Simply the Best

Contents:

British English spelling and grammar throughout.

There is a loving wife, so the category police can go and moan at someone else. And it ends where it's supposed to. Cuck Shit Brigade, move along. Nothing to see here.

***

Simply the best

'Better than all the rest.'

They took their coffees to a table away from the window.

"You're looking well." he said.

"You too." she replied.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"You may have heard I got married again."

"Yes, congratulations."

"Thank you. Well, Justin and I are emigrating to Australia next month, and there's something I'd like to clear up before I leave. It's about our split."

"I rather thought it might be."

"I really want to know why. And no bullshit; I know how you love to exaggerate everything. So please, no fairy stories. I won't say you're a liar, let's call it romancing."

"Thanks. Is Justin going to join us?"

"No, I said I'd do this on my own."

"That rings a bell. Him letting you meet with an ex-lover."

"He trusts me."

"So did I, that time I let you meet up with your ex-husband; also on your own."

"Well there you are then. Justin's very similar to you."

"Fair enough. First, tell me how you remember it."

She sipped her coffee, and took a deep breath.

"We'd been together over a year, and were both selling our houses. We planned to live together, before getting married."

"Sure, that was my understanding."

"There was a clause on my house deeds, that gave ten percent of the selling price to Brian, my ex-husband. I knew he was living in what they call 'reduced circumstances' and thought he might take a bit less."

"I always thought that was a good move." he said. "He was a hopeless alcoholic, living on that crap caravan site. But I do recall you didn't want me there, for the negotiations with him."

"I didn't. What you say is true about his alcoholism; his drinking was the main reason for our divorce. That, and the fact that he frequently abused me. But I knew he still held out vague hopes we might get together again. Sitting down at the table with you present would only have antagonised him; he'd probably have asked for more money, rather than less."

"You're sure you didn't still fancy him?"

"Not in the slightest. He used to stink of cheap booze."

"OK. Tell me how the meeting went."

"That Friday evening, he must have driven over in his old van, but still turned up drunk. It's a wonder he didn't have an accident. First thing he did was grab that Macallan you left at mine. Sorry."

"Macallan is expensive, and my favourite whisky, but not a good enough reason to split with you."

"Then he asked me how much I would give him. You know I'd had a good offer on my house, but I didn't tell him how much. I thought things were going well, and he was saying a couple of thousand would sort him out. He was going to get sober, get a job, all the usual nonsense. Then he saw the pendant you gave me."

"The black pearl?"

"Yes. You'll remember you bought it to replace his."

"His was a fake, not worth much more than fifteen pounds. The one I bought you had a diamond setting and was worth over two grand."

"I know. But he always thought his was worth a fortune. He won it in a game of cards in a pub. I'd never had the heart to tell him he'd been conned. I realised I should not have worn yours that night, but it was too late. He spotted it and said he'd settle for that."

"Pity you weren't wearing his; you'd have got off scot free."

"I know. But I threw his away when you bought me the expensive one."

"So he got my whisky and your black pearl? Good night's work for him."

She hung her head.

"I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you straight away, but then everything else kicked off, and you just disappeared. I planned to replace the pearl from the house sale money. I didn't intend to keep the truth from you."

"Not your fault. I wasn't around to tell."

"Where did you go?"

"Later. Finish your story first."

"He punched me in the face and knocked me to the floor. Then said he'd kick me, if I didn't hand it over. So I did. Then he stormed off."

"You should have called me."

"But our deal was, I'd sort things out with Brian myself, and see you on Saturday."

"You didn't even try to call?"

"No. If you'd come over you'd have seen what he'd done. I know you only lose your temper when you're really angry but with the pendant gone, and my bruised face, I thought you'd go and do something stupid."

"You were probably right."

"I tried to call you Saturday, but you didn't pick up. I was just on my way out, to come over to your place, when I saw the note you'd pinned to my front door. You said you weren't home and would be away for a while, to think about things. I was worried sick all weekend; I didn't know what it was you wanted to think about. Then, I was about to leave for work on Monday, when the police turned up. I nearly died! I thought you'd been in an accident."

"My apologies for putting you through that. I read in the paper about Brian's death; I guess they wanted to see you about that?"

"Yes. I was the closest person to next of kin. And the classic 'last person to see him alive'."

"Did they suspect you of anything?"

"No. His death was accidental. He drowned in his bath. He often had a hot bath, to try and sober up. But this time, he must have been too drunk. You don't often get a bath in those cvaravans - he chose that one because of it. They said he'd left the taps on. Eventually, the water ran outside. A neighbour saw it on Sunday, sloshing down those little steps."

