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Anne felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. Months of patient waiting and evidence gathering hadn't been in vain. Taking time to gather all the evidence she needed in order to nail him had been worthwhile. At the outset her own hunches had told her all she needed to know; the 'extra hours' he was putting in at work, the mysterious 'conference' he'd gone on and his apparent lack of interest whenever she'd been in the mood for sex. She'd know for a long time in that feminine, intuitive sense, that he was playing away from home and from day one she'd had a pretty good idea who it was. It would have been easy to have it out with him early on, indeed, to have driven straight round to his office and confronted Sally, his secretary and mistress. It would have been just too easy though. They'd have denied everything and she'd have been able to prove nothing. In short, she'd have made a fool of herself. Anne was far too smart for that and she realised only too well how playing the long game had given her the advantage.
Admittedly the private detective had been expensive but worth every penny of what he'd cost. She couldn't believe how dozy the Westminster switchboard had been. If they were that bad at lying, it was small wonder the expenses scandal had broken when it had, with the Sunday Telegraph making mincemeat of the lot of them. Granted, the MP for Woodchester hadn't been claiming for a non-existent second home but he had other stuff – personal stuff – which any married man would want to keep from his wife. Caroline, an old friend of hers from Woodchester, who Brian didn't know personally had managed to obtain the final bit of photographic evidence by covert means and now Anne had all she needed.
It wasn't her style to take a pair of scissors to his favourite suit or anything else quite so immediately obvious as that. No, she wanted Brian to understand that he'd done wrong and would have to suffer the consequences. She'd thought long and hard about the course to take and decided the only thing was to hit him where she knew it would hurt most. He'd always taken pride in the fact that he'd never soiled himself – until now at any rate. Well aware of his wife's tendency to mess herself, often because she chose not to 'go' when she should, he missed no opportunity to tell Anne off or, worse, mock her for doing it. That's not forgetting the times either when, clearly needing to take a poo she'd refused, preferring to indulge herself instead, and he'd badgered her about it as though she were a subordinate instead of an equal partner in the relationship. Brian was always going to the toilet and it was hardly surprising he'd never known what it was, as an adult, to dirty himself - a fact in which he took rather more pride than Anne thought was good for him. Little did he realise how soon his education was to move on apace.
Thus it was that the idea of the pie was born. It was all Anne's idea and one of which she'd been particularly proud. Unable to keep it a complete secret she'd confided in Barnaby, her grown up nephew, and Adam their lodger. Sworn to secrecy, they'd enthusiastically embraced the idea and volunteered to sample a trial run of the pie, just to make sure it was likely to have the desired effect. Not willing to see them suffer as she wanted Brian to suffer, Anne had made them a much milder version of the pie but, oh boy, any doubt as to whether or not it would work was quickly dispelled when half an hour later they were fighting over the toilet. She'd laughed so much that tears rolled down her cheeks and she'd quite literally pissed her jeans into the bargain as well. As soon as the boys spotted the large wet patch on her jeans, their cocks became rock hard, adding to the difficulties they were already in. She'd lost count of the amount of air freshener she'd used or the amount of loo paper got through on that hysterical evening!
That however had been earlier in the week, a fond if receding memory for all of them. Now it was time for business. Parliament had broken for the summer recess and Brian was on his way home. He would be hungry and ready to eat as soon as he got in. Perhaps it was just as well that the pie was in the oven. It contained many wonderful ingredients, many of them firm favourites of his, but others too which he wouldn't be expecting and wouldn't realise he'd consumed until the deed had been done.
First in were the tinned Brussels sprouts. Anne had picked them up from the supermarket and, reading the label, mused on how it was that only the French could come up with an idea quite so revolting. A few fresh ones in season were okay, but tinned – oh please! Still Brian loved his sprouts and these would make a good start. Next in were a few diced carrots, on top of which were placed sliced Jerusalem artichokes. Anne had then added prune juice – not enough to give the pie an unusual flavour – but just enough to to do the job she wanted it to do. Button mushrooms were added, creating yet another delicious layer. A dash of the herbal laxative she'd picked up from the health food shop followed. On top of that were lentils and chickpeas which had been part cooked before their addition to the pie. Sliced par boiled new potatoes in a creamy cheese sauce were the last ingredients to go in before the pie was topped off with the shortcrust pastry at which she was so good and which Brian absolutely adored. Quietly cooking away in the oven, her pie was gradually turning into the wonderful culinary delight Anne intended it to be for both of them – though in different ways.
