Do momentous things just happen or are they predestined for us before we’re even born? Looking back, it certainly feels like the latter; I mean, it’s never really felt as if I’ve had much of a say in the way things have turned out; the way I’ve turned out. I’ve never got to choose the cards life has dealt me. I’ve just had to play the hand I’ve been given. I was an insecure youth of seventeen with little confidence and low self esteem when I first met my future wife. She was a year younger and unbeknown to me, was even more insecure in her own skin than I was in mine. Therefore, it was probably our shared craving for acceptance rather than naked sexual attraction that both drew and bound us together. She was a mousy, rather nervous looking Little thing, but pretty enough and best of all, she genuinely needed me. I loved that!
So, we married. After three years of knocking about together, it was rather expected of us by everyone we knew. I guess they all thought we were fucking from early in our relationship, but they were wrong. I was willing but Nancy had this old fashioned idea about being a virgin bride and I meekly went along with it. Besides, as soon as we decided to marry, we started saving up for somewhere to live, which meant not going out and spending most of our time together in Nancy’s family home, complete with father, mother and twin sisters. Lack of privacy was mainly why I ended up marrying a virgin. I wasn’t a virgin myself by then, but I’d had to pay for this dubious privilege. However, we eventually tied the matrimonial knot, set up home together and this might have become a “lived happily ever after” sort of story had my darling Nancy not almost immediately developed a severe clinical depression that killed our sex life stone dead, almost as soon as it had started.
This was too cruel a fate for me. In my needful, selfish state, I wanted an easily dominated wife who’d dutifully keep house and have my children; this I no longer had. Both Nancy and I were the victims of her cruel illness. It brought out the worst in both of us. We argued. My former little mouse of a wife suddenly became capable of violence and things got thrown. Our individual prideful natures demanded that we kept Nancy’s and condition a secret from everybody. No one could know that our marriage was anything less than perfect. The strain of this pretence was impossible for me to keep up sober so I took to drink, bigtime!
There was also my sexual frustration to contend with. Here I was, a man in my prime with no available relief for my needs other than masturbation over porno images and visits to prostitutes. The problem with prostitutes is that they set limits and cost money. Drinking also costs money but alcohol of itself sets no limits so very soon, I found myself living to drink and drinking to live. That’s how I survived. It's also how I met Jenny.
Jenny was a barmaid at one of the pubs I frequented and what with me popping in there on my way home from work, it was generally early enough for trade to be quiet enough for us to chat. As is the way with pubs, it’s not uncommon for the sad, lonely and frustrated souls like me to tell whoever’s behind the bar all about their domestic woes and this I did with Jenny. She listened and sympathised (as a good barmaid should). She also laughed at my jokes, complimented me on my appearance and how wonderfully well I was handling things. She made me feel better about myself by making me out to be a tragic hero battling against all odds in an impossible situation and it slowly dawned on me that this might just be how Jenny genuinely saw me. She wasn’t just stringing me a line to keep a punter happy.
How did I feel about this? Excited! Jenny was eighteen, raven haired and voluptuous. Not a classic beauty by any means but she certainly made the most of what she’d got and pretty soon, I was fantasising about her as I masturbated instead of using porn. In fact, she became my porn. I imagined myself waiting outside the pub and raping her in the darkened carpark when she emerged at the end of her shift. I imagined Jenny surrendering to me, not putting up much of a fight and giving me the same understanding look she often gave me over the bar counter even as I tore her clothing away so that I might tear into her. All pure fantasy of course. There was no way a lovely young girl like that could ever fancy a man in my situation.
For a hobby, I read. I always have and to keep the cost of doing so down, I’m a member of our local library. That’s where I was when Jenny came across me one fateful day. I was in the True Crime section, reading a graphic description of one of The Boston Strangler’s murders. I heard her before I saw her saying “hey Brian, how lovely to see you, what are you reading?”
Mutely, I showed her, eliciting a response of “cool, I love that sort of thing myself; it’s a bit of a turn on!”
What could I say? “Er....yeah, me too......but it’s different for me isn’t it, being a guy?”
“Oh not really, it’s just sex in it’s purest form surely, the ultimate taking of a woman by a man scenario. Most girls go weak at the knees either reading about it or seeing such scenes acted out. I know I do.” “Don’t such scenes unnerve you then?” “Yes, but a girl can be frightened and sexually aroused at the same time..... as any girl who’s lost her virginity will tell you.”. Before I could stop myself, I heard my voice impulsive blurting out “you’d be talking from experience of course!”
I felt my face reddening with embarrassment at my insensitive forwardness, but Jenny simply winked at me and said, “of course. Fancy a coffee?”
