Delilah

The battery in my tablet died and I couldn't find the charger. I was in the middle of a story on Literotica and had to see what happened to the main character after he started fighting back against his cheating wife and her lover. I walked upstairs and yelled, "Hey, Sheila, can I use your laptop for a few minutes?"

She yelled from the bedroom upstairs, "Yeah. Just don't close any of my windows."

I grabbed her laptop off the desk and went back to my mancave.

She always had too many windows open, and it annoyed me. I made the mistake of closing them once and I was told in no uncertain terms that I lost her progress on some online course she was taking.

I typed in her pin number and opened a dozenth browser window. I typed in 'lit' and was surprised when it auto filled to Literotica. I was further amazed when it was already signed into her works page. I had no idea my wife knew what it was, nor that she was a writer on my favorite stories site. I looked at her list of stories and almost threw up my lunch. Her username was DelilahQoS, and her stories were all Loving Wives stories.

I opened a few and they were hot wife/cuckold stories. I couldn't reconcile what I was reading with my wife's boring high school English teacher life. "What the fuck?" I whispered as I read a story where the main character Delilah was cheating on her husband with a player from the local college basketball team she was tutoring. My wife tutored for the college in real life.

The description of the fictional Delilah matched my wife in exact detail all the way down to the tattoo she had on her mons of a black spade with a D in the middle of it. She told me that the 'D' was for Danny; I'm Danny. She got the tattoo just six months before. I wasn't a fan of it and asked why not a heart? She said she chose a spade because she liked the look of it better.

After reading about it in the story, it didn't sit right with me, and I googled for the significance of a spade tattoo and almost threw up in my mouth. One of the hits was for 'queen of spades.' Which was a married woman who preferred to fuck black men. Then it hit me. DelilahQoS. Delilah Queen of Spades. I feared the worst.

I must have skimmed through half of the thirty stories she wrote, and they all had her meeting men through tutoring or at her monthly trip to the dance club two towns over. Her story vividly described how her wimp, limp-dicked husband waited for her to come home from her monthly book club, where he thought she and her friends read steamy romance trash and drank wine. In reality, they went to the club and picked up various men. They would then either have sex in the bathroom, backseat, or as in her five-part "Delilah and the Boys" series, gangbangs in a hotel room. She made it a point to tell how she was always home by eleven so her cuckold husband could eat the cum out of her well-fucked pussy.

I couldn't keep it in my mouth at that point. I had to rush out the patio door to vomit all over my grass.

I thought back to the book club night from the previous week. She came home at eleven as usual and tried to wake me to have sex with her. I was tired and a little drunk from my own evening out with the boys and turned her down. She was pissed, but the next morning was fine.

I couldn't believe my loving wife was a 'Loving Wife.' I set the laptop down and walked upstairs to the bedroom. She was in the shower, so I grabbed her cell phone off the charger and put her passcode in. I knew all her passcodes. We didn't have any secrets. As far as I knew anyway. That was a lie.

I took the phone downstairs and looked at her recent texts. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary, so I looked at her photos. I didn't see anything off there either. I snooped around and found a folder that had pictures in it.

My marriage was over.

There were pictures and videos of her and her friends having orgies with black men. Well mostly black men. Her black friend Vanessa was fucking white guys. I didn't bother to find out if there was an entry in the Urban Dictionary for that.

I couldn't figure out how to send a large folder like that to my phone, so I just uploaded it to my google account. I walked upstairs and found her drying her hair in the bedroom.

She said, "What are you doing with my phone?"

I tossed it to her and said, "Ending our marriage, Delilah."

"Danny, wait!" she shouted as I walked downstairs. "Did you find my stories? They're just stories, Danny. Wait!"

I grabbed my keys, and she caught up to me. She grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "They are just stories. Fantasies. I swear to God, I'm not cheating on you."

I looked at her wrapped in towel then ripped it away from her body. "Nice tattoo. D for Delilah, cute."

She dropped to her knees and started sobbing. I started the car and backed away from my marriage.

We didn't have kids, so the divorce wasn't technically complicated. I waited until it was final before I gave the videos of her screwing the students she tutored to the college. They fired her. I gave the Superintendent of her school district the video of her screwing her Principal. I'm not sure if they fired her or asked her to quit, but she no longer had a job there.

The boyfriends and husbands of her friends were thankful when I sent them the videos featuring their significant others. I was actually surprised when one of the husbands thanked me for the videos because she never let him see any of her exploits. I shook my head at that one. To each their own, I guess.

