A Cheating Wife Story – I fucked Jimmy Brown’s wife

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From there, I operated a business management consultancy until I retired, just a couple of years ago. My work took me all over the country, which is how Jimmy Brown and I crossed paths, once again.

It was about ten years after the Uranus Lawn Bowls Club incident.

I’d stopped in at the Cardwell Hotel — which was one of my regular stops when travelling in that part of the country — and there he was. I recognised him immediately. Apart from having bulked up a bit, the face I saw was the same one I’d last seen in the bowls club that night. It took him a bit longer to recognise me. I had changed.

It was only when I spoke that I saw his face light up in recognition. We ended up spending an enjoyable afternoon and evening together.

Over dinner, he told me that, as soon as he’d heard Scottie’s boast, he knew he’d been living a lie for years. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. He said there was no point making a scene, so he disappeared out the back door and went in search of his soon to be ex-wife.

“I found her in his cabin. She was covered in his cum from head to toe. Her breath smelt of stale ejaculate and it was dripping from both her pussy and her arse. That was when I learned that he’d broken her to anal sex.

“I knew that if he’d used the same rough methods to introduce her to that form of sex as he used when working with horses, she would probably be torn up inside. It wasn’t until I got her home that I checked her out. Sure enough, he’d torn her anus. With the amount of cum leaking out of her, he must have done her more than once. How she’d managed to take him the second time, I have no idea.

“There’s always been bad blood between Scottie and me. I don’t know whether you know it, but we’re cousins.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, “but it doesn’t surprise me. I just assumed that everybody living in the shire was related in one way or another; some more closely than others.”

He chuckled at that.

“The other thing about Scottie McFadden was that he and I were the same age. And, like me, he had been blessed — or cursed — with the gene that gave us a youthful appearance. What many people saw as a brash young blowhard who could be forgiven his indiscretions because of his youth, was actually a mouthy, would-be Cassanova who — like me, at the time — was quickly approaching his forties. He still had that same youthful appearance when they buried him.

‘Unlike most feuds….”

“Hang on!” I interrupted. “Are you telling me that Scottie is dead?”

“Yeah, poor fella,” Jimmy Brown said. “And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bloke. He apparently climbed aboard a horse he was breaking without first checking his gear. It appears there was a goat’s head burr caught up in his saddle cloth. As soon as he climbed aboard and tucked himself down into the saddle, the burr buried itself into the horse’s back, and it went ape-shit. From all reports, Scottie stuck with him for about fifteen minutes.

“Whether it had something to do with what you’d said to him that night or something else had happened, I don’t know. But he’d started drinking a fair bit more than he had in the past. He’d also become a bit more nervy than he’d ever been. Whatever the reason, he no longer had the confidence or the stamina he’d once had. There was a time that he would have ridden that horse all day and all night if need be; burr or no burr.

“Those who were there say it was his best-ever ride. But Blind Freddy knew that he couldn’t keep it up. Exhaustion finally beat him, and he was thrown. While his ride might have been notable, his dismounting was apparently less so. I was told that his flight through the air looked more like a half-filled sack of potatoes than the graceful dismount of an expert horseman.

“His landing was even less graceful. Sadly — at least for a number of the ladies of the district — he ended up breaking his neck.

“They held an open casket funeral service at the Catholic church; a service that was attended by quite a large crowd. The ladies of the parish were inconsolable — none more so than my ex-wife, with whom Scottie had taken up residence following my departure. The gentlemen of the area — the husbands of the ladies of the parish — were there, I believe, to confirm that Scottie McFadden was actually being laid to rest and would no longer pose a treat to their marriages.

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