Naturally, I fancied much more than coffee. I fancied this vivacious young girl with big boobs and she was making it very plain to me that she was available. We had coffee, talked about mass murderers a little and flirted a lot. My car was in a nearby multi-storey carpark and I offered her a lift to anywhere she wanted to go. She accepted my offer by saying she’d be more than willing to go anywhere I chose to take her, heavily emphasizing the word, “take.” Once I’d got her in the car in that poorly lit and not terribly busy building, my lust got the better of me. In fairness to me, I did manage to say I thought she was fucking wonderful just before I roughly pulled her to me and kissed her. Her eager returning of my kisses gave me permission to explore her curvaceous body with my hands and I was soon freely mauling warm feminine softness through clothing I was very much in danger of tearing. I was fully aroused by now; of course I was and it came as a very pleasant surprise to feel Jenny’s hand caressing my bulge. I couldn’t remember Nancy ever doing that. I’m certain my wife had never undone my flies in a public carpark, exposed my erect penis and proceeded to suck me off. The warm, wet shock of this oral assault swiftly sent me into orgasm, ejaculating into that gorgeous little mouth that emitted a moan of satisfaction as I climaxed. Her lips formed a perfect seal around my cock so that not a smear of my sperm was lost. Then she raised her flushed young face from my lap, looked me straight in the eye, swallowed and smiled.
That was it. We were now lovers and there wasn't a single sexual pleasure Jenny denied me. She lived in a rented room and it was there I regularly bedded her. Our bodies were a perfect fit and the whiskey she plied me with was pretty good too. Nothing I did to her seemed to turn her off of me. Not even me punching her boobs just to see them billow from the impact, or sodomy. I became totally obsessed with this young wanton. Was there really nothing she wouldn’t do with me or let me do to her? She told me she wanted to have my baby and made great play of throwing her contraceptive pills in the bin. The idea of making this girl pregnant was an aphrodisiac in itself and I set about the task with relish.
I became more and more begrudging of the time I had to spend away from Jenny. That time spent at work or spent at home with my emotionally unstable wife. Work’s saving grace however was that it earned me the money to keep my home going and give Jenny the occasional treat. My home life, however, had no such redeeming features going for it. My dearest wish was to replace Nancy with Jenny, but this would take a lot of time and money to achieve legally and would make me look bad socially. I’d promised to stick with my wife in sickness and in health till death did us part, so ditching her in mid illness was bound to disappoint more than a few people who's good opinion of me I was quite keen to keep. But then of course, nobody but Jenny new Nancy was ill, did they; we’d kept it a secret. As far as the world at large knew, I had no legitimate grounds for divorcing Nancy and there was no guarantee that my giving her grounds to divorce me would have the desired effect.
I shared all these thoughts with Jenny and she was immediately on board with us setting up home together, a home where her bountiful body would be available to me any fucking time I wanted to make use of it. The big question now was, how were we going to get rid of Nancy?
“We could always hire a hit man I suppose” was Jenny’s initial suggestion. My reply was “that would be expensive and would also create risks inherent in a third party being aware of our murderous scheme. Jenny’s next idea was “well, couldn’t we kill her ourselves then and make it look like an accident?”
Murder? Could we? Dare we? As soon as this idea had been floated, it swiftly lured us both on board. An accidental drowning maybe: Nancy apparently treading on the soap, causing her to fall and hit her head on the rim of the bath before slipping unconscious under the water.
Two problems with that idea: firstly, no one uses soap anymore, it’s all lotions. Secondly, the bruise marks where hands (or feet) had been forcing Nancy down might take a bit of explaining away. Forensic investigation would surely reveal even more flaws in this particular scenario. Pushing Nancy down stairs would more likely injure her than kill her and since she didn’t drink, there was little chance of me persuading her to do anything remotely dangerous. We were getting nowhere until the bleeding obvious answer occurred to us. Nancy had simply to disappear, become a missing person. As long as her body was never found, her illness would work in our favour. Surely our friends And relatives had noticed Nancy’s increasingly erratic behaviour of late. I could express my concerns about her to them in advance and their own imaginations would probably do the rest. Burying her in some remote wilderness place would take care of the evidence of foul play. Jenny could then come out of the shadows to console me in my distress, everyone would say what a godsend she was to me and everything would be wonderful. In next to no time, it was decided. Jenny’s eyes were wide with excitement as we discussed the idea in detail. She’d buy the spade and the plastic sheeting. The grave would be pre-dug and camouflaged. I’d spill the beans about Nancy’s health and swear everyone I told to secrecy so Nancy was still wouldn’t find out. Jenny would then come to my home, I’d let her in and we’d immediately set about snuffing Nancy. Knives and guns were out since they'd be too messy and/or noisy. No, it was agreed, strangulation was the way. It might take several minutes but as long as Nancy’s is struggles could be contained and the two of us should be well able to do that, my wife was as good as dead already.
I’d been right in my assumption about friends and relations noticing signs that Nancy wasn’t in the best of mental health. She was being talked about behind her back in no time, with the word rapidly spreading. The hardware was purchased, the grave dug and the date set. Saturday, nine o’clock in the morning.
