Does she? Does she really?


This is a story about the consequences of cheating. There are allusions to sex, but no actual descriptive sex scenes. If you're looking for that I suggest you look elsewhere. If you're looking for an entertaining story with revenge and justice, please continue.

I’d made a small fortune as a mechanical engineer for a major corporation that worked almost exclusively with the Department of Defense. I’d started at the bottom—welder’s apprentice--then was invited to get my degree in engineering once management had recognized my skills. I had to pay for my courses, but they reimbursed me for all expenses if I earned a “B” or better. Talk about having an incentive! I graduated Cum Laude, making Dean’s List every semester.

I had a lot of “on the job” training, first as a welder and later as a machinist before earning relatively big money as an engineer. Over the years I moved up the ladder, retiring last year as Executive Vice President for Project Development. Unfortunately, the firm was acquired by a competitor and many of the upper echelon positions were eliminated. I wasn’t complaining. They gave me an excellent package to just fade away into the sunset. My wife Ruth and I would never worry about money again.

One of the things about retirement is that you have a lot of time on your hands and, in my case, I also had my cock in my hands much more than I’d had in the past forty years—more about the reason later. Inevitably, I was sure to get caught. It was a Wednesday in early May and I was seated on the lawn swing I’d purchased from WalMart, gazing at the pond on the other side of the thirteenth hole. My hand was up the leg of my shorts stroking my hardening cock. I should have been paying attention, but I wasn’t until Ruth was almost beside me.

“Martin! I can’t believe you’re out here playing with yourself. What is wrong with you?” Okay, I was embarrassed, but I obviously had needs so I remained calm as I answered my wife.

“Yes, dear…I am playing with myself. I’m taking Cialis for my BPH, you know the problem I’ve been having with my prostate. Last week my urologist told me I had the testosterone level of a twenty year old thanks to the hormone replacement therapy I also have to take. Between the two my dick is often hard and my hormones are raging. We are only making love twice a week at most. I’m not blaming you. Twice a week is probably much more than average for people like us in our mid-fifties, but I have all this time on my hands.”

“That’s not all you have.” The remark could have been biting, but she said it with a smile. I shrugged my shoulders then she continued. “If you must you might as well do it in front of me rather than sneaking around like this. Who knows…maybe I’ll even help you.” She leaned over for a quick kiss then helped me up. “I’m going onto the computer for a little research. I’m sure that this problem must be more common than we think. Someone must have a solution. Go into the den and keep it up. I’ll be out in an hour or so to help you.”

“Thank you, Ruth. I can’t believe you’re so understanding about this.”

“You have a problem, Darling. A wife is supposed to help her husband. That’s the way it’s supposed to work.” She kissed me again and walked into our home office where we had our desktop computer, printer, modem, and router for our home network. We also had a laptop that I often used and two tablets. I sat back in the comfortable leather sofa and opened my shorts. I had my cock out and hard in just seconds.

She returned about thirty minutes later with a smile on her face. “Since you’re doing it openly now, I’d like if you would keep track of the date and times in this notebook. Then I’ll know for sure that you’re being completely open and honest about it with me.” She handed me a small spiral notebook. I was dubious about the whole idea, but agreed once she began to fondle my balls. “Go ahead, Martin—I want to see you spurt.” I rubbed one out quickly, almost covering my abdomen in semen by the time I was done. I dutifully entered the data into the book, something I’d come to regret in the future.

Yes—I had a problem, but it really wasn’t what Ruth thought it was. I had always enjoyed golf and had often closed a big deal on the course. It made sense that we join a country club once we had moved from New York to our new home in western Virginia. I was surprised and pleased when Ruth had told me that she wanted to take lessons.

I was still a new member and almost totally unknown when I had played about two weeks ago. I was the only member of our foursome to stay and shower so I was alone when I sat at the bar for a beer. A group of four guys was seated right behind me—not more than three feet away--at a table and they’d obviously had a few—maybe a few too many. They were loud even though the topic of their conversation would have been best the subject of whispers. I couldn’t help but overhear every word.

“Yeah, I was talking with Gary Orton yesterday. He’s got a new fish on the hook.”

“Doesn’t he always?”

“Yeah, but this one’s a member and she’s at least twenty years older than he is.”

“Let me guess—golf lessons.”

They all laughed as he continued. “Well…I’m sure they spend some time on golf. She does have to show her husband SOME improvement—on the course if not in the bedroom.” I heard their raucous laughter behind my back as I ordered another draft Budweiser from the bartender.

“Anyway, I understand that she’s a fox even though she’s in her fifties. I forget her name. I think it’s something from the bible although her behavior with Gary is anything but religious. Damn, I wish I could remember it.”

“Mary? Sarah?

“No, not either of them, but something old testament…I’m pretty sure.”

“How about Ruth? Wasn’t she in the Old Testament?”

“You know…I think that was it. Ruth…yes, I’m sure of it. I want to keep my eyes open for her. I’m usually more than happy to take Gary’s cast-offs. He has excellent taste and he does a really good job of training his bitches.” I left my half-finished beer on the bar along with a twenty and staggered away.

