Raped wild wife

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Grant Dunlap worked the four-to-midnight shift, but as usual, he'd gone in early, leaving his wife alone and restless in the middle of the afternoon. Veronica paced back and forth in the kitchen of their modest tract home, fuming with rage and frustration. He hadn't fucked her in almost a month.

Everyone said Grant was a good cop. One of the best! His personnel folder was full of commendations for the tough cases he'd cracked, for bravery under fire, for being wounded twice in the line of duty and still getting the job done.

"Yeah, you're one hell of a good cop," Veronica said aloud. "But as a husband, you're a worthless piece of shit!"

The rattle of a lawnmower in their backyard accented her feeling of agitation. It criss-crossed the small patch of lawn as she paced the kitchen floor, left to right and back again. At least Billy Chapman accomplished something in his travels, cutting the grass that Grant hadn't had time for since winning a promotion to the Detective Division six months ago. He was so happy to be working in plainclothes at last.

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