Anne struggled to suppress a chuckle as she heard the familiar sound of Brian's car in the drive and his keys in the door. Eager to put him at his ease, she hurried to greet him with an affectionate peck on each cheek.
“Hello darling. It's great to see you back so early. Obviously the traffic wasn't so bad as it sometimes is on a Friday.”
“Well the M1 wasn't too bad but, to be honest, I'm feeling rather tired. It's been a busy old week.”
Anne fought hard to suppress a smirk.
“I'm sure it has, Brian. Look, why not go and pour yourself a whisky? Make it a large one. I'm sure you're ready for a drink. Your meal will be ready shortly.”
Just as Anne finished speaking, the timer on the oven went off. Reaching for the oven gloves she deftly took out the pie, allowing it to stand briefly before attempting to do anything with it. Brian liked his food hot - but not that hot – and she'd no wish to burn herself either. The crust was a beautiful golden brown, just the way he liked it. With greater care than usual she dug out a large portion and transferred it to his plate which had been gently warming. With a triumphant note in her voice which he should have mistrusted, she called him to the table.
“Dinner's up!”
Taking his place at the table, Brian eyed the wondrous plateful before him, not quite sure what to make of it.
“Well this looks different.”
“It is, Brian. I discovered this new recipe and thought I'd try it. Hope you don't mind something vegetarian for a change.”
“Well I prefer something with meat in it but I'll give it a try. Aren't you having any?”
“No. It's Wendy's birthday and I'm taking her out for dinner in Ipswich later. Don't wait up by the way, as I'll be staying over at hers tonight. You know what it's like when I've had a few glasses of wine.”
Brian looked up from the pie which, despite mention of that dreaded word 'vegetarian' was, he had to admit, uncommonly good.
“Quite. Well at least it'll be Wendy's sheets you'll be soaking and not ours. What about the boys?”
“Barnaby and Adam have gone out somewhere – I'm not quite sure where though. They said they'd be getting some fish and chips and I expect they'll probably be late. I don't imagine either of them will surface much before coffee time tomorrow. More pie, dear? As usual I made rather more than I meant to and with the pastry crust it's not really amenable to freezing.”
“I don't mind if I do. You must make this again.”
“Oh I will. Glad you like it.”
Anne allowed herself a little smile as she bent over and kissed Brian on the forehead. Little did her beloved, the cheating rat, realise what was in store for him. Recalling the effect on Adam and Barnaby a few days earlier, she just hoped she hadn't overdone it too much on the herbal laxative. It was quite harmless in the sense that it contained no nasties but, oh boy, it sure was powerful stuff.
Brian soon completed his meal, Anne thinking it best to not assail him with too many questions, and all measurable traces of the pie were soon gone. Anne cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Turning to Brian she kissed him tenderly on the forehead and ran her fingers gently through his hair.
“Look love. I think you're really tired. Why don't you go and have a sit down with the paper, maybe pour yourself another whisky. I'm afraid I've got to pop upstairs and get ready for Wendy. She's expecting me at seven and the table's booked for eight.”
Brian looked up at his wife and smiled.
“Thanks, love. I don't mind if I do.”
Feeling triumphant, Anne almost skipped upstairs to the bathroom and, unusually for her, locked the door behind her. Once inside, all she had to do was wait. Based on what happened with Adam and Barnaby, she knew that Brian would be up before long and in dire need of the toilet – assuming he'd not fallen asleep on the sofa and done it in his pants. Relaxing, she took a good long pee before wiping her bush and throwing the TP into the pan beneath her. Dinner with Wendy always meant clean panties, free of pee stains, just like a visit to the doctor. Wendy would check her at some point during the evening and, as a best friend, considered it her duty to make sure Anne was in a ladylike state down below. If they ended up in bed as sometimes happened, any errant stains would immediately be apparent to Wendy's all-seeing, penetrating gaze. Anne didn't really need to poo that badly and there was no point in forcing herself. However Brian wasn't to know otherwise and she could use 'the need' in order to justify sitting there for as long as necessary.
Predictably enough, Brian's footsteps were soon audible on the stairs and as he reached the landing, he sounded breathless. Panic-stricken, he knocked on the door and there was a distinct note of desperation in his voice when he called out.
