“It was the money, wasn’t it, Shannon?”

It’s our third day in the cabin and she’s bound and gagged on the bed. She doesn’t even bother to grunt in response. Nothing she could say would please me and she’s tired of being tazed when I don’t like her answers.

“You and I ... we were happy together, weren’t we?” I ask, right in her face, so close I can smell her sweat, thick with fear and pain.

Her eyes give me all the answer I need.

She nods her head and I don’t taze her for telling the truth.

I remember a line, something about ‘crying when we made love’. That was Shannon and me.

You might think I’m deluding myself but she and I spent enough hours gazing into each other’s eyes to know the truth.

We were in love, each other’s salvation after disastrous first marriages and only slight less disastrous rebounds.

There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her ... there were several things I did for her the law never needed to find out about.

I enjoyed crushing her ex-husband’s arms and legs.

Shannon was my life, would have continued being my life, until she met Thad.

God, I want to kill him all over again whenever I think of him.

Thad Simmons was only one thing I wasn’t and nowhere close to several things I was.

He was rich, had lots of money.

Not as handsome, not as educated, not as intelligent – an average-looking shlub of a guy whose sole selling point was an inherited fortune in the eight-figure range. A fortune that was growing.

It was a very convincing selling point where Shannon was concerned – we were both struggling after our divorces courtesy of our ex’s lawyers.

And there was Mr. Eight-Figures.

It was tearful, it was traumatic, but it was a cold business decision on her part.

She and I were forgotten – had never happened. I was an old and dear friend and she couldn’t bear to think of losing my friendship over a little thing like this. She wanted me in her life.

Like a shmuck, I agreed with every bullshit reason she gave me for ending us, to the whole ‘family friend’ thing. My divorce, the rebound, and then her decision ... cumulatively they’d taken so much out of me I didn’t have anything left to fight with.

I was a dear family friend, a part of her new life.

That was almost sixteen years ago ... sixteen years before I came back for my vengeance, sixteen years before I let my crazy completely out of the bag to eat the happy life she’d built with Thad-the-Mediocre-but-Rich.

To be fair, I’d let parts of it out quite sometime before ... starting about a year after the breakup, when Shannon told me she was pregnant.

Shannon and I had planned a family, once we’d recovered sufficiently to have some small measure of financial security.

They had a son, Thad Elliot Simmons III. Less than a year later, a daughter, Deborah Victoria Simmons.

I became ‘Uncle Vince’.

I heard God laughing at me, so I decided it was time to start laughing back at Him and His plans for her happiness.

“Okay, Shannon, it’s Television Funtime! Let’s watch a very special episode of Thad-and-me.”

I see the terror in her eyes. Shannon’s beginning to realize the person who so brutally slaughtered her husband is in the room with her.

I enjoy that terror ... a lot.

So much so that I slather KY over my cock and rape her ass again.

Three days of raping her every hole hasn’t lost its charm in the least. She’s put on weight over the years, but sliding my cock between those big olive globes is heavenly – maybe even more so with the extra pounds, more cushion for the pushin’.

She sobs as I rape her and I wonder if maybe her nose will get stopped up and she’ll die, unable to breathe through the ball-gag.

Fuck it ... like I give a shit. If she dies now it’ll only be slightly less satisfying than if she gets the full show...

But, while small, it is an important degree of satisfaction, so I pull out, switch her gag for one she can breath through.

It’s not like I’m going to lose the hard-on I’ve got anytime soon. Almost sixteen years of madness ... it’s not going anywhere. This is her third rape in the last two hours and I’m still going strong.

While I’m up, I check my account. Per my instructions, her total liquid assets have arrived, after multiple transfers, into my Singapore account.

It isn’t nine figures, the Simmons fortune had grown, but it’s a very comfortable almost-eight, and where I’m going it will allow me and mine to live a very comfortable life indeed.

I climb back on top of her, parting the soft, cellulite-padded cheeks of her ass, and ram my cock through her panic-and-disgust-tightened sphincter. Her full-body shudder of pain is like a beautiful song. As I thrust in and out of the depths of her ass, I’m singing my part in the duet.

Almost sixteen years of craziness running rampant in my life, my mind going so many dark places I’d never imagined, finding parts of myself I would have sworn didn’t exist ... all because she was living the life we’d dreamed of with each other, but she was doing so with Thad-the-Sexually-Unsure.

Shannon knew – she knew when she dumped me.

Thad was bi, which was fine, but he really wasn’t sure which sex he preferred more. Evidently he was turned on enough by women to father first little Thad-the-Third and then the year after, little Victoria.

She and I had always wanted a boy and a girl. We’d even turned each other on with Daddy-daughter and Mother-son roleplaying.

It was all a game. I knew I’d never need anyone other than Shannon – she could keep me interested for a dozen lifetimes, no room for temptation.

Endlessly inventive, she was the perfection I’d never dreamed I’d find. Back in that long-ago happiness, when she and I were home together, there was sleep and sex and we only ate sporadically.

Our routine was sex, sandwiches, smoke a bowl or two, and be right back in each other’s arms. Repeat until we had to sleep.

Of course we lost weight and we were in the best shape of our lives. Hours and hours of sex, light meals ... probably the best diet in the world.

It was the happiest either of us had ever been.

She’d put on a lot of weight with Thad-the-Evidently-Not-Quite-As-Vigorous.

When I finally fire my load into her ass, I hop off, full of energy and anticipation.

“I promised you Television Funtime, Shannon. Unlike you, I keep my promises.”

I put the DVD in the player and lean back, her shit still on my cock, her sweat still on my chest.

Precious Thad-the-Crossdresser, PVC French Maid’s costume cutting into his flesh at the edges, attractive in a perverse way. The time and date stamp on the recording revealing it was made over a year and a half earlier.

