Her legs splayed across the Egyptian cotton lavender colored sheets, shiny with perspiration and want. Between them was a smiling hill that opened and shut with the rising of her bountiful chest. She was waiting, waiting for him. Yet his eyes were not on her gracious assets, but upon her deliriously mint irises which were halved in a mindless ecstasy. He was a man of perfect moments, a man who would rather take her on the rustic wooden kitchen floor than on the beaches of Maui or Mexico; a man that would still write her crummy poems and leave them in her lunchbox on any ordinary day. However, this is not that man. At least, not anymore.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” He winked and softly smiled, watching delightfully as she tried to respond. She looked as if she was a fish gasping for air, her plump lips desperately puckering to form words. Giving up on communication, she closed her eyes, hoping she would remember this in the morning. She felt a tad horrified at the thought of no control, yet at the same time utterly erotic. Somewhere under the depths of her lethargic mind, she knew she’d been drugged.
Downstairs, he busied himself with destroying all evidence. He meticulously washed and hand-dried the wine glasses, placing them ever so carefully back into the cupboard. He made extra sure that there was no pill residue left in hers. After he hid the medicine bottle, he unlocked his trunk and pulled out the garbage bag.
He dragged it up the stairs, making a thump with each step. Each thump seemed to match the pulsating beat of her heart, as she struggled to sit up to see what was going on. Slowly opening the door, he poked his head around and whispered, “You have a special visitor.” Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, fear flooding her veins.
His voice had grown hauntingly eerie, cold, and distant. “But wait, first we have to make you presentable for your guest!”
After rummaging through the garbage bag, he found and slid red fishnets up her lifeless legs, then smeared some God awful shade of lipstick onto her mouth. He then pulled from under the bed a box full of leather binds and a whip, things he had never used before with her. Her eyes grew wide at the realization: He knew. Tying each limb to a bedpost, he became aroused at the sight of his bound wife. The power and domination fulfilled him, causing him to rise against the zipper of his blue jeans. “Now I see why you were into this, you little slut.” He purred, stroking her under her chin. “Too bad you never let me play.” He struck her across the cheek, and laughed darkly as she winced, tearing up yet not having the strength to cry out.
“Are you ready for your surprise?” He asked with a crooked smile pulling from the garbage bag a bluish purple penis, half rotten and bloodied at the torn end. She squeezed her eyes shut, hyperventilating, praying that this was all some horrible nightmare. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, she screamed over and over in her brain. Down the stalk of the dead member, was her name tattooed in an Old English style font. It belonged to her lover of three years; a man who introduced her into a life that was not cardigans or Tupperware parties, but leather assless chaps and drunken bar brawls.
He leaned over her, hot spit spewing from his ruby red lips. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He whispered menacingly, slapping the dead penis against her lips making sure some of the lipstick streaked across her face. She tried to fight him off, but could barely move her head, paralyzed from the drug. He began thrusting the penis in and out of her mouth, choking her, and taunting her with the details of her lover’s torture.
“He was going to his daughter’s birthday party. Did you know he had a daughter?” He pulled it from her gasping mouth, running it along the center of her body, between her supple breasts and down the skin of her tight abdomen. She spit the taste of cold, dead salt from her mouth, vaguely remembering the taste of him alive. The saliva ran down the corners of her mouth, the horrible stench of death making her eyes water.
“But, he had to take a rain check…something about not quite feeling himself.” He paused at the top of her mound just before he reached the clit and watched her in her silent agony of fear, regret, and disgust. “So, I decided that a little operation was in order. I drugged him and cut off his source of relief, pleasure. But, I’m sure you know all about that…” His eyes squinted with fury as he reached over her limp body, and snatched the whip, cracking it over and over upon her mound.
“You shouldn’t have wandered off, little red riding hood,” He chuckled, staring at her raw crimson clitoris, patches of blood now rolling off her amber skin. Prodding her with the penis, he focused on getting her off, maneuvering his hand into different speeds and watching as she quickly became wet.
“Sick fuck,” He accused staring at her with utter disgust. Her eyes filled with shameful tears. “You have no respect for me, your husband whom you were bound with through love and commitment, and now you can’t even respect the dead! Getting off on your lover’s carcass!” He shoved the penis deep inside of her, wetting his cracked, dry knuckles. She softly moaned from pleasurable pain. Thrusting it inside her again and again, he only paused until a trickle of blood began to ooze from inside of her. He then pulled the member out and thrust it between her silent lips.
“Now I want you to suck on that while I fuck you. If it falls out of your mouth, then you’re as good as dead. Got it?”
Tears quickly slipped from the corners of her eyes as she began to suck. Her mind wandered to the times where she had gleefully given her lover head in the motel rooms, her car, the last time she saw him just before he climbed on his Harley, when she knelt down and pleasured him right there in the bar parking lot.
The television over the fireplace screeched with static then quickly switched over to the security camera outside of their home. The scene revealed a darkened figure in their backyard just before the lawn meets the deep, dank forest. She squinted, making out a cross. In a split second, a mighty fire arose, illuminating her lover against the burning cross. As she rocked back and forth to her husband’s rhythm, the camera zoomed in on the skin from her lover’s angular, tanned face, now burning black and flowing across his bone white skull. His ethereal screams echoed off the trees, and seemed to shake the bay window across from her. The morbid scene sobered her drunken mind as she fought against the leather binds that at one time were used for sexual bliss. At that moment, her husband entered her again, but this time through body and mind. Piercing and pinching every known sense, making them jump and explode with a conscious crushing pain. She screamed as he cut her, again and again. He hollowed her out with the homemade strap on, the end enclosing a large silver blade. Blood spurted everywhere, leaving little beads of crimson across her lips that parted now and again with silent screams. The penis had fallen.
Little flaps of vaginal skin covered the lavender sheets, which now were flowered with large orbs of blood. He stopped when her eyes died. There was no sense in hurting her when she could not feel misery anymore. Her visage held a vague sense of disappointment; her mouth frozen in unspeakable horror. He shrugged and cleaned the mess. Then rode off on his new Harley, with a bluish purple “rabbit’s foot” swaying in the night air.