“Anne, are you in there?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Hurry up love. I need a shit urgently. I don't know whether I'm sickening for something or it's stuff I've eaten but if I don't get to a toilet soon I'm going to shit myself.”
Anne felt a quiet sense of elation now that her moment had at long last come.
“Sorry Brian. I'm in the middle of a shit myself and I'm going to be on the loo for sometime. You know what it's like when you're backed up and struggling to get it out. Also you know what Wendy's like if she thinks I've not been.”
Brian clenched his buttocks as the contents of his intestines gurgled away and perspiration formed on his brow.
“Well maybe if you did go when you should, you wouldn't get so backed up. Look, if I don't get to a toilet soon I'm going shit myself – big time. Please Annie, please, please, please! I'm really desperate for goodness sake.”
This was music to Anne's ears and she intended to exploit the situation for all it was worth.
“Brian, I'm not having that argument with you tonight. Look, if you're as desperate as you make out, why not drive round to Sally's and use her loo. I'm sure you must be familiar enough with it by now.”
Brian panicked as he could feel the pressure on his anal sphincter increasing. He wanted to fart but didn't dare. Memories of his last shag with Sally came flooding back. He'd needed to pee quite badly but not wanted to admit it. That had nothing on this though.
“Sally? What do you mean, Anne?”
“Oh please, Brian! Don't play the innocent with me. You know perfectly well who I mean. Your secretary and the little whore you've been shagging for the last eighteen months. I know all about it so don't bother trying to deny it.”
Brian's fight to hold on was growing harder by the second. Not only were his bowels in a state but they were being made worse by the dawning sense of terror as he realised Anne had known all along what he'd been up to.
“Annie, I swear there's been nothing going on between Sally and me. Now open that fucking door before I shit myself.”
Anne was resolute.
“Brian, it's time to stop digging. You're just getting in deeper. At first I didn't want to believe you were playing away and I tried to look the other way. A lot of women do. I just knew you were up to something and I had no choice other than to do something about it, so I had you watched.”
“Watched?”
“Yes watched, Brian. If adultery was a criminal matter I'd have enough evidence to convict several times over. Still, justice is being served, as well as payback for all those cruel things you've said when I've had accidents.”
Suddenly the reason for Brian's discomfiture dawned upon him.
“You put something in that fucking pie, didn't you?”
“Yes I did. To teach you a lesson. I'll thank you not to swear at me either.”
“You bitch!”
Anne giggled. It was quite unlike Brian to get worked up like this.
“Brian, it was only a few vegetables and a secret extra ingredient or two to help nature on it's way. You're going to be fine.”
Unable to hold back the pressure in his bowels any longer, Brian shit himself, filling his underpants and creating a large brown patch on the seat of his trousers. It wasn't completely liquid by any means but the shit was moist enough to make a serious mess. He had a distinct feeling that there was rather more to come too – unless the nerve endings in his rectum were misleading him.
“Fine. You think I'm going to be fine? I've just shit myself and you think I'm going to fine!”
Anne's nose told her that this time, Brian wasn't lying. The rotten egg smell, characteristic of someone who drank lager the way did, permeated the whole of the upper house. She'd enjoyed making him suffer but now the time to show a little mercy had arrived. Getting off the toilet and pulling her panties up, she opened the bathroom door to let Brian in. He was really in a mess and she'd never seen him in a state like it.
“Brian, you're fine given what I could and very much would have liked to do to you. Now you'd better get cleaned up. It's no use, I'll have to put my face on at Wendy's. She won't want your stench clinging to me. Which reminds me, make sure you open every window in the house. You may have passed the first wave, but there'll probably be some more, and those Jerusalem artichokes will keep you gassier than you've ever imagined possible for the next few hours. Not that the rest of us will mind the smell, but we do want there to be some oxygen left in this place.”
Anne continued,
“Now I'd like to think that the prospect of keeping her job was a sufficient inducement to secure Sally's silence but, realistically, I think we'll have offer her a significant financial incentive – one that will have to be met out of your pocket. We should be thankful old Murdoch's closed the News of the World down but, there are plenty of other tabloids out there and, if the press get wind of what you've been up to, you'll be finished. Once that's sorted out you're going to the clap clinic, just in case. You don't know where she's been or what she might be carrying. Sex is off the menu here until you've been tested and got the all clear for everything in the book. I've made an appointment for you on Monday so don't argue about it. Oh, and I'll be with you at all times – just to make sure.”
