the drain." I glared at him, grinding my teeth. As if seeking relief from the stress of the situation my mind wandered. I wondered if I was gnashing my teeth. I'd always wondered what that was.

"Just before the picnic, I got the quarterly sales figures. Your wife was my worst performer, not even earning her base, let alone any commission." Doug remembered.

"Yeah, she was disappointed that day." I had known she was worried about her job, which is why when her daytrips became overnights and her overnights stretched into longer trips, I hadn't immediately been suspicious.

"Well, I cornered her and told her plainly that if she couldn't do better, I'd be letting her go. She'd gotten tearful, and told me that she needed the job, and would do whatever was necessary to get her sales on track." Doug shook his head, regretfully. "I told her she'd better be ready to do whatever it took. That's all I said. But I never intended..."

"You never thought she'd spread her legs to make a sale? Why the hell would anyone think that?" I felt depleted. Exhausted. No wonder Melinda was too tired, too busy. Even the 'too sore' now made sense. I couldn't even look at Doug Hemmings. I was ashamed, for Melinda and myself, embarrassed by being a cuckold just to sell fucking paper.

"Frank, I've got to fire your wife," Doug said softly, "and my lawyers are recommending that I report her to the police, to protect my company from any Vicarious Liability from her actions."

"Vicarious Liability? What are you..." I couldn't even think straight. I had immediately focused on wondering how we'd pay all the bills this month. That his company might be injured never occurred to me.

"My lawyers say that if she contracts and spreads an STD, we might be considered libel. Ditto with divorce actions against the 'satisfied clients' by their wives. Or you." Doug looked at me. "You might sue us as compliant in your wife's prostitution." He took a deep breath. "I'm here to tell you we're not compliant, didn't ask her to do this, and am disgusted that she represented us with these actions. The lawyers mentioned other possible problems, but, it's all just too much." He sat back in his chair, awaiting my reaction.

I sat still, considering what he had said, while he waited patiently for me to speak. What could I say? Had my wife really whored herself out? I couldn't believe it. Yet, I knew she was getting it somewhere. I knew she was desperate to make her sales. I looked at Doug. I had really thought it had to be him screwing my wife. Now, I wished it had been. Still, he looked back at me calmly, now that he had delivered his message.

I finally got tired of the silence in my office. I wanted Hemmings gone, so I could think, so I would wrap my mind around... Around what? If Hemmings were right, my life would be gone. If Hemmings was wrong or lying, I still knew that Melinda was cheating, and my life was gone. Fuck, I just want to be alone.

I broke the silence. "Doug, taking what you have said at face value, I don't see how you can be held responsible. I don't think you'd ask anyone to make a sale in bed. Right now, I just need you to leave. I've got to talk with my wife; I've got to try to figure out what's happening and, well, do I even have a marriage to save?

"You're going to fire my wife, so I'm fucked. I can't pay my bills without her paycheck. And if I divorce an unemployed woman, then I'll be fucked for years, I bet, with alimony for years.

"There'll be nothing left to save, no marriage, no home, no life worth living." I looked up at him, my eyes misty with tears that threatened to begin falling. "Please, just go. Just get the fuck out. I will call you if my lawyer recommends any action."

Shaking his head, and repeating that he was sorry, Hemmings left, closing the door behind him.

[-]

When I entered the house, Melinda was sitting at the kitchen table, red-eyed. She was holding Kleenex in both hands with a pile of used ones on the table.

"Honey, where have you been? I expected you home hours ago." My wife wiped the tears from her eyes and continued before I could respond, "Frank, I lost my job today!" My wife sobbed. "What are we going to do?"

"Why were you fired?" As if I didn't already know.

"Well, my sales..." Melinda sniffed. "My sales weren't very good."

"Did you do everything you could to make a sale?" I asked. "DID YOU DO ANYTHING IT TOOK?"

She looked up, shocked. "Whaaaat?"

I sat down across from her. "Hemmings came to see me today. He wanted me to know that he wasn't your pimp."

Her eyes got big, and I think she forgot to breathe for a few moments, so I continued. "What are we going to do? I thought a lot about it today. I figure we have two choices."

Cautiously, Melinda raised her tear-streaked face and asked what the choices were.

"Well, we could either find you a better pimp or sell the house." A poor attempt at humor, but then I wasn't finding anything laughable about all this.

She screeched and dropped her face into her hands. "I'm not a whore," she argued.

"That's debatable, but I decided to go with selling the house. I was at a realtor getting it listed." I rose and when to the fridge for a soda.

"But you love this house," she protested.

I sat back down, popping open the can. "Yeah. But we don't need it anymore."

"Why don't we need it? Where will we live?" she asked.

"Not together." I had decided.

"What? What do you mean?" She stopped up and leaned across the table. "Frank, I love you. We need to be together. We're going to have a family in this house."

"We won't need this house because there won't be any kids." I smirked. "At least not with me. And if you were pregnant, I would always be wondering whose it was."

"I would never do that!" She wailed. Then she sniffed, swallowed, and began with an assumed sincerity. "Frank, I did it for us!" I rolled my eyes and laughed. "No, really," she continued. "I knew we couldn't afford our dream home without my job, and I had to do it to save my job. I was going to be fired if I couldn't make a sale!

"I hated it -- every minute of it. I hated myself, I hated the clients, "she paused, looking guiltily at me, "I even resented you, every time you reminded me that we needed a good commission check this time. Every time you told me what we couldn't do, couldn't afford, couldn't have because money was so tight." She looked up at me defiantly, tears forgotten for a moment. "So, I did whatever it took, and what it took was sex." She held my gaze stubbornly but looked away as the tears returned. "I'm sorry! I knew it was wrong, but I had no choice!"

