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Chapter 7 by DrunkPigeon DrunkPigeon

Did you fuck his wife?

I did not fuck his wife.

"Bro, you got the wrong house..."

The man continues to hurl insults at you for a moment, eyeing your expression, your posture, before it dawns on him that he may have made a mistake.

"I- I..." the man exclaims, lowering his lunatic-waving hands in a beaten breath, "Fuck..."

He turns to the houses adjacent mine, letting a somber aura permeate your doorstep. With a clasped hand, he places them atop his head, letting forth a very exhausted sigh of air.

"Well, some dude fucked my wife..."

"Sounds like quite an ordeal," I reply to the broken man, "... Do you mind if I fuck her?"

"W-what?" His eyes glaze over at the thought, like suddenly, my words strike a match against the volatile corners of his psyche. The anger in his face suddenly vanishes, leaving the fresh thought of his mind, the prospect of me fucking the woman he was berating just moments ago. "I-uh... yeah..."

"I mean, NO, I don't mind, not at all!"

This is too real. For all it's worth, I want to dance on my doorstep, thanking whatever stars had aligned to make this possible. The man's wife didn't even have a face to her name - she didn't even have a name to her. She was just - his wife, and that was enough for the both of us; for him to accept blindly.

"I gotta go beat the shit out of the man who- who..." he shifts, growing angry at the thought again, "BUT, afterwards, I can... we could meet up with her, at our place- I could call her here, even..."

I raise a hand to stop the man from continuing, perhaps I could expedite the process by making an ultimatum, his nerves appear malleable enough that simply suggesting we go now could turn this endeavor into a luncheon with the two of us, and his wife.

What do you do, who is his wife?

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