Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

All too soon, it couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes, I felt myself getting ready to pour out into her and gave her the chance to stop me.

“Aline....getting close....can pull....do this longer...” She bit my tongue gently.

“You better give me what I’ve been waiting weeks for...now....................................................................................... ”

And being the gentleman I was, naturally I did. Once, twice, three, four and five hard shots and she moaned with each one and tried to swallow my dick whole inside that hot pussy of hers.
Finally I stopped and let her legs slip to the ground while I held myself up over her, leaning on my elbows.

“Wow.”

“How about magnifique!”

“You were definitely magnifique!” “For an old man you weren’t too bad.”

“You’re only saying that because you know you’ve disarmed me and I can’t punish you anymore tonight.”
She leaned over and grabbed my wilting manhood with a firm grip and said, “You remember our bet”
“Yes, baby, but I really feel like I need an IV right now. I gave you everything I had and then some. ”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
She turned out to be wrong. She couldn’t get my magnificent cudgel hard again in 60 seconds. It took her a full five minutes, including sticking a slim finger up my ass while she sucked on my weary dick. But get it up, she did. And kept it up for 25 minutes this time as we did it doggy, some version of the Kama Sutra she introduced me to, cowboy style and finally up her ass.
As she lay in my arms after that workout we listened to the increasingly more rare cars passing by us on the road about five feet higher than the valley between dunes we rested in. Frogs or crickets or whatever the hell they were made the dunes alive with the sound of their music.
“You really thought of me every day?”
I placed my hand on the side of her face and stared into those dark eyes that had held me captive since the first moment I saw her on the Bonne Chance before I even knew who she was. And I knew that my intuition had been correct. She was dangerous as only someone who can destroy you is dangerous.
“Every day.”
“Would you have forgotten me? You’re a man, and I know you’ve had sex since we saw each other, you dog. Would I eventually have become just another one of your old conquests?”

“Is that what I would become to you, when you return to Andre and Philippe and the Bonne Chance and your life in Paris?’

She looked at me with a sad look on her face.

“You are always going to be the dark secret in my heart, standing between me and Philippe. The one I pray to God Philippe never learns about.”

‘And you will always be the One that Got Away.” THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 2005 11 a.m.

I was probably dragging a little bit when I finally walked into my office, but staying until 2 a.m. and having sex until my poor abused male organ had been whipped into a state of total exhaustion by a Frenchwoman’s pussy, ass, mouth and hands will do that to you. I think she would have used her toes if we could have figured out a way to do it and if I’d had any bent in that direction.
I had gotten up at 6 a.m., literally dragged myself into the gym and went through the motions of a workout. My legs felt like I was walking on rubber bands. They were just tired and I felt every one of my almost 42 years.
But I forced myself. If I let every temptation keep me out of the gym, I knew in a few months I’d be the same old flabby loser I’d been for years. That wasn’t going to happen.
I waved at Susie as I walked in and found out that Cheryl was still out with the bug that had knocked her down two days before.
I wasn’t happy that Cheryl had gotten sick, but in hindsight I was damned glad she hadn’t been around when Aline showed up. Somehow I knew she’d have discovered who Aline was and somehow the word would have gotten back to Debbie.
I had no reason to be afraid of a confrontation. We were through and there was nothing that Debbie could do to screw things up and in a very real way, I’d love to rub Debbie’s nose in the fact that I could still attract a woman like Aline to my bed.
But it would complicate things. For now it was just Aline and myself in our little bubble, me trying as hard as I could to shrink our world down to just two of us over the next two weeks. I knew it was impossible, but I wanted to keep Aline away from as much of my regular life as I could.
When I opened my office and switched on my laptop, I took a moment to yawn and rub the tiredness out of my eyes and then my phone rang.

“You have a caller,” Susie said. “She wouldn’t identify herself.” “I’ll take it. And who would this be?”

“Is anyone listening?” “No.”

“Good. I just wanted to let you know what I was doing, Mr. Maitland. Can you guess?”

“Probably reading a good book or maybe getting ready to take a taxi out to look around Jacksonville?”
“Would you believe I have my fingers in a certain place and I’m doing something that is making me feel very, very good.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
“And I’m imagining that it’s a part of you that’s rammed up real far inside that is making me feel wonderful. I miss you. I know you have a job. But I miss you and wish you were here.”
“I’m going to have to hang up in just a moment, Miss. I’m afraid this conversation is going in a direction that will lead to me being very unproductive today, and I do have business to take care of.”
“Very well, Mr. Maitland. I’ll let you get back to business, but I want you to know what I’m doing and what I’m thinking about and to remember that you have very, very important business to take care of tonight.”
“Trust me, I won’t forget.”
After I’d hung up I felt a little twinge in a part of my anatomy that I was sure was going to be out of action at least until tonight. Jesus, the woman was like walking Viagra. But I forced my attention back to business.
The first order of business was to make plans to be in court next week to ask the court to give Judy Johansen, The Killer Granny, some serious prison time. I’d managed to convict her of first degree murder a few days before, but there was still a long way to go to get the judge to hand down anything that would amount to more than a tap on the wrist when you considered parole and time off for good behavior.
Killing your husband ought to carry some sort of serious penalty. Beside losing 30 or 40 million dollars she would otherwise have inherited from his estate. Which was a pretty stiff penalty in itself. But not enough.
The penalty phase was where Lew Walters would pull out all the stops, using family, friends, the sobbing defendant, to convince the judge that the 67-year-old grandmother should not be strapped down a prison gurney while poison was pumped into her veins to stop her heart. It was up to the judge, and I, honestly, despite my nickname of Angel of Death, didn’t have any great urge to see her put to death.
Living out the balance of her life in a prison jump suit, having to see her family in a prison visiting room with guards around, having to use her personal funds or family funds to buy cigarettes or other items from a prison canteen instead of vacationing on a beach in Bali would be enough of a punishment.
I made my plans to be in the courtroom next Wednesday to make sure things went the way I wanted them to. After that I started working on other cases.


