Chapter 7

Dear wimp,

("Nice start and after some consideration, yes very to the point.")

Don't feel too sorry for yourself. Believe me, you are no exception. They are all liars and cheaters.

I have seen them, smelled them, screwed them. I fucked them, the blondes and the brunettes, the huge and the tiny, the beautiful and... well, why waste my time on the ugly?

I have impaled them and abused them, humiliated them and beat them. Then I laughingly dumped them. In the end they are all the same, you know. Don't think your little slut is anything special. They are all high and mighty at first, all prim and peculiar until you grab their hair and pull them over your throbbing cock.

They may gag and choke on you, but they swallow. They may gasp and moan. But they will thank you and come back for more.

You know me, I am Phil Mortensen and I screwed your wife. Don't think it is your fault, buddy. She begged me.

("Wow, that sure is a consolation; thanks, asshole.")

I am of Viking stock you know. As my dad used to say: "There are Vikings and there are peasants. Burn their houses, rape their women. But, son... never mix the two of them up."

He was fun, my old man. Until the disease blew his mind away. Oh well, shit happens. He had his share while it lasted. And I guess I owe him for showing me the ropes. I bet you saw "The Devil's Advocate" with Pacino? Meet my daddy. Better not shake his hand, though. Or even allow him a finger.

Isn't it amazing how many people believe that the devil is an ugly monstrosity on bent legs? That he has horns and ungainly hooves? That he spits fire and reeks of sulphur? How on earth would the poor bastard seduce so many if he looked this appalling?

My dad was tall and blonde. He had blue eyes of steel of course. And he gave it all to me. He also shared his honey with me and poured it over my tongue. Phil Silvertongue, pleased to meet you. In more than one way too.

("Yes, you are a jerk in many ways, Phil.")

A woman's lust lives in her clit, her nipples and all her other tiny places. My tongue knows where to lick and get her started. It makes her go all the way and then gets her to take off all over again.

I feel no need to be modest about my tongue, Eric. It has so many talents. It knows how to shape the little words that make a woman's mind buzz. Just ask your little wife, it made her so willing. My honey tongue whispers endearments to melt them. It also bites harsh commands that stun them. It creates sweet nothings and delivers cruel sneers. My tongue knows all the tricks, Eric. And my women can't resist them.

They may want to, but they can't.

Which brings me to Irene, your wife.

She resisted. You may be proud of her for that, if only for that. She hurt my ego by resisting everything I tried. She ridiculed me with her smiling no's. She was ever so sweet about it. I bet she knew how close she came, over and over again. But she never succumbed.

("Lovely. I guess we must admire her for that.")

I met her when I met Mary. She was the sun to Mary's moon. Maybe I only fell for mousy Mary to be close to Irene?

Women are tits and asses to me. Irene is not. She is eyes. Oh, she has great tits and a wonderful ass, as you'll agree. But her eyes were what snared me. They were everywhere. Even when she was not around.

I saw them all the time. They saw me. They played with me. They were her cat to my mouse.

They had a twinkle, a naughty spark. You must know of it too, or does she reserve it for the men she really takes seriously?

("Don't ask me.")

Her eyes told me she was a sensuous slut at heart. She may have known that or maybe she didn't know. But the spark in her eyes screamed at me to be released. Begged me, teased me.

But at the same time her mouth smiled no.

(Excuse me, Eric, here I must pause and apologize for a minute to my Dad. With Irene I forgot all his lessons, you know. Irene made me stumble, she turned me into her puppy. I was powerless under the spell of her gaze. She made me crawl and beg and did not even know she did.

Or, well... maybe she did?)

I married little Mary. Irene married this schmuck, the fool who had no more sense than to cheat on her. She got divorced. I jumped at the opportunity. Her eyes reeled me in, but yet again her smile stopped me.

She drove me crazy.

("Ah yes, crazy. That must be it.")

I had to find a way, or I would lose my sanity. Dad had told me to always use seduction. But he also told me that there is no such thing as a No for a woman. It's like a Spanish bullfight. We know up front that the animal has no chance. But how we love the fight.

(Yes, Dad, I know, I am a lawyer too. I can see the loopholes. I can see the comfortable margin between seduction and rape.

Don't worry, Dad.)

At the night of Mary's first birthday after Irene's divorce, I threw a small and intimate dinner at the villa. A tiny celebration, just for the girls and me.

Irene's eyes had a ball, that evening. She just needed to glance and smile at me and she had me hard. She must have noticed. How cruel could she be not to? And more so - how could she be such a cock tease and not take care of my precious hard on?

("Bad girl. How insensitive of her.")

She jumped as if bitten by a snake when I slowly slid my hand under her skirt. But oh no no! Eric, don't rejoice. She did not jump at once. She just sat there, nibbling on a leaf of salad. She caught my eyes while chitchatting with Mary. The husband of her best friend caressed her naked thigh, and she smiled in calm conversation with his wife.

She slowly pushed her cunt up against my probing fingers. She closed her eyes. And only then did she throw down her fork to leave the room in a flurry.

Believe me, I have felt her glow, it was there, she was very wet. I knew she was ready, Eric. She wanted me, her body screamed for me. But once more she decided to make a fool out of me.

("Make a fool of you? Ha! Ask her what she made of me.")

Funny thing is, I was not desperate at all, then. I knew I had her. I just knew. It was a matter of time.

But then she fell in love with you.

("Sorry for that, buddy.")

I was amazed when I saw you the first time. Your name was Eric, a proud Viking name. But man, are you a pussy. How could she ever shun me and fall for a wimp like you?

Your first wife had cheated on you big time, I heard. Didn't surprise me one bit. "Yes darling, no darling. Of course, sweetheart, no problem." There were evenings when I had to puke, just watching the two of you together. On the other hand, I told my self, I love a challenge. More than ever did I want to break the slut. Tear her away from you and make her mine.

("How nice to know I was a challenge.")

Sorry, sucker. It isn't personal at all. She is a natural prey, flashing her ass to be caught. She can't help it, neither can I. I am the predator. You just happened to get in the way. Collateral damage, as they say in the army.

Anyway, plans to get her invaded my feverish brain, one plan more fantastic than the other. Bad plans, too. Let me tell you from one experienced fucker to one sad wimp: never embrace a plan unless it is simple. And never go for an opportunity unless you can make the most of it. After all, it might be your only chance.

Don't plan for a quickie, Eric. It is so much wasted energy for nothing. Go with the flow: plan around natural opportunities as soon as they arise. Eliminate surprises, keep it simple.

("Thanks, Phil, to share this with me. Might come in handy.")

It was last August, right in the middle of the heat wave. New York was hell, so you turtledoves were very eager to accept our gracious offer to spend your weekends at our Long Island villa. One weekend Irene even found a way to arrive Thursday night and have Friday off.

I immediately knew this was my chance. And just as quickly I knew how I would go about it.

But first I must tell you something you have to know.

("Do I?")

You must have asked yourself often: why does this perfect Alpha male put up with his mousy, totally insufficient spouse? She must be great in bed or have other unknown qualities, like big money or something. Well, she does, though it is hardly the money.

She is the perfect slave.

Once she saw I would never be faithful to her, even for a week, she made a nice decision. Nice for me, that is. She decided never to leave me, whatever I did. She has always been totally gaga with me, ever since high school. It is a sickness, really. Even my constant, wide open cheating can't kill her love for me. Love, the word makes me laugh. But anyway, let's oblige the little slut.