With that, Anne took her leave and headed downstairs. Handbag over her shoulder and car keys swinging triumphantly in her right hand, she slammed the door behind her. Brian had got his just desserts and now it was time for a nice girlie night with Wendy. Revenge was indeed a dish best served...as a pie.
The End
Admittedly the private detective had been expensive but worth every penny of what he'd cost. She couldn't believe how dozy the Westminster switchboard had been. If they were that bad at lying, it was small wonder the expenses scandal had broken when it had, with the Sunday Telegraph making mincemeat of the lot of them. Granted, the MP for Woodchester hadn't been claiming for a non-existent second home but he had other stuff – personal stuff – which any married man would want to keep from his wife. Caroline, an old friend of hers from Woodchester, who Brian didn't know personally had managed to obtain the final bit of photographic evidence by covert means and now Anne had all she needed.
It wasn't her style to take a pair of scissors to his favourite suit or anything else quite so immediately obvious as that. No, she wanted Brian to understand that he'd done wrong and would have to suffer the consequences. She'd thought long and hard about the course to take and decided the only thing was to hit him where she knew it would hurt most. He'd always taken pride in the fact that he'd never soiled himself – until now at any rate. Well aware of his wife's tendency to mess herself, often because she chose not to 'go' when she should, he missed no opportunity to tell Anne off or, worse, mock her for doing it. That's not forgetting the times either when, clearly needing to take a poo she'd refused, preferring to indulge herself instead, and he'd badgered her about it as though she were a subordinate instead of an equal partner in the relationship. Brian was always going to the toilet and it was hardly surprising he'd never known what it was, as an adult, to dirty himself - a fact in which he took rather more pride than Anne thought was good for him. Little did he realise how soon his education was to move on apace.
Thus it was that the idea of the pie was born. It was all Anne's idea and one of which she'd been particularly proud. Unable to keep it a complete secret she'd confided in Barnaby, her grown up nephew, and Adam their lodger. Sworn to secrecy, they'd enthusiastically embraced the idea and volunteered to sample a trial run of the pie, just to make sure it was likely to have the desired effect. Not willing to see them suffer as she wanted Brian to suffer, Anne had made them a much milder version of the pie but, oh boy, any doubt as to whether or not it would work was quickly dispelled when half an hour later they were fighting over the toilet. She'd laughed so much that tears rolled down her cheeks and she'd quite literally pissed her jeans into the bargain as well. As soon as the boys spotted the large wet patch on her jeans, their cocks became rock hard, adding to the difficulties they were already in. She'd lost count of the amount of air freshener she'd used or the amount of loo paper got through on that hysterical evening!
That however had been earlier in the week, a fond if receding memory for all of them. Now it was time for business. Parliament had broken for the summer recess and Brian was on his way home. He would be hungry and ready to eat as soon as he got in. Perhaps it was just as well that the pie was in the oven. It contained many wonderful ingredients, many of them firm favourites of his, but others too which he wouldn't be expecting and wouldn't realise he'd consumed until the deed had been done.
First in were the tinned Brussels sprouts. Anne had picked them up from the supermarket and, reading the label, mused on how it was that only the French could come up with an idea quite so revolting. A few fresh ones in season were okay, but tinned – oh please! Still Brian loved his sprouts and these would make a good start. Next in were a few diced carrots, on top of which were placed sliced Jerusalem artichokes. Anne had then added prune juice – not enough to give the pie an unusual flavour – but just enough to to do the job she wanted it to do. Button mushrooms were added, creating yet another delicious layer. A dash of the herbal laxative she'd picked up from the health food shop followed. On top of that were lentils and chickpeas which had been part cooked before their addition to the pie. Sliced par boiled new potatoes in a creamy cheese sauce were the last ingredients to go in before the pie was topped off with the shortcrust pastry at which she was so good and which Brian absolutely adored. Quietly cooking away in the oven, her pie was gradually turning into the wonderful culinary delight Anne intended it to be for both of them – though in different ways.
Anne struggled to suppress a chuckle as she heard the familiar sound of Brian's car in the drive and his keys in the door. Eager to put him at his ease, she hurried to greet him with an affectionate peck on each cheek.
“Hello darling. It's great to see you back so early. Obviously the traffic wasn't so bad as it sometimes is on a Friday.”
“Well the M1 wasn't too bad but, to be honest, I'm feeling rather tired. It's been a busy old week.”