How many women these days were named Ruth? To find out I walked into the club’s business office and asked to see a copy of the membership list. “You can use the computer on that desk if you wish, Mr. Gates. There’s a database if you want to do some kind of sort.”

Talk about service: I had my answer in less than a minute. There were three Ruth’s in the club—Ruth Mason, age 78; Ruth Gordon, age 27, and Ruth Gates, age 54. That fucking golf pro was teeing off with my wife! Worse, she had allowed herself to be seduced by a real pussy hound.

I didn’t rise in business by acting without thinking so I drove to our nearby lake where I sat on a boulder for almost an hour. First, I needed to be tested. If this guy was fucking as many women as he claimed there was a real risk of contracting some STD.

Second, either way I needed to avoid sexual contact with my wife until I was able to sort out the facts of the situation. I wasn’t going to cheat so that left masturbation as my only outlet.

Third, I needed to prove whether the allegations were true or false. If true I’d go one way—after my slut wife—if false I go after the big-mouthed SOB who’d started this rumor. Actually, I’d go after him either way.

So, I embarked on my masturbation crusade. I jerked off almost every morning, but especially on those mornings when Ruth had one of her “golf lessons.” I’d never paid much attention in the past, but now I noticed how sexily she would dress on those days. I’d read a long time ago that a woman who wears matching bra and panties was one who was looking for, even expecting, sex. Ruth wore matching and sexy lingerie to every lesson.

I’d gone to a state-run clinic about thirty miles away the first week after learning of my wife’s deceit. Ten days later I had the first step in the proof I would need. Ruth had given me gonorrhea, no doubt a gift from her wonderful and generous lover.

I had all of the knowledge I needed, but none of the conclusive proof. I asked my attorney if he could recommend a private detective. He could and I met with Joseph Mullin when Ruth had her next “golf lesson.” I was sure that they were fucking somewhere in the club, but I had no idea where or what I could do about it. “It’s not all that difficult a problem,” Mr. Mullin explained. “I think we should wire your home for video and audio. I have a release here that gives your permission. I assume your name is on the deed.”

“Yes, it is. I actually own the house. Ruth owns a condo in Fort Lauderdale…our winter residence—well, it was until this.”

“You need to be your usual self for a couple of weeks. Leave the detective work to me. I belong to the same country club and I’ve been a member for years so I have some ideas where they’re doing it. I’m sure you know that Virginia is a ‘no-fault’ divorce state, but I’ll bet you don’t know that adultery can be a major factor in the split of assets. Are you still having relations with her?”

“Hell, no—she gave me gonorrhea.”

“Well, stay away from her. If you have relations with her it will invalidate your allegations of adultery. Now, I should tell you that I’m on the country club board. I tried to have Orton fired the last two times he was fucking one of the members, but the assholes on the board voted to keep him. I have an idea how we can video them on the club grounds.

“If I had to guess I’d say he was doing it in the pro shop store room. It has doors from the pro shop and from the hallway and nobody ever goes in there. Let me try this out right now.” He picked up his phone and dialed. A few seconds later he spoke again. “George…Joe Mullin here; I just became aware of a problem at the club. I saw several people walk out of the pro shop store room. Yeah, that’s right…we must have close to $75,000 in clubs, balls, shoes, and clothing in there. We need to take some precautions. I’m thinking we might install some surveillance cameras. I know a guy from my business. He could do it for a few hundred. If you agree I’ll call the others and get an informal vote. Okay, thanks George.

“Pretty simple wasn’t it? We’ll get it done before the end of the week…your house, too.” I gave him a retainer for $5,000 and returned home.

I played golf again the following morning with the same result. I was showered and alone at the bar listening to the same four assholes talk about my wife. Their conversation was a bit different this time. I recorded it on my digital recorder, the one I had used on the job for several years.

“Have I got some news for you; I had a chat with Orton over the weekend and he sort of arranged for me to join him and this Ruth cunt.”

“What do you mean…sort of arranged?”

“He told me he does it in the storeroom…you know the one at the pro shop? Well, last time they replaced the massage tables he put an old one in the storeroom. He just covers it with one of the sheets and it’s perfect. He had her on it yesterday morning and, after fucking her silly, she was so out of it that I just walked in, dropped my pants, and rammed it into her. She was a bit shocked at first, but she warmed up real fast. I tell you guys…she’s as tight as a teenager and what a body. No wonder Orton was attracted to her.

“He’s gonna do her again Saturday morning and again on Monday at ten. I’m going both days and he suggested one or more of you join us. We can make her airtight, if you get my meaning.” Two of his pals turned him down, citing work and problems with their wives, but the last said he could get away from work and he didn’t give a shit if his wife caught him. I turned back to the bar to finish my beer, shutting off the recorder and returning it to my pocket.

I finished the beer and drove to my lawyer’s office, bringing Sean up to date on what the private detective had told me. I shared the conversation on the recorder. “That’s good, but not good enough. It will be good once we get a video of them in action, but right now it’s just a bunch of guys shooting their mouths off. I suggest you share this with Joe. Maybe he’ll recognize the voices.”