"Ironic, isn't it. You were going to get fired for not making sales. Now you've been fired for having made those sales. But you weren't selling paper. You were selling pussy!" I retorted.

"No, darling. I would have done anything to save the life we were building. I just didn't see any other way." She was breaking down in tears.

I wasn't buying it but asked. "You'd do anything to save your job, huh? Anything to save our 'dream home'. But will you do anything to save our marriage?"

"Yes! Anything!" she responded.

I pulled her into the bedroom. "Strip," I ordered.

"What?" she asked.

"Take off your clothes." She looked at me questioningly. "Come on, you had no problem stripping for your johns, surely you can strip for me."

"They weren't johns! They were paper customers." She corrected as she began pulling off her clothes.

"Melinda, people who are purchasing pussy are johns. And the people selling it are whores." I stated. "That's all there is too it." I was in her closet, looking through her dresses. I found a nice light, Dokotoo off-the-shoulder summer dress. I took it off the hanger.

Melinda was suddenly modest, holding her hand over her crotch and her other arm over her nipples. "I'm not a whore! Quit calling me that."

I threw the dress at her. "Put that on," I ordered. "We're going with Plan A."

She opened a drawer to grab her underthings. "Plan A?"

I deflected the question by shoving her drawer closed. "I said put on that dress. You don't need any underthings."

"But.." she began.

I cut her off. "Just put on the damned dress, get some shoes and meet me in the garage." As I left the room, I added, "And stop asking me stupid questions. Just shut up if you want to save the marriage."

When she came into the garage, I could see the light fabric did little to hide her breasts. Her dark areolas and nipples stood out through the light color, and the jiggle as she walked rustled the fabric. The dress was just long enough to comfortably cover her pussy, but an easy breeze could be embarrassing, front and back.

"I can't go out like this, Frank." She moaned.

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car. I guess anything only means anything when it's for Hemmings." I got into the car. A moment later, clutching her purse, my wife got into the passenger seat.

I shut down her attempts to question me. I wasn't in a talking mood.

It was pushing 6:30 PM when I drove into the War Zone. Every big city has one. That place where the illicit is sold openly, whether it was pussy, guns, or drugs. A place where cops only enter in force. Melinda looked around in panic. "Frank! What are we doing here?"

"I told you. We're going with Plan A." I pulled the car to the curb.

"Plan A? What's Plan A." I thought she was going to pass out, she was breathing so hard.

I put on an exasperated look. "Find you a better pimp, of course. Until then, I'll be your pimp. You can call me to pick you up once you've earned $500.00." I grinned. "That's going easy on you. After tonight, it'll be $1000. But I figured we'll go easy since it's your first night on the street."

She looked horrified. "No, Frank. You can't do this." She grabbed my hand. "Please!"

"You've got no underwear to slow you down, and you can just tug down the top of your dress to show off your tits. Is that what you did for your 'clients?'"

"I AM NOT A WHORE!" she shouted back at me.

I reached over and pushed open her door. Then I nudged her. "Get out! You had no problem selling yourself before FOR PAPER! Don't you want to save your marriage? Isn't making enough money to save our 'dream house' important, anymore?"

"No, no. Please," she wept.

I got out of the car, went around to her side and pulled her out of the car, still weeping. "This is ANYTHING and you'll do it!" I shoved her away, closed the door and returned to the driver's side. As I got in, I told her to call when she'd reached her quota.

As I drove away, I saw she was collapsed on the sidewalk and several of the regular hookers were approaching her.

[-]

As I drove off, I called Hemmings. He'd left me his number, worried I'd sue him. "Hemmings," I growled. "I know what you're going to do to make this right for me."

He hesitated, then replied, "What? What do I have to do?"

"You go back to the companies who bought pussy from my wife and tell them that their contracts are going to cost them an extra 5%, or they'll be cancelled, and the reason will be explained to their board of directors or owners. You'll keep one percent, and the rest will go to me."

"That's it?" he asked.

"Yeah, and you'll pay that percentage to me when they agree, not when they finally pay for the paper. That way I'll be able to retain my home."

Hemmings sighed. "I'll run it pass the lawyers." He then hung up.

My phone rang again 5 minutes later. It was my father-in-law, Joe. He wasn't happy. "What the fuck is going on, Frank? My daughter called me to pick her up on Third Street. She said you left her there. Why, Frank?"

I laughed ruefully. "It's where whores gravitate to. I thought she'd be comfortable there."

I thought Joe was going to come through the phone. He roared at me and threatened with dire consequences for me, before I could explain what she had been selling for Hemmings. It shut him up, but I could tell he didn't believe me. "Still, you don't treat your wife like that, Frank."

"No, Joe, just my whore, who made a pimp and a cuckold out of me." Before I hung up, I added, "Tell her the marriage if finished. I guess she wouldn't do anything to save it."

[-]

The money from the revised Hemmings contracts allowed me to keep the house until the market rebounded some. We sold with very little equity, but at least we were above water.

Melinda wanted to fight the divorce, wanted me in counseling, wanted to save our marriage, but Hemmings' lawyers had reported her to the police, and the DA was considering a prostitution charge. She signed a settlement agreement my lawyer had drawn up, which included an even split of the few assets we had and no support payments. After signing, she went out of state to live with a maiden aunt.

While splitting up our possessions, I ran into Joe one more time, dropping her things off at his house. He had always treated me like a son, and he had tears in his eyes when he told me, if he ever saw me again, he'd kill me. I think he meant it.

When our house was sold, I too transferred out of state. There was nothing there to hold me, and I heard that girls in LA were easy. I thought I'd find out.