Her gasp is muffled, but still clear, even through the black rubber tube down her throat.

When I walk into the scene, hard-on bobbing in front of me like bait in the water, his eyes follow it as if it’s the answer to prayers he didn’t know he’d prayed.

“You’ll like this part, Shannon ... watch ... there he goes!”

Thad-the-Cocksucker falls to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut. My cock was down his throat, all the way down his throat, before I come to a complete stop. The wet, slobbery, almost gagging sounds from his throat as he inhaled my prick sing the lead of another duet, sobs from behind her gag singing harmony.

“I bet he never licked your cunt like that, did he, Shannon?”

I take a swig of my bourbon.

“I’m betting he hardly did anything above and beyond what was required to get you pregnant.

“Or am I wrong, Shannon?”

Her head shakes, whether in answer or denial I don’t know and barely care.

“See, I wouldn’t have had a problem with you breaking all your promises to me if you’d just realized what his tastes truly were...”

On the screen tears of joy are running down Thad’s face, his arms wrapped around me, holding on and sucking for dear life.

“I could have lived nearby, been happy with you and your sham of a marriage, been perfectly content keeping him happy as well.

“Hell, Shannon, if you’d tried a little subterfuge, with my help, it would have been our children raised as heirs to the Simmons family fortune ... oh, watch this, you’ll like this a lot, especially now...”

On the screen, her dead husband turned and pulled open his ass cheeks.

“Please, please Master, fuck me! I’ve been good, I’ll do whatever you want, please?”

His voice was full of more lust and devotion than she’d ever heard. I’d bet my new-found fortune on it.

As I fuck her dead husband on screen, I unstrap the ball-gag, and the walls ring with her screams.

I’ll be damned, everything is music to me now.

There are hours of film footage – once a week for a year-and-a-half, two to three hours each time – so I’ve put together a greatest hits collection.

While it plays, I pull her off the bed and sit her beside me on the floor.

“You want some popcorn, Shannon?”

“Why?”

“Why would I ask if you want popcorn?”

“Why are you doing this?” she moans,

“You promised me everything, you promised me thick and thin,” I reply. “You promised me in sickness and health. Hell, Shannon, we were married in every way that truly counted.

“Weren’t we?” I finish in a scream, my cheek against hers as I do my best to puncture her eardrum with sheer volume.

She nods again, her eyes downcast.

“No, Shannon, don’t turn away, I filmed all this for you, for this night, in this cabin.”

I forced her head back up to face the screen.

“I’ve edited this down a lot, but there’s still so much for you to see.”

I’m watching her every breath, her every twitch, an hour later when on screen, Thad-the-Mostly-Homosexual, lying in my arms, agrees to come out of the closet to his parents and divorce Shannon, get custody of the children, and cut her out of their lives completely.

“I’ve got the money,” he says, “I can tie her up in so many legal knots she’ll never get clear of them ... and I wasn’t stupid enough to marry that fat cow in a community property state. The pre-nup’s ironclad and I can have evidence faked showing she violated it. It’ll be easy. She won’t get a fucking dime. It’ll all be ours.”

It’s not hard to believe she felt something for the pathetic piece of shit she married ... I did as well. My time with him wasn’t onerous – he was a compliant little slut who just wanted someone to dominate him, bend him over, fuck him in the ass, and hold him afterward.

“Okay, Shannon ... dry your eyes, you’ll miss the best part. Watch now...”

On the screen I gazed lovingly into his eyes.

“That sounds like heaven,” I whisper, moving him around to face away from me. He presents his ass like it’s a prize. I slide my cock in, slowly slide back out, set a pleasing rhythm. I reach around, untape his cock, letting it snap out in front of him, rigid and quivering. My hand gets him off, eight strokes, as I fuck him, he fires his load over the bed.

He’s quivering in post-orgasmic bliss when I slide the ice pick into the side of his head and wiggle it around.

His bladder and bowels relax, urine dribbling, his feces oozing out around my cock.

On the screen I watch as I enter into my own state of grace, orgasms – physical, mental, emotional – warring on my face as my rival for Shannon dies.

He falls to the bed, face down, more feces seeping from his distended asshole.

Still in my own state of unholy grace, the three-months-ago me stands up, smiles beatifically for the camera, and steps out of frame.

I return with baseball bat and hatchet.

Blood, semen, urine, and feces spread everywhere as I take out my rage on his dead body.

In the here and now, next to me, Shannon pukes, thin streams of bile, as I stroke my cock to another erection, masturbating to the recording.

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” I say, my focus on my pleasure, completely immune to the smell of her vomit.

When my mind went down the revenge rabbit-hole, I never had any doubt of my eventual destination, my end goal...

I knew what I wanted, subsequent events just brought it into sharper focus, allowing me to sweeten the pot for myself immeasurably.

The birth of their daughter was the cherry on the top of the perfect ice cream sundae of death and depravity and revenge I was planning.

It was if the God that had blessed her life had turned His back on her ... more, that He was actively working with me to punish her.

I knew my targets very well, and after over fifteen years of being a family friend, a part of their lives, I knew I wouldn’t have a problem getting the three of them in a car with me after Dear Husband and Father Thad-the-Second was in the ground,

And I didn’t have a problem. The stupid cunt made is so easy, actually too easy. If she or her son had been suspicious, it would have given the whole thing a sweetness that was lacking when the cow, her son, and daughter hopped in the car with me.

So it was simple, unsatisfying ... I was hoping for a frisson of danger when I told her I was changing plans. We weren’t going to the Simmons family hideaway, a modest little twelve-bed-twelve-bath bungalow in the Hamptons, but were instead going to a little cabin I knew of, where we could really and truly get away from it all.