Chapter 9

Isn't "crazy" just a word? A word like loco, deranged, insane? Maybe it is. But on the other hand it might be a last defense against the overwhelming forces of misery.

I think I went crazy the night Phil said he wanted to divorce me. Maybe it wasn't so much because he actually said it but because I expected him to say it. I had expected it for weeks. It was exactly what I knew he would do.

Then he did it.

I am Mary, remember? Phil's cute sub wife?

When he told me about the divorce, I was hanging from a hook in our attic, arms numb from the stretching. A spreader separated my feet, my mouth was closed with a gag and a blindfold covered my eyes. There was a vibrator in both my cunt and my ass. Little weights hung from my tits, stretching my nipples.

There was a clamp on my clitoris.

After all these years he had at last fucked his tall, redhead dream, my very best friend Irene (although I suspect they've been screwing ever since the day I introduced them to each other, years ago). And she fucked him back with all the treachery she could muster.

More over, he had forced me to watch them. From a secluded place I saw his ass spasm as he shot his seed up her adulterous cunt. I watched him getting her pregnant.

And that's when I started hating Phil. When I later heard she was pregnant for sure, the hate entered my heart. Because you know that I can't have a child, ever. You must know that.

The problem was I still loved him. I guess the only way to kill that love would be to kill him.

Dangling in front of him that night I remember thinking: "Maybe I'll kill him soon. But not now."

I wasn't really thinking, though. Sluts have a hard time thinking at all, you know. There were just too many moments that I — well — suspended my thinking around Phil.

I usually hated myself for that. Usually later

At that moment I was very close to a second orgasm. The gag muffled my begging. But right then he suddenly pulled out the dildos. He also took away the clamps, the weights and the blindfold. He left the ball gag in place.

I moaned in frustration. His eyes were level with mine. His icy blue gaze made me shiver. He grabbed my head and pulled my face into his.

"So now that I've fucked her with child, you worthless barren bitch," he hissed, "what do I need you for any longer? Go slut around in your precious ghettos, whore. Go sell yourself. Show them what you are prepared to do for a fuck."

He grabbed my cunt hard, making me wince. His fingers entered, pushing all the way up into my deepest niche. It hurt. But I was past hurt. He had trained me well. Pain aroused me. I had allowed him to turn me into a pain freak.

I screamed around the gag and came from his cruel probing.

He chuckled. He felt me spasm around his hand. He slid his fingers out and smelled them. Then he smeared the juices over my face and tits.

He once more grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.

"I am going to divorce you, Mary," he said. "I have no need of you anymore."

That was when I started killing him.

I am not a strong woman. Physically Phil could break me with his pinkie. And as far as mental strength goes... I was his slave, remember?

But I have what he lacks - patience.

I had been brooding on a way to kill him ever since I knew about the pregnancy. By now I knew what to do and when. To hell with consequences. I was crazy, wasn't I? Deranged, loco?

Who needs a life after one's love has been killed?

I left Phil the day after he told me about his divorce plans. I booked a suite at the Plaza with one of his cards. I doubted that he'd block it any time soon. He may be a lot of awful things, but stingy is not one of them.

I went to a special parlor and changed my looks to match my insides. I also bought a new wardrobe. I went gothic nightmare all the way. It made me feel good. I needed to show my true self to the fucking bitch, so I went to see her. Of course I ended up crying like a baby. I am weak, and when she lied to me, I fled.

The next day I phoned Phil. I told him I needed to talk about the divorce. He said there wasn't much to talk about. I insisted. We had dinner at Sardi's, close to Broadway. It had a special meaning for us. Ah well, just for me by then, I gather.

He was good, Phil. Slicker and sweeter than ever. He complimented me on my new look. I had gone all the way. Low cut black silk top, studded nipples thrusting against it. I wore a tight leather skirt. Sheer black stockings, crazy heels. Abundant make up on a chalk white face. Never-ending dark red nails.

"At last you look like the whore you are," he said with the sweetest of smiles.

"Merci," I answered, dripping honey. "Isn't that just the company you prefer, lately?"

Damn, we were good at this. We should have started much earlier. Such a pity it would end so soon.

"I saw her, you know," he went on. "Irene, I mean. She is all excited about us, our child and all."

I watched his eyes. Maybe by now I was the only one able to see if he lied. It is hard. Especially when he believes what he is saying. I guess he believed that Irene was his. Well, he might be right.

Did I care?

"Phil," I said and laid my blood-tipped claw on his hand. "I want you to fuck me tonight. Just this one last time. Don't say no."

My heart throbbed. I knew his egotistical inclinations. His easy to tickle self-confidence. I ran a stockinged foot up his leg. My begging eyes were wide open. My nipples were like fingertips.

There was nothing fake about my eagerness. And there was nothing fake about his, either. I saw it in his eyes. The triumph. The anticipation. And I felt it confirmed by the hard bulge my toes found between his thighs.

He grinned.

"You are such a slut, Mary."

We rose to leave.

"I was taught by the best," I whispered.

The suite looked as instructed; the hotel staff had done a good job setting up.

The lights were low. A small meadow of candles spread a yellowish, living light, leaving a wide path straight to the huge bed. Long stemmed roses lay strewn all over the silk cover. They were dark red and had mean thorns.

"You are such a romantic," Phil mumbled, leaving my extended nipples just long enough to say it. "I'll miss that."

He had attacked me in the cab already, pushing my silk top up above my tits and running a greedy hand up my stockings. I must have looked a mess when we stumbled through the lobby and took the elevator up to my suite.

"You live expensively, honey," he grinned when we rode up. His fingers were inside me before we reached my floor. His teeth pulled on the studs through my nipples.

It felt all very good.

He tore my top off. Then he zipped down my skirt, making it fall around my crazy heels. His eyes went up and down my pale, naked body. Then he took me up and carried me to the bed. He dumped me on the cruel flowers. I felt them attack my skin. It just added to my arousal.

I lay gasping. I looked at him past my panting tits. He kicked off his shoes, then took off his shirt and pants. His lean, muscled body seemed to dance in the living candlelight.

His cock was up and hard. I always loved its elegance. Most cocks are ugly. His is tall and slender. And always ready. I love his cock. I love its shape, its force.

I love my Master.

Phil never hesitated. He climbed between my legs, brushing the roses aside. Then he pulled my stockinged legs on his shoulders, making the heels stick out. Their shadows touched the ceiling.

He plunged his cock into my cunt in one hard thrust. I felt the air being torn from my lungs.

The fuck was short and extremely rough. I came about the fifth time he hit bottom. My orgasm still echoed when he drowned it with his flood. But he kept on pumping. It seemed he'd never lose his hardness.

Then he rolled off me, forgetting the roses. He cursed. I laughed. He grabbed me, rolled me over and started spanking my thorn-pricked ass with his huge, open hand.

"You whore! You spineless slut! You - goddamn - bitch - in - goddamn - heat!"

He almost chanted the words while painting my skin with pink blooming handprints. I squealed and sobbed and felt the glow spread into me.

His copious sperm gushed out of me with every blow.

"Oh God, Phil!" I stammered. "Oh God, don't leave me. I love you! I love you so!"

I turned around and wrapped my body around him. I held on to him with all my might, kissing dark lipstick smudges all over his face.

He got hold of my head and pushed it away from his. Then he spoke and signed his death sentence.

"Crawl into your slimy hole, you cheap, barren whore," he growled, each word was clipped and neatly separated. "But first suck my cock."

His hands grabbed my new black hair and pulled me down on his drooping flesh. It shone with our juices. I smelled the raw sex. Then I tasted his sperm and my cum as my mouth sank down over his cock.