I never posted them on the internet or anything. Being rid of her and ruining her friends' marriages was enough for me. The only incident I had was once when I was leaving a bar there were a couple of black guys waiting for me by my car. I didn't even ask them what they wanted. I surprised them by kicking the first one in the nuts as I walked up. While he was on the ground the other tried to punch me. It hurt when it hit my shoulder, but he hurt worse when I used his momentum to push his head into the side of the truck next to my car.

I got out of there before they got up and never let them tell me what they wanted. I wasn't that interested anyway. I was moving on.

Six months later, our divorce was final.

I was shocked at the number of texts, calls, and emails she sent me. She fought all the way until it was final. I thought I'd have to go through counseling, or she would file motion after motion to delay, but reality isn't like the stories I read.

Delays cost money she didn't have, and our state didn't have any requirements to be separated or to show there was an effort to make the marriage work to allow the divorce to proceed. I didn't even have to appear for the final court date.

Getting her fired didn't make me feel better though, all it did was give me something to tell all my friends that wanted me to get revenge on her. After a while, we stopped talking about it.

***

Two years after I caught her, I was sipping a latte as I normally did on Saturday morning in a little pastry café I enjoyed. My notifications dinged, and I saw I received an email from a sender I didn't recognize. They sent me a link to a story DelilahQoS wrote. It was called, "A Great Man Crushed."

I'd never stopped thinking of her. One could say I was hung up on her and couldn't let her, or the love I had for her, go.

I didn't let my life spiral out of control or anything crazy. I went to work. I didn't drink myself to death or eat like shit. I kept working out. I carried on with my life an all the important ways except one; I didn't date.

I clicked the link to the story, but instead of reading it, I clicked on her works page. She hadn't authored any stories since I caught her, except for the new story. I opened it and took a bite of my croissant.

After reading the first three pages describing how we met, fell in love, and got married, I almost stopped out of boredom. Seriously, who wants to read three pages of set up, even if it was my own life? Hell, that was probably worse on some level.

The story got interesting in our fifth year of marriage. That would have been eighteen months before I found out about her double life.

She described how the first time she cheated happened because of getting drugged by one of the basketball team's players she tutored for the college. After that first time, she was blackmailed to continue with him and his teammates and friends. After a few times she found that she enjoyed the elicit sex, being treated like a slut, and making videos with her lovers.

She got caught up in the fetish world of being a hot wife, and her friends, to her initial shock, supported it and became participants of their own.

She began to watch interracial porn and got turned on by the thought of being a "queen of spades," so she got the tattoo, which fueled her fantasy desires even more. According to the story, she never stopped loving her husband, but the illicit sex was too much of a thrill to stop.

I put my tablet down and wiped a tear from my eye. Reading about how the love of my life spiraled herself out of control hit me square in the feels.

I read on where she described getting caught and the subsequent divorce. The story ended where she was considering ending her life after she drank one final cup of her ex-husband's favorite coffee. She couldn't live without the man she disrespected so much.

I suppose it was a reflex reaction, but I jumped up and looked around the café. I didn't see her anywhere until I went to sit back down. I glanced out the window and saw her sitting on a park bench across the street.

We made eye contact, and she took a drink out of the cup in her hand. I watched the tears fall down her cheeks as she stood and tossed the cup into a garbage can a few feet away.

I was staring at her walking away when a semi-truck drove in front of my view. When it passed, she was gone.

I ran across the street along the direction she was headed, desperately searching for her. I didn't know if she was serious about contemplating suicide and that story was her note, but I wasn't going to take the chance.

I looked all over but didn't see her anywhere. I stopped at the end of the park and looked all around one last time and sat down dejected.

"I wondered what you would do," she said from behind me.

"I almost didn't read it," I said without turning around. She came around the bench and sat knelt in front of me. I looked away.

She begged, "Will you please talk with me? Just for a few minutes. There's so much I have to say, and..."

She started sobbing, still on her knees. The passers by barely showed concern as they walked on.

"Please sit. You're making a scene."

She sat, and I was afraid to look at her. I didn't want to know how I'd react to looking into her eyes. Being so close to her was problematic enough for my state of mind.

"Danny, can we go somewhere and talk?"

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding, and said, "Why now? Why after 2 years?"

"I tried to talk to you the entire time we were divorcing. You ignored me. After the divorce, I figured I'd let you move on. I felt I owed you that."

"But?" I snarled.

"I've been watching you come her every Saturday for over a year. I watch you from that bench where you saw me today, and every week I cry for you. I see how sad you are, and I know I caused that, but there are things I need to tell you. Things you have to know."