Anne fought hard to suppress a smirk.
“I'm sure it has, Brian. Look, why not go and pour yourself a whisky? Make it a large one. I'm sure you're ready for a drink. Your meal will be ready shortly.”
Just as Anne finished speaking, the timer on the oven went off. Reaching for the oven gloves she deftly took out the pie, allowing it to stand briefly before attempting to do anything with it. Brian liked his food hot - but not that hot – and she'd no wish to burn herself either. The crust was a beautiful golden brown, just the way he liked it. With greater care than usual she dug out a large portion and transferred it to his plate which had been gently warming. With a triumphant note in her voice which he should have mistrusted, she called him to the table.
“Dinner's up!”
Taking his place at the table, Brian eyed the wondrous plateful before him, not quite sure what to make of it.
“Well this looks different.”
“It is, Brian. I discovered this new recipe and thought I'd try it. Hope you don't mind something vegetarian for a change.”
“Well I prefer something with meat in it but I'll give it a try. Aren't you having any?”
“No. It's Wendy's birthday and I'm taking her out for dinner in Ipswich later. Don't wait up by the way, as I'll be staying over at hers tonight. You know what it's like when I've had a few glasses of wine.”
Brian looked up from the pie which, despite mention of that dreaded word 'vegetarian' was, he had to admit, uncommonly good.
“Quite. Well at least it'll be Wendy's sheets you'll be soaking and not ours. What about the boys?”
“Barnaby and Adam have gone out somewhere – I'm not quite sure where though. They said they'd be getting some fish and chips and I expect they'll probably be late. I don't imagine either of them will surface much before coffee time tomorrow. More pie, dear? As usual I made rather more than I meant to and with the pastry crust it's not really amenable to freezing.”
“I don't mind if I do. You must make this again.”
“Oh I will. Glad you like it.”
Anne allowed herself a little smile as she bent over and kissed Brian on the forehead. Little did her beloved, the cheating rat, realise what was in store for him. Recalling the effect on Adam and Barnaby a few days earlier, she just hoped she hadn't overdone it too much on the herbal laxative. It was quite harmless in the sense that it contained no nasties but, oh boy, it sure was powerful stuff.
Brian soon completed his meal, Anne thinking it best to not assail him with too many questions, and all measurable traces of the pie were soon gone. Anne cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Turning to Brian she kissed him tenderly on the forehead and ran her fingers gently through his hair.
“Look love. I think you're really tired. Why don't you go and have a sit down with the paper, maybe pour yourself another whisky. I'm afraid I've got to pop upstairs and get ready for Wendy. She's expecting me at seven and the table's booked for eight.”
Brian looked up at his wife and smiled.
“Thanks, love. I don't mind if I do.”
Feeling triumphant, Anne almost skipped upstairs to the bathroom and, unusually for her, locked the door behind her. Once inside, all she had to do was wait. Based on what happened with Adam and Barnaby, she knew that Brian would be up before long and in dire need of the toilet – assuming he'd not fallen asleep on the sofa and done it in his pants. Relaxing, she took a good long pee before wiping her bush and throwing the TP into the pan beneath her. Dinner with Wendy always meant clean panties, free of pee stains, just like a visit to the doctor. Wendy would check her at some point during the evening and, as a best friend, considered it her duty to make sure Anne was in a ladylike state down below. If they ended up in bed as sometimes happened, any errant stains would immediately be apparent to Wendy's all-seeing, penetrating gaze. Anne didn't really need to poo that badly and there was no point in forcing herself. However Brian wasn't to know otherwise and she could use 'the need' in order to justify sitting there for as long as necessary.
Predictably enough, Brian's footsteps were soon audible on the stairs and as he reached the landing, he sounded breathless. Panic-stricken, he knocked on the door and there was a distinct note of desperation in his voice when he called out.
“Anne, are you in there?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Hurry up love. I need a shit urgently. I don't know whether I'm sickening for something or it's stuff I've eaten but if I don't get to a toilet soon I'm going to shit myself.”
Anne felt a quiet sense of elation now that her moment had at long last come.
“Sorry Brian. I'm in the middle of a shit myself and I'm going to be on the loo for sometime. You know what it's like when you're backed up and struggling to get it out. Also you know what Wendy's like if she thinks I've not been.”
Brian clenched his buttocks as the contents of his intestines gurgled away and perspiration formed on his brow.