Ten minutes later I was in Joe’s office. He found the tape interesting. “That’s definitely Steve Wilson and I’ll bet that’s Mark Downey. They’re both well known as pussy hounds—almost as bad as Orton except they’re members, not an employee. I can get the other two names from the pro shop…members of the foursome will be in their records. Once we have a video of them we can sue for alienation of affection and we can sue the club, too.”

“Will that work? I’ve read that alienation of affection suits don’t work any more.”

“It’s true that you won’t get any money, but it can and will cause a world of shit for them. There will be plenty of embarrassment, notoriety, divorce, even being thrown out of the club. I’m sure that Orton will be fired this time, especially if you sue the club. You should be able to get a bundle from them. Sean will know exactly what to do. I’ll be happy to get even with those assholes—the ones who refused to fire Orton the last time.

“Of course, they’ll kick you out of the club, too.”

“I don’t care, but I do want to get my membership fee back.”

“They will have to return yours, but I doubt the others will have theirs refunded. The club is more than a hundred years old. The charter has a morality clause in it.” We finished our business and I returned to Sean Smith’s office where I told him to prepare the papers—divorce for Ruth, alienation of affection for the three participants, and a really big multi-million dollar lawsuit to be served on the club president. Now all I needed was the video.

Joe’s guy was able to get the job done in a single day, doing my house while Ruth was shopping and gaining entrance to the clubhouse after hours thanks to Joe’s master key. The video would be sent to a nearby relay and from there to a section of Joe’s website established specifically for this purpose. He gave me the website URL and a user name and password on the back of his business card. Sean made arrangements for a Sheriff’s Deputy to be available at ten Monday morning in addition to an official of the County Health Department because of the STD. Now all I had to do was stay away from my bitch wife.

That night—Thursday-- I had a relatively good dinner as I pretended to be my usual loving self. Once the dishes were cleared I retired to the family room to watch some baseball. “Honey…I’m going to have a brandy. Shall I get one for you, too?” Brandy sounded good and I would normally agree so I said I would. Ruth brought it to me and sat on the other end of the couch. We touched glasses as we had always done and I took my first sip.

I was almost finished when I realized something was drastically wrong. “I’m awfully tired, Ruth. I’m feeling kind of woozy. I don’t understand.”

“Let me help you to the bedroom, dear.” She helped me up and slipped my arm over her shoulder as I struggled to reach the bedroom. She sat me on the bed and proceeded to strip me naked. “Lie down, Martin; no…a bit more in the center.”

I lay there almost entirely out of it as she began to fasten some kind of leather cuff onto my wrist. ‘Wha…do’in?”

“I don’t want you to hurt you with the ropes so I’m using these cuffs. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” I could barely see as she tied my wrist off to the headboard. Soon my other arm followed then she stretched my body and secured my legs. That was when I passed out.

I was in the same position when I woke up Friday morning. I had a horrific headache and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. I knew then that Ruth had drugged me. I was livid. I saw her sitting on the side of the bed, a smirk on her lips. I was about to speak, but she placed her hand over my mouth to silence me. “I’ve been checking your book for some time, Martin. You spent forty-two hours playing with your cock over the past month. You really can’t control it, can you? That’s why I’ve decided to do it for you. Notice anything different this morning, dear?” She pointed to my groin and that’s when I first saw the monstrosity. My cock was encased in a stainless steel cock cage and there was a rectangular piece attached underneath that stretched my captured balls tightly.

“This is from Steelwerks, a company that makes custom chastity devices. You’d need a special wrench in the shape of the letter ‘S’ to open these bolts. I’ll tell you straight up that I don’t have it. It’s not in the house. I’ve given it to a friend to hold for the next forty-two days. All of that fondling yourself and masturbation were just disgusting. A little chastity will do you a world of good, besides you can spend the next six weeks addressing my needs.”

“How exactly am I going to do that, Ruth, if my cock is locked up?”

“You can use your tongue. You’ve eaten my pussy before. You’ll just do it much more often now.”

I tried to hide my rage and revulsion. Ruth wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. I was pretty sure I could trick her. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not strong enough to do it on my own.” She was obviously convinced as she moved to straddle my head. “Why don’t you untie my hand so I can massage your breasts? You know you love that.” Dumb bitch! She had my right hand untied in just a few seconds. I moved it up to her breast as she moved forward, but there was no way I was going to put my mouth on that diseased cunt. Instead I bit her thigh as I pushed her with such force that she tumbled into a back somersault off the bed, landing on her ass on the floor.

Now I could vent my feelings. “You miserable cunt! You think I’m actually going to eat you after you did this to me?” I practically had my left wrist freed by now. “I swear to God I’ll get you for this. You obviously drugged me and did this while I was knocked out.” I stood over her, surprised that she was so shocked at my reaction. We’d been married for almost thirty years. Hadn’t she learned anything about me in all that time? “I suggest you get your things together. I have to run some errands, thanks to you, and I strongly suggest you be gone by the time I’m back.”