One of the ones that bothered me the most was a guy named William Sutton. I was virtually certain he had beaten his pregnant soon-to-be ex-wife, and his unborn son, to death with a tire iron. But there was a too-great chance that he was going to walk away a rich and free man as the result of his brutal crime.
Sutton was a 37-year-old stock advisor for a Ponte Vedra-based financial consulting firm with clients up and down the East Coast. The firm was fairly successful and so was Sutton, but he hadn’t come from money and all he had to his name was a fairly middle-class income.
But he’d lucked into finding a marrying a pretty registered nurse named Sheila Conroy and they both thought she was as middle/middle class as he. She was a pretty blonde with an infectious smile and a nice shape including, from pictures, a world-class ass.
They apparently had loved each other. At least from the smiles on the pictures taken in the first few years of their marriage it appeared so.
And Sutton wasn’t hard on the eyes. 6-2, brown hair, fairly well built. But I’d seen the pictures when I was reviewing the case and there was something about his eyes that caught my attention from the first moment I saw him. And what we’d learned about him in our investigations bore out that impression.
William Sutton was, to put it succinctly, an asshole. He was the kind of guy that blamed all his losses on someone else, all his triumphs on his overwhelming abilities. He was the kind of guy who made it his mission to make his co-workers look bad, and reveled in screwing a competitor.
He was the kind of guy that never forget a slight or a hurt anyone did him. He was smart enough to play nice until he was in a position to stab you in the back, and he never missed an opportunity. But he did it in such a way that it couldn’t be traced back to him. Sneaky, vindictive, determined...that was William Sutton.
He was also the kind of guy, we deduced from numerous interrogations, that loved woman....a lot of them...before and after marriage. He was good looking and smooth and didn’t have any conscience at all so he bedded a lot of them.
And naturally enough, while doing so, he became insanely jealous of his pretty—as far as we could tell, faithful—wife and made her life a living hell following her and checking her phone messages and questioning her every move for two years.
Until she finally snapped, they had a violent fight, she wound up in the hospital and he wound up accused of assault. Sutton’s widowed mother had put up the money for a decent attorney and the attorney muddied up the water enough that it was dropped to a misdemeanor.
They split and it was then that they both made the discovery that Sheila’s estranged father, who had walked out on her and her family when she was a year old, had become a very wealthy man. He had no family of his own when a stroke


got him at age 55 and left Sheila and her two siblings a $15 million estate which would be divided equally.
So Sutton was facing a divorce and the loss of at least half of $5 million. Which did not make Sutton happy. He was a man with a hot temper and a lot of character flaws and I think he really believed his pretty wife had been running around on him.
He and Sheila split and he went lived in an apartment on the Southside for several months before moving back in with his mother in her home in a subdivision of Ocala, a famous racehorse raising community about a hundred miles south of Jacksonville off I-75.
And then one night in early February Sheila had gotten off a shift at St. Vincent’s in downtown Jacksonville after telling friends that she’d gotten a call from William Sutton asking for one last chance to meet and talk. And Sutton had been, as everyone who knew him told us, one charming son of a bitch.

She said she wasn’t sure she would meet with him, but after five years of marriage, and carrying his son, she felt he deserved a last chance to talk with her.

She wasn’t due back until two days later on her next shift and although some of her friends tried to call her the next day, they weren’t too alarmed when they couldn’t reach her. Anything could have happened and ex-wives having a last fling with ex-husbands wasn’t the most unusual thing in the world.
They became alarmed when she didn’t show up for her shift and checked her apartment. They couldn’t find her and security officer in Jacksonville contacted Ocala security officer.
They found Sutton playing golf on a local range and were told he hadn’t been out of Ocala in a week. His mother backed his alibi. A few neighbors reported seeing his car when they went to sleep that night and still in front of his house when they woke up a 6 a.m. the next morning.
Two weeks after the night she disappeared, a body was found in the dunes off Regency in Jacksonville heading toward the Beaches. It had been beaten so badly and the animals had already done enough damage that it was only by dental records and then one finger remaining on the body that gave a good print that Sheila and her unborn child had been identified.
It was hard to tell exactly what had been used, but forensics told us that somebody had used a hard object, like a tire iron for example, to beat her head in, to smash her ribs and arms and legs and it looked like all of her teeth out, probably before she died. There wasn’t much of the fetus left, but it looked as if her attacker had taken the tire iron to it too.
We had brought Sutton in for questioning a dozen times. We’d interviewed his neighbors, Sheila’s friends and co-workers, Sutton’s mother and assorted girlfriends.