“Well maybe if you did go when you should, you wouldn't get so backed up. Look, if I don't get to a toilet soon I'm going shit myself – big time. Please Annie, please, please, please! I'm really desperate for goodness sake.”
This was music to Anne's ears and she intended to exploit the situation for all it was worth.
“Brian, I'm not having that argument with you tonight. Look, if you're as desperate as you make out, why not drive round to Sally's and use her loo. I'm sure you must be familiar enough with it by now.”
Brian panicked as he could feel the pressure on his anal sphincter increasing. He wanted to fart but didn't dare. Memories of his last shag with Sally came flooding back. He'd needed to pee quite badly but not wanted to admit it. That had nothing on this though.
“Sally? What do you mean, Anne?”
“Oh please, Brian! Don't play the innocent with me. You know perfectly well who I mean. Your secretary and the little whore you've been shagging for the last eighteen months. I know all about it so don't bother trying to deny it.”
Brian's fight to hold on was growing harder by the second. Not only were his bowels in a state but they were being made worse by the dawning sense of terror as he realised Anne had known all along what he'd been up to.
“Annie, I swear there's been nothing going on between Sally and me. Now open that fucking door before I shit myself.”
Anne was resolute.
“Brian, it's time to stop digging. You're just getting in deeper. At first I didn't want to believe you were playing away and I tried to look the other way. A lot of women do. I just knew you were up to something and I had no choice other than to do something about it, so I had you watched.”
“Watched?”
“Yes watched, Brian. If adultery was a criminal matter I'd have enough evidence to convict several times over. Still, justice is being served, as well as payback for all those cruel things you've said when I've had accidents.”
Suddenly the reason for Brian's discomfiture dawned upon him.
“You put something in that fucking pie, didn't you?”
“Yes I did. To teach you a lesson. I'll thank you not to swear at me either.”
“You bitch!”
Anne giggled. It was quite unlike Brian to get worked up like this.
“Brian, it was only a few vegetables and a secret extra ingredient or two to help nature on it's way. You're going to be fine.”
Unable to hold back the pressure in his bowels any longer, Brian shit himself, filling his underpants and creating a large brown patch on the seat of his trousers. It wasn't completely liquid by any means but the shit was moist enough to make a serious mess. He had a distinct feeling that there was rather more to come too – unless the nerve endings in his rectum were misleading him.
“Fine. You think I'm going to be fine? I've just shit myself and you think I'm going to fine!”
Anne's nose told her that this time, Brian wasn't lying. The rotten egg smell, characteristic of someone who drank lager the way did, permeated the whole of the upper house. She'd enjoyed making him suffer but now the time to show a little mercy had arrived. Getting off the toilet and pulling her panties up, she opened the bathroom door to let Brian in. He was really in a mess and she'd never seen him in a state like it.
“Brian, you're fine given what I could and very much would have liked to do to you. Now you'd better get cleaned up. It's no use, I'll have to put my face on at Wendy's. She won't want your stench clinging to me. Which reminds me, make sure you open every window in the house. You may have passed the first wave, but there'll probably be some more, and those Jerusalem artichokes will keep you gassier than you've ever imagined possible for the next few hours. Not that the rest of us will mind the smell, but we do want there to be some oxygen left in this place.”
Anne continued,
“Now I'd like to think that the prospect of keeping her job was a sufficient inducement to secure Sally's silence but, realistically, I think we'll have offer her a significant financial incentive – one that will have to be met out of your pocket. We should be thankful old Murdoch's closed the News of the World down but, there are plenty of other tabloids out there and, if the press get wind of what you've been up to, you'll be finished. Once that's sorted out you're going to the clap clinic, just in case. You don't know where she's been or what she might be carrying. Sex is off the menu here until you've been tested and got the all clear for everything in the book. I've made an appointment for you on Monday so don't argue about it. Oh, and I'll be with you at all times – just to make sure.”
With that, Anne took her leave and headed downstairs. Handbag over her shoulder and car keys swinging triumphantly in her right hand, she slammed the door behind her. Brian had got his just desserts and now it was time for a nice girlie night with Wendy. Revenge was indeed a dish best served...as a pie.
The End
Love your stories, and especially Anne. Will her husband find another pooper on his travels? That would be an interesting twist. Thanks for sharing with us.
What would Wendy do if Anne messed herself during her visit? Here's hoping I get to find out!
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