"Did they recover the pendant?"

"No, but you know what low life characters live on that site. His door was unlocked so any of the neighbours could have wandered in and helped themselves."

"You're probably right."

"Then, the council only went and asked if I would pay for his bloody funeral!"

"Did you?"

"I did not. There was no-one else to pick up the bill, so I have no idea what the arrangements were. I didn't even go."

"Good."

"Where were you?" she was tearful now. "I needed you!"

"I'd better tell you then."

He got two more coffees and began.

"I knew what Brian could be like so, that night, I was worried about you, and walked round to your house."

"What?"

"A couple of streets away, I spotted his old van. Did you know the passenger door didn't lock?"

"Why would I?"

"Well, it didn't. I knew things would not go well at your meeting, so I got in and climbed over into the back. There was actually a mattress in there. He'd probably been sleeping in it, before he rented the van."

"Yes, he told me he had to wait to get that caravan. What on earth did you get in for?"

He ignored her.

"I made myself comfortable. He still had some of those cheap T-shirts in there; the ones he used to sell on the Sunday market. More fakes. After an hour or so, he came back and got in. Scariest drive of my life, I tell you. I could hear the vibrations of every rumble strip he hit, and every cat's eye when he strayed across to the wrong side of the road. But here I am, so we made it."

She looked at him with disbelief.

"He got to the site and staggered out. Luck was with me. I slipped out of the passenger door, while he was retrieving his dropped keys. That's when you're the most vulnerable, as you unlock your door. He finally got it open and stumbled in. I stepped in behind him and gave him a hard shove. He fell and smacked his head on the floor."

"You did not, I don't believe it!"

"Why's that then?" he grinned at her.

"You're lying!"

"Shall I stop?"

"No, you'd better get it out of your system. This is turning out to be a waste of my time."

"I turned him over and took the whisky out of his jacket pocket. Then poured it into his mouth. He spluttered a bit but got most of it down. I waited a minute, and did it again, till the bottle was empty."

She sat back, shaking her head and folding her arms.

"After that, it was simple. I ran him a bath; as you said, you don't often see one in a caravan. You'd said it was his way of sobering up, and I was hoping you'd mention that to the police. I stripped him off, not a pleasant experience, and put him in. A crappy little cushion from his armchair, held gently over his face, kept him under. I read somewhere you can go two minutes without air, so I held him under for four. He twitched around a bit at first, but I'd hardly call it proper struggling."

"Utter bullshit! I should have known you'd come up with some fantasy nonsense. I suppose you did a runner in case you left any clues at the bloody murder scene?"

"It wasn't bloody. There was an element of lying low, I admit. But that wasn't the reason I stayed away."

"Really? Do tell! Though I doubt I'll believe a word of it!"

"You will though. I was round your house that Friday, trying to persuade you to let me stay for your meeting?"

"So?"

"Do you wish you'd let me, now?"

"No, not really."

"Yet if I had been there, we would still be together. But then you would never have met Justin of course."

"Why would we be together?"

"Well you may recall, I closed those heavy curtains at your patio door. While I was doing that, I took the key."

"What? No you didn't. I check the locks every day. The key was there Saturday morning."

"Are you going to keep raising your voice?" he said, "Or can I finish?"

"Keep going. But I know it's only more bullshit."

"Hang in there."

She folded her arms again and frowned.

"The van engine was still warm, so I knew he'd just arrived. Once I found the passenger door wouldn't lock, I left it and went round to your place. I got into your back garden, and unlocked your patio door. When I crept in, I stayed behind the curtain. I heard him take the whisky. You shouted 'Hey, that isn't yours!' I couldn't see, but he was obviously drinking it."

She went pale. That was exactly what she'd said.

"I'm not surprised you've gone white, you know very well what happened next. He said 'I'll take that back' though I didn't know what he was talking about at the time. Then he said 'And I'll have a last piece of that, before I go.' I had a pretty good idea what that was, and sneaked inside."

"Oh God!"

"Interesting choice of words. That's exactly what you said soon after I peeped into the dining room."

*** *** ***

She was wearing a denim shirt and skirt. She thought Brian was snatching at the pendant, but he was not. He grabbed the front of the shirt and ripped it off. Buttons pinged across the dining table.

"No bra, I see. You knew I was coming of course!"

"Stop it! I'll give you the pendant."

"You'll give me more than that!"

Her shoes fell off as he pushed her onto the table, legs dangling off one end. He clamped one hand across her mouth while the other wormed its way up her thighs and under her panties. She struggled but was unable to make any sound, even when he started on her breasts. His mouth clamped just above one nipple, and he bit and sucked. She moaned loudly through his fingers. When he was satisfied, Brian raised his head. Her left breast was sporting a huge lovebite.