“Where will I go,” she whined.

“Why don’t you stay with your FRIEND," I asked, sarcasm dripping from my mouth. I stomped to my closet while Ruth shrunk from me in fear. That was probably the smartest thing she’d done in some time.

I dressed quickly, took my wallet and keys and walked out the door. I was driving down the block when I phoned my lawyer, Sean Smith. It was early in the morning so, of course, I got his answering service, but fifteen minutes later he was on the phone. “Go to the hospital and tell them that you were drugged. Ask for a blood test. I’ll meet you there in the ER in half an hour.”

That’s exactly what I did. They took my insurance information and after I’d been there only ten minutes a needle in my vein extracted enough blood for the test. I walked out of the phlebotomy lab to find Sean standing in the lobby with a deputy sheriff. He led me to an empty exam room where I dropped my shorts and boxers. The deputy took several photos of the device then had me write a statement on a sheet of yellow notebook paper. Part of it was a bit embarrassing, but I signed and Sean and the deputy witnessed.

“Martin, this constitutes sexual battery and probably unlawful detention. If the drug test comes back positive there will be other charges, maybe even kidnapping. She and her confederate will be arrested, but I suggest we wait until Monday. Deputy Rogers will be with us then, too. We’ll be able to kill four birds with a single stone. I don’t know, though that we’ll be able to get it off.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be able to get it off given enough time.” I shook Sean’s and the deputy’s hands and almost skipped out the door. Stupid Ruth must have forgotten what I had done for a living when we were first married. I was a machinist then, making all kinds of machine and engine parts. Last year I even made a stainless steel copy of my four-iron when I had accidentally cracked it.


We’d had a two-acre lot when we lived up north and I’d had a large steel outbuilding that held my metal shop. There was more than forty thousand dollars in equipment there—a lathe, kiln, belt sander, and smelting furnace among other things. I had kept the equipment when we moved, but now it was secure in a rental storage unit.

There were several businesses, mostly tradesmen who used these facilities as their headquarters. I had fastened sheets of asbestos onto the walls and ceiling near the kiln and furnace. Asbestos is illegal in the United States, but it can be bought in Canada and Mexico. I had bought mine in Canada and had it shipped into the U.S. along with my new lathe. The sheets of asbestos--carefully placed between two thin sheets of plywood--formed the floor and walls of the crate. Illegal? Absolutely--but essential in setting up my workshop--without it my smelting furnace would no doubt burn the entire structure to the ground. Besides…asbestos is only hazardous when it’s airborne through sanding or drilling or separation caused by water damage.

I must have used the “lost wax” process a couple of hundred times to make parts for machines large and small over the years. Making a new wrench for this device would be a breeze. Once in my workshop I took some heavy 40-weight paper and cut it to size—about three inches high by one and a half wide--taping the ends together to form a small cylinder just wide enough to cover the bolt head. Then I marked all the way around the cylinder about a quarter inch from the bottom. I carefully cut six tabs from the bottom up to the line and bent them outwards. I glued these strips to the cock cage, sealing the spaces between them with additional glue.

I lit the smelting furnace, but kept the temperature low. In minutes a ladle filled with cubes of wax was heated and the wax completely melted. I knew this was going to be awkward and I had no desire to be burned so I took an old rag and wrapped it around the cylinder several times. Finally, I carefully poured the wax in, filling the cylinder completely. It hardened almost immediately. After waiting about five minutes I cut the tape with a razor knife and unwound the paper leaving a cylinder of solid wax with the exact imprint of the bolt’s head.

This cylinder I quickly coated with finely powdered ceramic and dunked it into what is commonly known in the trade as a suspension of ceramic sand. That was as far as I could go today. By tomorrow at this time the ceramic sand would have formed a layer thick enough to dry and bake in the kiln. It would serve well as the mold for the new wrench. I was sure that the wrench that had come from Steelwerks was stainless, just like the cage, but that would be designed to last through many uses. Mine would only have to work once or, as I thought about it, maybe twice.


I was finished by noon so I decided to go out for lunch. I found a nice barbeque place in town where I ordered a platter of pulled pork, hushpuppies, and fries. The waitress brought me a huge cup of un-sweet iced tea and five minutes later my lunch was on the table. I ate leisurely while I contemplated the end of my marriage—almost thirty years down the drain. Ruth—you stupid fucking bitch!

Fortunately, she was gone when I returned at one. I thought at the time that she’d probably go to her lover. I should have phoned Joe to have her followed, but I’d probably have enough information by tomorrow morning when Ruth was scheduled for her next lesson. I thought of things I’d have to do—bank accounts, credit cards, locksmith to change the locks on the doors, change the alarm code and the garage door opener. Damn, there was a lot. The worst and hardest would be telling our two daughters. Both were happily married, or I thought they were, but who really knew. They’d take the news hard, of that I was certain.

A couple of beers helped to take the edge off of my feelings and soon enough I fell asleep. I usually sleep soundly, but this afternoon it was fitful. I awoke with a start to find that the sun had set. I wasn’t terribly hungry; truth was I hadn’t eaten or slept well since I had learned about Ruth’s infidelity. I made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and watched a ballgame until it was time for bed. Then I remembered the AV system that Joe had installed.

