A Tale Of Immorality
Copyright© 2007 by angiquesophie
Chapter 8: A Foretaste of Damnation
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 8: A Foretaste of Damnation - A tale of an un-repenting cheating wife. Will her shenanigans be found out?
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Cheating Slut Wife Oral Sex
He must have thought he killed us both. He should have.
I am Anne. I betrayed my husband. And in the end I was unable to stop my betrayal. He found out, of course. He killed my lover. He almost killed me.
Then he killed himself.
No. I killed him.
I know. I have no right to live on. But I do.
I could annoy you with repentance and remorse, but I won't. Not because I don't honestly feel it. I do feel remorse, about ten tons of it and they all weigh on my heart.
But there is no point, is there?
My love is dead. George is gone. So is every dream I ever had. I carelessly and thoughtlessly threw them away. I betrayed and killed the one good thing I'd carried within me — George's love.
What's left of me is just trash. Worthless trash to be put away and destroyed. I should follow him as soon as they let me out of this hospital.
But I can't.
I remember the ice-cold flash of damnation. George's face was dark and ugly with rage. I remember the sense of finality.
The shame.
I was on my knees on the bed. The tip of Ralph's hard cock rested on the curl of my tongue. The painted nails of my fingers dug into the hard flesh of his ass cheeks. I pulled him towards me. I had to have him, to swallow him. My tits swung freely down from my chest. A sweet and familiar cloud of lust set my mind afloat.
I must have looked the whore I was.
No classy affair, this. No subtle titillation of the senses. No carefully planned adventure. Not even the thrill of the deliciously forbidden, anymore. No excuses, no sparkling sheen of glamour. I had become a greedy slut. I just had to have my cock. And lots of it.
There was no romance left.
Ralph and I had just grabbed a rushed dinner in the closest hotel at hand. It was a rendezvous I hastily improvised as soon as my husband left town. It was a badly-concealed excuse for what I really wanted — a sleazy night of greedy fucking.
Ah, Anne. What ever were you thinking? It was just delusion, honey. Delusion was all it added up to.
On that hotel bed my world came to an end.
There was his sudden face. He was a revenging angel from darkest Hades. I heard the sickening crush of bones. My naked body fled from his towering aggression.
I guess it was my voice that screamed his name.
Blood splashed like a hot shower over my exposed chest and face. Still the fury went on. I heard someone beg and simper. It must have been me. The dead weight of a large body fell against me.
Then all lights went out.
The white was clean. It was all around me.
So was the silence, punctuated by murmuring bleeps.
Hospital, my mind said. Crispy sheets, rubbery pillows.
My head was bandaged. So was my chest. There was no pain. There were no feelings at all, actually. I knew I was there. But I really wasn't.
I drifted.
A clear plastic bag sent drips to my wrist. I saw my idle hand. The garishly painted nails lay like little blood drops in a field of virgin snow.
