I can barely wait much longer; the tension throbs in my bones, making me tremble and shiver as though chilled but the heat in the room makes us sweat - for very different reasons: him; with the stress and strain of exerting every muscle to sustain his exertions. Her; in ecstatic anticipation of what's to come and myself in the confines of the garderobe where I stand, hidden from view but able to gain access to their den of iniquity with a carefully placed eye to a hole in the wall (hidden behind a likeness of her mother). His turgid phallus, slick with her excitement, flashes in the shadows, candlelight flickers on faces contorted at the height of passion, and I'm thankful that the noise of their vigorous sport covers the faint 'click' of the latch when I open the secret panel. I wonder whether other couples get such thrills from as lewd an exhibition as this. Perhaps, somewhere, someone is stalking his wife's lover, weapon in hand, and ready to do the deed.
She cannot see or hear me: entranced within her own passion, her orgasm wracks her rolls of flesh and makes her body resemble one of those sweet milk puddings she's so fond of. I smile at the image and edge forward on tip-toe, careful to avoid the discarded clothing and bejewelled scabbard lying haphazardly across the floor like a trail of bread crumbs to the four-poster bed which rocks back and forth in the rhythm of their happy violence. Her breathless cries for him to ravish her become wilder, demented even, beyond all modesty and decorum, no longer a wife and mother but simply a conduit for her unnatural lust to manifest around his plunging member, drawing him into the whirlpool between her quaking thighs. He cannot know what is coming (other than his own pleasure), so intent is his focus upon the vortex sucking him relentlessly deeper inside her heaving body - and, if he had known, would he have stopped? I doubt it! His buttocks churn in a slow circle, pumping hard, ploughing his seed within her receptive furrow until she is satiated and screams: "Now!"
He turns his head, warned, perhaps by some sixth sense, and meets my weapon coming the other way, taking the perfect blow that lays his throat open to the bone.
She turns to suckle the gush of bright blood and tastes the immortal elixir that ensures her beauty will never fade.
A thick rope of pre-cum swings lazily between my thighs: "Please!" I beseech my lusty lady, unable to bear the load any longer. Her blood-red lips part and with a look she releases me, taking the hot cream on her plump jowls with a satisfied purr, licking each drop from her lips to savour the contrast between our offerings: his, a tart, coppery taste and mine, a tangy aftertaste that stimulates her desire for more. She lays back upon the tangled blankets, pushes the corpse out of the way with a delicate, beringged toe, and opens herself wide, offering me the chance to slake her preternaturally enhanced lusts and, with a slavering tongue, I obey, licking her succulent flesh and lapping the sticky flow of love juices into my mouth.
The flavour of her flesh revives my flagging libido and her legs wrap around my neck like a pair of anaconda's, smooth and moist to the touch. I have lain with many women and tasted the fruits of various and dissolute pleasures but I would not swap the She-Devil that is my wife for any of them.