I went into the home office and typed in the site’s URL, followed by my user name and password. There in front of me was a screen full of my house’s rooms. Starting with the kitchen I found Wednesday night at 7:15. I could clearly see Ruth adding the drug to my brandy. I trotted into the kitchen and checked the cabinet. Damn—that woman was an idiot! The bottle was still where she had put it. I was careful not to touch it as I examined it closely.

I changed to the master bedroom and my shitty day went straight downhill. I sat fuming as I watched that asshole Gary Orton fuck my wife on my bed. That would be one more thing to do—get a new mattress. As I checked the other rooms I learned that Orton had actually been in the guest room during dinner and had helped Ruth apply the cock cage once I was unconscious. I thought that the Sheriff might find that interesting. I slept in the guest room, but not well. All the same, I was up early Saturday morning. I had an appointment to meet with Joe Mullin in the country club parking lot at 9:45. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.


Joe was in his car off to the side of the main building when I joined him. He had a tablet in his lap and was looking at a view of the storeroom. The picture was as clear as day. “What will happen if they find the camera?”

“I’m sure they will. The cover story is that the board wanted to install some carbon monoxide detectors throughout the building. There are eight others—real detectors—but this one obviously isn’t. I went over all of this with the other board members. They thought it was a great idea. I wonder how great they’ll think it is once you sue them.”

“Sean has everything prepared. All we need is the video. How does this save the file?”

“All I have to do is press this ‘button’ on the touch screen. I’ll do that as soon as I see someone in the room. Okay, here they are. That’s Orton in the blue shirt and the other one is Steve Wilson. You know, you don’t really have to watch. I don’t know how you’ll be able to face her once you do.”

“That’s okay: I’ve already seen them in action and I won’t have to see her. She drugged me Thursday night, tied me to the bed then she and Orton put me into a stainless steel cock cage.”

“How are you going to get out of it? Does she have the key?”

“Actually, it’s a wrench. She told me she gave it to a ‘friend’ so I have to assume that Orton has it. I’m working on it as we sit here. I’ll probably have it done by tomorrow afternoon.”

On screen they had begun to undress. Joe pointed to Orton’s neck. “Is that it?”

“Looks like it. Yeah, I’m pretty sure. It looks a lot like the one I’m making, so yeah that’s it.”

We watched in silence as Orton lay on the table. Soon Ruth sat onto his cock. I was secretly pleased to see that neither of these men was as large as me. We saw Wilson rub some lube on Ruth’s asshole and a minute or so later he was fucking her ass.

“We’re going to need a few more deputies come Monday, Martin. That’s sodomy. It’s a law that’s rarely enforced any longer, but I think it’s still on the books. I can hardly wait to see these assholes led away through the clubhouse in handcuffs. I’ll be sure to get video of that, too.”

I watched until I saw the third guy enter—Downey, I thought. He wasted no time in shoving his cock down Ruth’s throat. I’d seen enough. Joe assured me that he’d have everything covered for Monday morning when I prayed this nightmare would be over.

The rest of the weekend was a mess, but one thing I didn’t do was cry. This was something that Ruth had done without giving me even a second’s thought or consideration. The whole thing was on her. Why should I waste tears on someone who had deliberately thrown our marriage away. I could understand and even accept a one-time “mistake,” but this was unforgiveable.

After leaving Joe I drove to my workshop in the storage center. Sure enough, the ceramic sand was thick enough to serve as a mold. I set if onto a shelf in the kiln, turning the temperature to 200 degrees. This wouldn’t bake the ceramic, but it would assure that the shell was completely dry. I turned it off an hour later, opening the kiln only when the internal temperature matched that in the storage area.

Using a drill press I carefully drilled a three-sixteenths hole through the ceramic about one half inch from the top then filled in the outside part of each hole with ceramic sand. This hole would form a handle for the wrench once I had poured the iron into it.

I spoke to Sean briefly on Sunday morning to tell him about the sodomy. “We can’t have them arrested for that. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in 2003 that those laws were unconstitutional. What we can do is get them for disturbing the peace, public lewdness, and indecent exposure. There’s no expectation of privacy in a public storeroom.” He laughed when I told him about the video from my house. “That’s too good to be true. They are really idiots. Don’t change the sheets on the bed. They will have Orton’s and Ruth’s DNA on them. The case against them will be airtight. Oh…sorry!”

“Don’t be. I’ll be glad to give Ruth the screwing she’s been giving me. I think she’ll be in for a few surprises.”

“Yeah…big ones.”

Joe had taken the video to the sheriff on Saturday afternoon. He agreed to send four deputies and one woman to handle the service of the papers and the arrests on Monday morning. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

I skipped church on Sunday morning to bake the mold in my kiln. I placed the ceramic mold upside down on a wire mesh screen with a cast iron crucible directly underneath. The wax melted into the crucible, evacuating the mold--thus, the “lost wax.” I read a good book while the kiln automatically heated up and then slowly cooled back down. Even then I waited for another hour before opening the door. The mold was perfect.