"So, this whole thing was just a ploy to get me to talk with you? The story? The suicidal thoughts?"

"No, well, maybe. I wasn't going to do anything today; I've thought about it many times though. I had to get your attention. I'm sorry to have been so dramatic."

I stood and didn't look at her when I said, "I'll think about it."

I walked away, leaving her on the bench.

***

The following Saturday, I walked to the same café at the same time as usual. I had thought about not going, or even going somewhere else, but I was curious to see if she'd be there again.

As I walked, I looked around me. It was only a three-block walk from my apartment to the café, I wondered if she were stalking me or just 'met' me there each week. I didn't see her.

When I approached the café, I looked at the bench across the street and she wasn't there. I was surprised at my feeling of disappointment at that. I wondered how I would've felt if she were there.

When I got in line for my coffee, the clerk nodded her head towards the seats. I looked over and saw Sheila sitting with two coffees at my regular table.

My heart raced as I walked towards her. She looked good. Her hair shorter than she used to wear it but looked good on her. She had applied minimal makeup as usual for her. She always looked good without it.

She wore shorts that showed her legs; she always knew that was my favorite feature of hers. The finishing touch of her efforts was the concert t-shirt. Queen was always one of my favorite bands, and I bought her that shirt when we were dating.

I sat, and she slid one of the coffees my way.

"Latte with a double shot. I hope that's how you still take it?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Did watching me from across the street feel too much like stalking, now that I knew about you?"

She shrugged, "I didn't hear from you. I wondered if you were receptive to our talk?"

"It's your talk, Sheila. I don't really have anything to say to you."

"Fair enough. Will you listen if I tell you some things?"

I thought about it for a moment and said, "You have until I finish my coffee."

"Thank you, Danny. First, I want you to know that I never, not once, came home and made you eat me out after being with someone else. That was something I made up for the stories, the people that read them seemed to like it when the hot wife did that."

"Sure," I said. I didn't believe her, but I suppose she didn't have a reason to lie at that point.

"Second, when you found those stories, I hadn't done anything in a few months. I stopped because I had an epiphany about what I was doing to you. I know it was too little too late, but I did stop."

I sipped my coffee and waited for her to continue. I wasn't sure I believed that either.

"What I said in the story was true. The first time, I was drugged, and it continued because I was blackmailed. To my eternal shame, I did start to enjoy it, and I did get caught up in that lifestyle. I created the Delilah persona to cope with what I was doing to you. If it wasn't me doing it, I wasn't hurting you."

"That's bullshit."

"I know, God! I know. I wish I'd never started writing the stories. That just fueled my desires to continue, but, Danny, not everything in those stories was true. I only had one orgy with my friends. That was when I realized I had to stop. It was going too far."

"The tattoo was going too far, Delilah."

"Please don't call me that. I know I deserve it, but I can't bear to hear it from you."

I shrugged and took a larger gulp of the hot latte.

"You don't know how sorry I am for doing it. I wish to God I told you as soon as that first guy drugged me and made me do it again. I'm so sorry I didn't."

"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry I married you."

It was a shitty thing to say, but I wasn't in the mood for kindness.

She started crying and said, "I had the tattoo removed. I wanted to do it while we were still married, but I couldn't figure out a way to do it without you getting suspicious. I mean..."

"Yeah, you must have got a great laugh out of that every time you looked at it. Stupid Danny, believing it was his initial."

"I never thought you were stupid. I never..."

"No, you just thought of me as the wimp with a limp dick."

"I told you that stuff wasn't how I thought of you. It was part of the fantasy to make the stories hotter."

I laughed, "Prove it."

She hung her head, and whispered, "I wish I could make you believe me. I loved you then and still love you now."

I took the last sip of my coffee and stood.

"That's the thing, Sheila. For all this time, I've been hung up on what I lost. The wife you were for the first few years. That woman is gone, and I can see that now. You can never be that woman again."

"Danny..."

"No, it's true. Physically, you're the same. Well, except for the scar from where the tattoo was. Hell, even if there weren't a scar, I'd always know what was once there. You've changed, Sheila. You aren't the sweet, confident woman you were before. You're a broken shell put back together with glue. All the pieces are in place, but the cracks are still visible."

She looked at me, and for a moment I saw defiance register in her eyes, but in a flash it was gone.

"I've been in therapy, Danny. It's helping me see why I continued to do what I did. I know I can be that woman for you again. Please, let me try? Please, wait for me?"

I shook my head.

"No. I won't wait for you. The best I can do is remember you."

I walked out of the café and didn't look back.