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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Relationship · #2261145
Sheriff Costs ends things with his wife after finding her with Farmer Pete.

Margaret opens the door to the steamy bathroom. She's dressed in a tight, black negligee and dangles a pair of handcuffs from her index finger.


Pete finishes toweling off. The day had been a long one and the shower couldn't wash away the tension he'd felt all evening. She'd smelled of sex by dinner and he'd known this was coming.

"Not tonight. I'm exhausted." He hangs the towel to dry and pushes past her in the door frame.

She grabs his wrist and tries to lock the handcuff onto it.

"Damn it, Margaret! I said, 'Not tonight.' What don't you get about that? I was up half the night and all day, trying to make sure we didn't lose another animal to a bad birth. I can't with you."

"But you haven't in forever. I tell you what. I'll let you handcuff me tonight. How's that? You like that more, right? Come on..."


Irritated, she throws the cuffs at the bed, then flops down herself, a pouty look glues itself to her face.

Pete begins to pull clothes from his side of the dresser.

"Where are you going?"


"Out where?"

"I don't know. I'm just going for a drive."

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know." He zips his fly and buttons the jeans' button. "Don't wait up. I won't be in the mood when I get back, either."

"You're never in the mood anymore."

"Not for that. I'm tired of it. I've told you that."

"We can do something else. What do you want to do? No ropes, no crops. Whatever you want."

"I just want plain, ordinary, regular vanilla sex, Mags."

"But that's just so plain, ordinary, regular, and vanilla, Pete. We've been married for decades. Don't you want to keep things spicy?"

"This has always been spicy, Mags. I have acid reflux and I'm tried of it. I just want something vanilla."

"Fine." Her voice rings with exasperation. "We can do vanilla tonight. If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

"No." He slides his tennis shoes on and stands.

"It's what you said you wanted. I'll even let you be on top."

"No." He heads for the bedroom door and she grabs her arm. "I said no, Margaret. Let me go. I used the safe word. You have to stop."

"That's not how it was supposed to work. You're not supposed to use it until we're actually doing something."

"I'm supposed to use it to make you stop whatever you're doing because I don't like it." He grabs his keys from the dresser and leaves.


While his truck wanders the roads of their small town, Pete sees the sheriff and one of his deputies stopped at a storefront, emergency lights on, speaking with the shopkeeper. He vaguely wonders what's happened and knows it will be a late night for the sheriff and his deputy as well.

He continues on, letting his truck lead to wherever it wants to go. He drives through a neighborhood with large lawns and small houses, where those who could afford the land, but not the building had once built up this part of the community. He sees the porch lights on at the sheriff's house and notices his wife trying to pull something heavy from the trunk. Pete pulls his truck over and rolls down the window.

"Need some help?"

"Hey, Pete. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

Pete turns off the truck, hops out, and approaches the car.

"What's going on?"

"I'm trying to get this table out of the trunk. I was helping with the estate sale at the Emersons' place and they needed all the tables they could get. I got this in and out this morning, but somehow I've managed to get it wedged into the trunk tonight."

Pete works and tugs and twists at the table until it's free. Lucinda tries to take the table from him once he's got it in hand.

"I've got it. You just open the front door."

"Thanks, Pete. You're a lifesaver. Tom's working late tonight, so I was on my own with that table. I thought the table was going to win." She chuckles.

"Yeah, I passed by him a few minutes ago. What's going on?"

"Oman's is having some trouble with some local kids, I think. They've spray painted graffiti before and this time they threw a rock at the window. It's cracked, but not broken, but still, they need to get their tails beat for that."

"Before they end up locked up."

"It's the way they're heading. Do you mind bringing the table into the spare room?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks, Pete. I really appreciate your big, strong arms."

"Happy to help, Ma'am," Pete pulls on a Southern accent. "I'd tip my hat, but my hands are full. Plus, I ain't got one."

She giggles at this. "In here--the guest room. Just put it over there." She sits on the bed. "Thank you so much, Pete. Like I said, Tom won't be home for a while. Can you stay for a bit? Being a sheriff's wife is a lonely job."

"So is being a Margaret's husband."

"I've heard." She puts her hand on the back of his neck and begins to rub it. "Sabrina said you're an understanding man."

"I try to be."

"She said you understand what a woman likes."

"I try to."

"You know, as a sheriff's wife, sometimes it's about the power. It's not what I want." She leans in closer to his ear. "I want something...mutual." She ensures the word twists air gently into him. She places her hand on his upper thigh. "You can tell me if I misunderstood what she meant."

Pete put his hand behind her head and gently pulls her lips towards his. Just before they touched, he whispers, "You understood correctly." Then his lips gently touch hers and they begin to kiss.


"Pete. Get out."

The hard voice pulls Pete from his satiating sleep. He groggily pries his eyelids open to see khaki pants standing in front of him.

"Before I arrest you for trespassing."

Fully alert, Pete sits upright. Awake. He grabs for his pants on the floor nearby.

"Tom," Lucinda begins to plead.

"You, be quiet." His voice is even harsher with her.

"Pete. I knew you were tomcatting around town, but I thought you'd at least have the decency to leave my wife out of your mischief. Don't ever let me see you in this neighborhood again, not even to look at Christmas lights. And as for you," directed at his wife, "Grab some things and get out."

Lucinda looks at him stunned for a brief moment. "Tom--No. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again."

"You're right about that. I'll pack the rest of your things and send them to your mom's. Don't come back here. I'm changing the locks in the morning. Both of you, out," his hand resting on his holstered gun.

Pete knows he'd never shoot, but takes his cue and doesn't bother with the rest of his clothes. He grabs them and leaves the house, his heart pounding from fear and shame. He knows he needs to leave the town's wives alone, but they all seem to know what happened with Sabrina. He'd not meant to sleep with his neighbor Duf's wife. It just sort of built up over time and then happened. He swore it would never happen again, although it did. But apparently Sabrina had let out the word to all the unhappy wives in town. Pete is a patient and giving lover. One might think it would be an amazing thing to have such a reputation in town, but all it had done was lead to isolation and bitterness between himself and the men of the town. Many are still cordial, including Duf, but there is an undercurrent. They are polite because it is a small town and you never know when you might need a neighbor. But in such times, he wonders how many would come to his aid.

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