I had started the smelting furnace once the kiln had shut down. This storage area had limited ventilation and it could handle only so much heat. Even leaving the garage-style door open the room temperature was well over one hundred degrees.

The mold was carefully placed into a spring clamp that would hold it in place when I poured the molten iron into it. Using heavy insulated gloves I removed the ladle holding the molten iron. I rested it on the mold for a few minutes to warm it. I’d learned decades ago never to pour hot metal into a cold mold. Doing so could cause the metal to splatter back out of the mold, probably onto my face or body.

After two minutes I lifted the ladle and carefully poured. The mold wasn’t all that big so I was done in less than a minute. I placed the cast iron implement onto a stand to cool. I would remove the iron easily then.

I knew from experience that the iron would be cool enough to remove it from the mold in about fifteen minutes, but I waited thirty to be sure. Then I turned the mold on its side and shattered it with a hammer. Dropping my shorts and boxers I pushed the wrench into the bolt and turned. Once that was done I used it on the second bolt on the rectangle that had held my balls captive.

I had my freedom, but not for long. I had already decided to replace it before Monday’s raid. Thus, the sexual battery charges against Ruth and Orton would stick. I was pretty sure that he would have the wrench on the chain around his neck tomorrow. I was also pretty sure that was how he was demonstrating to Ruth his superiority over me.


That afternoon I debated making the two most difficult phone calls I’d ever have to make—calls to our daughters to tell them of their mother’s betrayal of our vows. After some thought I decided to wait until Monday afternoon after the arrests and after she had been served.

I slept better that night, but not well. However, I was up early Monday morning—early enough to go out for breakfast. I wound up at Denny’s, a restaurant I only go to for breakfast. I finished in plenty of time and left a big tip. I was feeling great. Everything would come to an end this morning.

I met with Joe and Sean, the sheriff’s deputies, and a professional process server in the club’s maintenance lot where we wouldn’t be noticed. Joe had the tablet on and we could see the storeroom. We moved once we had seen the three naked men and my naked wife. The looks on the members as we pulled up in front of the entrance and walked briskly through the lobby were incredible. Two deputies went into the pro shop to block that door. Joe led the rest of us to the hallway. We were all surprised when the door opened as soon as he tried to turn the knob. The deputies nodded to each other knowingly. They led the way with Sean, Joe, the process server, and me trailing behind. Joe had his video camera running when we strolled in. They were into the sex so intently that they didn’t notice until we were all about ten feet away. Then Ruth screamed and the three men scrambled up and away. Of course, they didn’t get far. They were naked and handcuffed when the process server stepped forward and asked, “Mrs. Ruth Gates?”


“You are served.” He tucked the large manila envelope under her arm.

“Mr. Gary Orton? Mr. Steven Wilson? Mr. Mark Downey? You are served.” Blankets were secured around their bodies with safety pins and they were led out of the building to the amazement of the members present. With the permission of the deputies I removed the wrench from Orton’s neck. I removed the cock cage in their presence and they took it with them as evidence. Once they had gone Joe, Sean, the process server and I walked into the club’s business office.

Bob Harris, the club president was seated at his desk when we walked in. “Hi, Joe…what’s up?”

Joe remained silent, but a minute later he had admitted his identity and received the lawsuit. “What is this, Joe?”

“Mr. Gates is suing the club for damages. Gary Orton, Steve Wilson, and Mark Downey were just arrested along with Mrs. Gates. She and Orton will be charged with several felonies in regard to their treatment of Mr. Gates. Orton seduced Mrs. Gates and they’ve been having sexual relations in the storeroom along with Wilson and Downey—a foursome, if you will. I warned the board about Orton, but you wouldn’t listen. Failure to take action is willful negligence. Now the club is going to pay.” I’d heard enough. I turned to leave and Joe and Sean joined me. I couldn’t help myself; I laughed like crazy. This entire situation was just absurd.

Sean had made arrangements for the Sheriff’s investigative team to pick up the drug bottle from my kitchen cabinet and the sheets from my bed. I had also given them the videos from Thursday night and Friday morning. They vacuumed my master bedroom floor and took fingerprints from the tables and furniture. They also found several soiled tissues with semen on them in the bathroom.

I saw that the time was 5:30 so I reluctantly picked up my cell phone to call my daughter Marlene--Marley. She had trouble believing what I told her. She cried when I told her about the divorce and wailed when I told her that her mother had been arrested and why. “Do you have to do that, Daddy?”

“Unfortunately, I do. Not only did she have a humiliating affair with the head golf pro, but she gave me gonorrhea. To make matters worse she drugged me, tied me to our bed, and locked a male chastity device on me. My attorney tells me that she could be charged with kidnapping as well as sexual battery, unlawful detention and whatever else the district attorney decides to throw at her. She’s in the county jail I would imagine and I plan to leave her there.” There was more crying, but by the end she told me that she loved me and that she hated what her mother had done. Once I had ended the call I had to do it all over again with Abby who was two years younger than her sister. Nice going, Ruth—you just tore our family’s hearts apart. We’d never be the same again.