Nancy was still in bed when Jenny knocked on the front door. I slipped into my dressing gown, went down stairs and admitted her. The girl was positively bubbling with excitement. I wasn’t so much excited as very, very nervous, as anyone who’d never actually killed another human being before would be. I mean, could I actually do it? Did I have it in me to manually choke the life out of a woman I’d known for over six years and who’d shared my bed these past three? Oh, I’d toyed with the idea of using a garrotte from behind on Nancy so I wouldn’t have to see the distress and horror distorting her so familiar features as she died; but something inside me really wanted to see and enjoy her suffering. Nancy’s death was therefore going to be as up close and personal as I could make it. I wanted to intimately feel and hear every element of her dying, every cough, every spasm and her final slow relaxing into oblivion. Jenny, on seeing my tension, reached inside my dressing gown and massaged my naked cock to life. As she did so, we heard the sound of movement upstairs.
Nancy was out of bed now and in the act of removing her nightdress as she always did when first arising. Now was the time to strike. Jenny gave my erect cock a reassuring squeeze and whispered “go get her, tiger!”
We kissed briefly whilst I summoned up my courage, then charged up the stairs, me leading the way. The neighbours would have heard nothing, not Nancy’s terrified gasp as I tore across the bedroom to where she was standing, totally nude; they'd have completely missed the the first cough as my hands closed around her warm silky smooth throat and savagely crushed it. They wouldn’t have heard the creek of the bed as I forced her down onto it.
It was a real bonus for me when Jenny guided my stiffened cock between the lips of Nancy’s quivering vagina and whispered “go on, stick the bitch, you know you want to”. I did. With one pelvic thrust, I found my cock cocooned in hot, wet, seething flesh. It felt fabulous! Every choke sent a shock wave through Nancy’s body which caused her vagina to clench my penis delightfully. She clawed at my hands to no avail as her shapely legs flailed and kicked thin air as if she were trying to run away. Nancy’s pretty face reddened, her lips and tongue darkened as all the precious oxygen in her blood and tissues got used up in her abortive struggle for life. The pressure I was exerting on her neck was preventing blood from flowing back down from her head, causing her face and tongue to swell. My wife’s face was by now a grotesque caricature of it’s former self. Her drool covered bloated tongue would no longer fit in her mouth and writhed about like a huge, shiny slug. It looked obscene and yet it fascinated me most strangely. I took as much of it as I could into my own mouth and sucked on it. The soft pounding of Nancy’s breasts against my chest as she spasmed under me only added to my sense of absolutely blissful euphoria. I was actually in the process of killing a woman for real. Totally destroying her and finding it the supreme thrill of a lifetime. As Nancy weakened, so I became stronger in equal measure. My fucking became more savage. I felt godlike, invincible. That cunt I'd been so cruelly denied in the past was now at last being mercilessly plundered. My fucking was by now so violent, I was even hurting myself but even this pain was proving exquisitely addictive and I wanted more of it. Inevitably, my cock erupted in orgasmic ejaculation, pumping pulse after pulse of spermatozoa into Nancy’s badly bruised and dying pussy. I closed my eyes and just relished the moment of my triumph over my wife and her life destroying disease. I lay on her with my hands still around her throat and my cock still inside her for a while, keeping perfectly still; until I realised that Nancy was perfectly still too. She wasn’t even breathing. There was no longer a pulse in her neck. I was lying.... ...on a corpse. My wife was gone. I was free.
From behind came the sound of Jenny gushing praise at me. “Wow, Brian; you were magnificent. You were like a wild beast with her, I’ve never seen the like! It’s totally turned me on, would you mind if I took a turn with her?”
I had no idea what she had in mind but acquiesced all the same, rolling off Nancy’s body so that Jenny could get at her. Jenny stripped off her pantyhose, straddled Nancy’s upturned dead face and squatted down so that she could grind her cunt against the corpse's gaping mouth and protruding swollen tongue. Nancy just stared unblinkingly at the ceiling and let it happen. Jenny’s rocking motion seemed to give life back to Nancy’s cooling flesh. She certainly got those dead boobs wobbling about like jellyfish on ecstasy. Instinctively, I reached out and dug my fingers deep into their yielding softness to bring those trembling mounds under my control. In her dying, Nancy’s nipples had become erect. I sucked on them and then bit them, hard. The only moan I heard came from Jenny.
Because Nancy’s depression had caused her to have little contact with our neighbours, it was possible for Jenny to wear some of her larger sized clothes and by donning a rather mousy coloured wig, make anyone glimpsing her believe that Nancy was still alive. The acid test came after we had buried the corpse that Sunday. On the Monday, Nancy was apparently spotted my several people hauling a rather large suitcase case down the street. On Tuesday, I reported my poor demented wife missing.
It was necessary for Jenny and I not to have contact with eachother while I did my desperate abandoned husband act, apart that is from her serving me in the pub as usual. In quieter moments, we were able to exchange a few heartfelt words. Words like, “wasn’t that the most thrilling thing ever?”. “Wow yes! I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m almost sorry it’s all over.”. “It doesn’t have to be over, does it?”. “How do you mean, Jenny?” “Well we could maybe do it again..... with someone else? A cute and sexy little stranger?” “Er....Jenny, if you don’t mind me asking, are you sexually attracted to girls too?”. “Like you wouldn’t believe! Maybe, when the heat’s off, we can go hunting fresh pussy to snuff together?”
“It’s a date!”