A groan. A weak little man-shaped voice. "Fuck." Richard sat up and put his head in his hands. He was too old to drink like that. These hangovers were worse than death.
But fuck it, he thought. I had fun. Only – not enough. He stumbled into the bathroom, feeling his way into the shower with his hands. The hot water felt incredible, the heat opened his pores.
He stood under the showerhead for several minutes. He blew out his nostrils, soaped up, and gargled and spit out some water.
After toweling off in front of the steamed up mirror, he dug around in the drawers for some aspirin, popped three pills, and stuck his face under the faucet to drink them down.
So he missed out on sex last night. He was feeling better already. Maybe have some breakfast, give the medicine time to curb this fucking headache, and he could probably coax Veronica into some morning delight.
Of course he could. After all, he married her. When he first started dating her, some 20 years ago, all his friends prayed for their break up. They wanted their turn at the pretty piece. But no dice. She was his. Always was, always will be.
He put on some boxers and a baggy T-shirt, and opened the bedroom door.
"Ron?"
No answer.
"How bout some breakfast, huh?"
He stepped into the kitchen, and something flashed on the countertop. He walked over to it, picked it up. Her license? Suddenly, it all came back to him, the red and blue lights, going back to the venue, something about a phone call.
"Veronica?"
It was then that he saw her. She was curled up at the base of the front door, fast asleep. He rubbed his eyes. He squinted.
"What the fuck?"
She snapped awake. Totally nude, her skin still ruddy and sore; covered in dried, flaky semen that crumbled like candle wax when she sat up.
She tried to stand, but her arm was pins and needles. She sighed. Still cuffed to the fucking door.
Richard ran over, worried at first. Then he took in the details. The imprint of a hand on her ass. Smeared lipstick. Pubic hair knotted with cum. Cum everywhere. "WHAT THE FUCK!"
She peered at him with one eye open, the other sealed shut with mascara and crusty manhood.
"Morning, honey," she said. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat. "How'd you sleep?"
X X X
THE END
YOU ARE READING
Cucked by a Cop
NouvellesVeronica and her husband, Richard, are on their way home from a friend's wedding when they see red and blue lights in the rearview. Sure, Veronica had a glass of champagne at the reception, but she's totally fine to drive. Except the tall, muscle-bo...