I slept better that evening, but I was still in the guest room. First thing next morning found me at a local mattress store. They promised me delivery tomorrow morning and removal of the old mattress and box spring. My next stop was a locksmith who agreed to install new locks tomorrow morning, too. I cancelled Ruth’s credit cards and ended her cell phone contract even though I had to pay a penalty.

My new mattress and the new locks were delivered and installed as promised. I doubted that Ruth would have access to our house anytime soon, but who knew where her purse and keys had been over the past weeks? Better to be safe than sorry.

I phoned the county jail after lunch about visiting hours. At four o’clock on the dot I entered the visitors’ room and signed in. Then I waited until I was called. After putting everything but my ID into a locker I passed through a metal detector into the room. I sat on one side of a long counter. The inmates sat on the other. About ten minutes later Ruth entered wearing one of those ugly orange jump suits.

She sat opposite me, but her first words were anything but contrite. “How could you? How could you humiliate me like that?”

“Ruth, you have to be delusional. I sat in the bar two consecutive weeks listening to those assholes talk loudly about Orton fucking you and how they were going to join in. If that wasn’t enough you gave me some fucking STD. Why did you think I was doing all that jerking off? There was no way I was sticking my cock into that diseased cunt of yours. I’ve been taking a combination of drugs for more than two weeks and I’m still not cured. Then you had to drug me, tie me up and put that monstrosity on me. My attorney says you’re in a shitload of trouble.”

“Well, you can still bail me out. They told me I’ll be arraigned Thursday morning.”

“I’ll go to the arraignment, but hell will freeze over before I provide bail. Oh, by the way, your daughters are really pissed at you.”

“You just don’t give up, do you? Why don’t you just ruin my life?”

“I can’t believe this. You’re the one fucking someone outside your marriage. You’re the one who has publicly humiliated me. You’re the one who has given me, Wilson and his wife and Downey and his wife, and God only knows how many others gonorrhea, and you have the nerve to blame me. I’m going to ask to have you see a psychiatrist. I think you’re mentally ill.”

“Well, for your information Gary is in love with me.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he pimped you out to his buddies. If that isn’t true love I don’t know what is. For your information, you are the third married woman he’s had an affair with just this year and you’re twenty years older than he is.”

“That doesn’t matter. None of that matters. I happen to know that Virginia is a no-fault state. I’ll get half of our assets regardless of what you say or do.”

I chuckled quietly. I could see that Ruth had lost her bravado. “That’s what I thought, too, but this state has some interesting thoughts about adultery. I have video of you and your pals both Saturday and Monday at the club and I have video of you and Orton twice at our house plus I have you on video drugging my brandy and the two of you locking that horrible thing onto my body. According to Sean, my lawyer, you’ll be lucky to see thirty percent. He also says I can sue you for drugging me and the rest of that shit you did to me. I think you’ll be lucky to get anything. But, don’t worry; you’re getting free room and board for a few years, at least.

“I won’t be back, Ruth. After this conversation there’s no reason for me to ever see you again.” I rose and walked away, turning my back on someone who had meant everything to me for almost thirty years.


I did go to the court to observe the arraignment. Ruth’s lawyer was a public defender. I could tell that he was sincere and that he tried, but the evidence was overwhelming. It was all I could do to keep up with the list of charges against Ruth, but I did hear “kidnapping,” “sexual battery,” and something about using an illegal drug to knock me out.

The “kid,” as I dubbed her attorney, stood to object, claiming there was no supporting evidence for any of those charges.

“Your honor, we have both video and audio of the Gates’ home in which Mrs. Gates is observed drugging Mr. Gates’ drink. We have the same evidence showing her tying him to the bed and of her and her lover fastening Mr. Gates sexual organs in what is commonly known as a stainless steel ‘cock cage.’ She and her accomplice can be clearly heard discussing their planning and implementation of these heinous crimes.”

“Your honor, we contend that these videos were obtained illegally and should not be permitted into evidence.”

I swear—I heard the Assistant District Attorney laugh. “Your honor, I have here a certified copy of the deed for the property. It shows that Mr. Gates is the sole owner.” He took a few steps forward to hand it to the clerk. “Also, I have the original consent form given by Mr. Gates to Mr. Joseph Mullin, a private detective whose office is located in this county.” Again, he handed the document to the clerk.

The judge examined the documents for less than a minute before allowing the charges to stand. “I set bail at $100,000; next case.” Ruth was forlorn as she was led out of the courtroom. She looked back at me briefly then hung her head and passed through the portal on her way back to the county jail. The ADA asked if I wanted to see her. I just hung my head and shook it to indicate “no” then I walked quietly out of the room.

Sean proceeded with the divorce even though Ruth had not signed the papers. I learned then that the notarized statement of service was enough since she was incarcerated. I sat quietly through three sessions with the judge and an attorney from some women’s rights group. She was powerless once the judge had seen and heard the videos and my audio. I was required to testify about how my life had changed as a result of Ruth’s adulterous behavior, but her attorney was unable to shake my testimony. I had simply stated that I had given Joe Mullin permission to bug my home and Joe testified that he had permission to bug the country club storeroom.

I could see that the judge was pissed. I learned later from Sean that we couldn’t possibly have drawn a more sympathetic judge. He was an evangelical Christian who had been married for more than forty years and had run for the bench citing the sanctity of marriage. In the end he awarded Ruth ten percent of our community property. She had her condo in Florida of course, and her car. Other than them she received less than $500,000. I could have sued, but I told Sean that was enough. There was a time when I loved Ruth more than life itself.

She was able to get a plea bargain and a sentence reduced to three years when she willingly testified that Gary Orton had bought the drug for her and had originated the plan to emasculate her husband.

Orton was fired, of course, and he received a sentence of five years. Unlike Ruth, he was not a first-time offender. Wilson and Downey received suspended sentences, but they could not escape the consequences of the alienation of affection suits. Both were divorced and taken to the cleaners when their adulterous activities were revealed in court. I was more than please to provide both wives the videos of the storeroom and even testified about the authenticity of the audio recording I had made in the bar.

Surprisingly, I was not forced to resign from the country club. Board meetings had always been conducted openly, but nobody had ever attended. However, the membership railed upon learning that Gary Orton had been let off with no disciplinary action on two prior occasions. More than fifty members crowded the room at the next meeting. The four board members who had supported Orton were “requested” to resign. Joe Mullin was asked to take over as President and I, of all people, was elected to the board along with three others including two women—a first in club history.

I decided that the house was too big for just me so I put it on the market. I wound up taking a small loss, but that was okay. I didn’t need money. The club settled out of court for 4.5 million dollars, much less than the twenty asked for in my suit. Sean told me that we would have done better had we gone to court because of the board’s negligence in handling Orton. All the same, Sean earned 35% for doing almost nothing—not too shabby.

I learned through my daughters that Ruth was due to be released just over a year later. She was upstate in the middle of nowhere. They begged me to meet her when she was released and bring her back to our home town. I agreed, but only after some real arm twisting. My daughters can be really persuasive when they work at it and they worked me daily for several weeks. Even though we’d share a car and a long ride I made myself abundantly clear about getting back with my ex.

So it was that I was waiting, leaning against my new car—a brand spanking new BMW convertible—when Ruth straggled through the prison door at just after ten in the morning. She looked lost as she shuffled forward, a small tote bag in her hand. I stepped forward to take the bag in one hand and her elbow in the other. “I’m only the chauffeur, Ruth. I’ve arranged for a small apartment for you using your money from our settlement. It’s furnished so you’ll have a decent place to live while you look for a job.” She looked up in surprise. Ruth had never worked even a single day even though she was a college graduate. Unfortunately, she had a BS in psychology, a field where at least a Masters is required for any kind of employment.

We rode in virtual silence for more than eight hours although we did stop for lunch and dinner before I dropped her at the apartment. I carried her bag through the door and showed her around. She had food in the refrigerator and everything she would need for a new start. “Marley and Abby will stop by tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you’ll want to see your grandchildren. They’re really beautiful.”

I gave her the key and had started for the door when I heard her speak for the first time. “I’m sorry, Martin. I was a fool. I know there’s nothing I can do now to erase the hurt you experienced, but I want you to know how sorry I really am.”

“I’m glad you finally saw the light, Ruth. We’re not getting back together, but I’m sure we’ll see each other at family affairs. It will be nice to know that we can be civil to each other. Truth be told, I’ve moved on. It took me a while, but I think I’ve found someone I could really love. We get along extremely well and I doubt she’ll ever cheat. You see, Steve Wilson was her husband. Why he ever cheated on her is a real mystery. She’s young--barely forty--and absolutely beautiful with a long slender body. Actually, she reminds me a lot of you in that regard. Bye, Ruth…best of luck.”

I realized as I walked down to my car that I hadn’t told the entire truth. Brenda was tall and slender, but I hadn’t mentioned her sensational breasts or her firm round ass. Nor did I mention how great we were in bed. None of that was any of Ruth’s business.

I returned to my condo where I was welcomed home by Brenda. Damn, but she felt great in my arms. “Long day?”

“You don't want to know. We never said even a single word to each other until I was ready to leave her apartment when she actually apologized to me. I wished her well, but made it completely clear that I’d found someone else—someone young and beautiful…and sexy.”

“Oh…anyone I know?”

I laughed and Brenda joined me. “While you’re in a good mood…think you could handle me on a 24/7 basis?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a sly smile. “Exactly what did you have in mind?”

I pulled out the ring I’d bought just a few weeks ago. “I hope you’re not going to make an old man kneel.”

“No,” she said, holding out her left hand. I placed the ring on her finger as she continued, “You need to save your energy. You’re going to need it.” She moved in to kiss me. It lasted for several minutes and spoke volumes about our relationship. Then she led me down the hall toward our bedroom where she reminded me for at least the hundredth time what a fucking idiot Steve Wilson had been.

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