"Remember when I used to do this in the good old days? You loved it!"

She couldn't answer with his hand still in place. His head dropped to the other breast and he started again.

"There, you have four nips again!" he announced. "Let's see what your new boyfriend makes of them!"

The two lovebites were red raw, and did look like extra nipples. As he admired his handiwork, he removed his hands from her mouth and panties. Standing between her dangling legs, he said: "You know the rules; you have to take your own knickers off."

She reached down and wriggled them over her hips.

"Legs up!"

She raised her legs, slipped the panties over her ankles, and placed them on the table next to her. He did nothing except watch and wait. After a moment, she parted her legs, paused, then reached around her thighs, put her fingers on her labia, and pulled them open.

"Wider!" Brian instructed.

She complied.

"Much wider than that, you remember how big I am, make your cunt smile at me!"

She pulled again, and gasped.

"That's better! Keep your hands there!"

Brian plunged into her vagina and she cried "Oh God!" He lifted her buttocks up off the table as he rammed all the way up her, his pubic hair mashing against hers. She yelped as he dug his fingernails deep into her flesh. Then, ramming harder and harder, he leaned over and thumped her back onto the table; his fingers still digging in painfully.

A few minutes later, she cried "Oh God!" again. Both men, the one fucking her, and the one watching, knew this was her moment of orgasm. She raised her hips to meet his thrusts and then flopped back, exhausted. One final "Oh God!" and she was done.

"Did you cum?" she asked.

"What do you think?" he said.

He withdrew and stared at her.

"Come on, you dirty bitch. You remember how this goes; get on the floor and open your mouth!"

Her double nipples came into view as she slid onto her knees and took his dick into her mouth. Her skirt slipped back into place.

"You like the taste of your juicy cunt don't you? Well, that's enough; this fuck is for me, not you. Bend over. You know how you want this to end!"

She leaned over the end of the table, groaning as her damaged breasts touched the chilly wood, and raised her skirt again. Then, without being told, she pulled her buttocks apart.

"Do you want your tight little shithole shafted? Bring back happy memories?"

"You know I do!"

"Ask me then."

"Brian, please fuck my tight little shithole!"

She kept her fingers in place as he ploughed up there. With her boyfriend, she was used to lubricant, so this really hurt. But sex with Brian had always hurt. She yelled 'Ow!' with every stroke. But after a couple of minutes it became a quieter grunt. He picked up the pace as he entered the finishing straight, and she got louder again. As he unloaded, she shouted 'Yes! Oh God!' and it was over.

"Say the words, before I take it out." he demanded.

"What?" she mumbled.

"The words. The Tina Turner words. What am I?"

So she told him.

He yanked his dick out with a plop, and retrieved her panties, which had somehow stayed on the table. There were little brown streaks along his shaft, and he used the panties to clean himself. Then he dropped them on the floor.

*** *** ***

"I sneaked back out, relocked your patio door, and then went and got in his van."

She didn't answer. Just stared at her cold coffee.

"Wearing a short skirt, and going braless, may not have been an open invitation. But you knew he would have seen it that way. It was certainly inappropriate. Deep down, you wanted him one more time."

She just sniffed. He soldiered on.

"I was wearing black clothes and gloves when I drowned the bastard. I had to walk back to town; didn't get to your house till after four in the morning. Sneaked in through the back again, replaced your key and relocked the patio door. Then quietly let myself out through the front, leaving my note on the way."

"I never heard a thing."

"Yeah, I can imagine you must have been tired!"

Tears ran down her cheeks.

"You can see I had to kill him, can't you? He was never going to stay away. Once he'd sold the pendant, and the money had run out, he'd have come back, sniffing around for more. And you'd have given it to him, wouldn't you? Mouth, cunt, arse, cash. Just like the good old days!"

"I don't think so." she whispered.

"Yes you would. The world is full of bullies looking for victims, Sadly, there are also victims looking for bullies. But you can always start again in Canada."

"You won't tell Justin will you? Please!"

"Don't even know the bloke. I feel sorry for him though. He doesn't realise what he's getting himself into."

"He's not getting into anything! It's over. You're right of course, I couldn't resist him. But he's gone now."

"He has, thanks to me. Every day of happiness you share with Justin will be down to me."

"I'm sorry I did that. But I still cannot believe you murdered him. You're lying."

"I stayed away to give you one last chance. If you'd gone to the police with a rape accusation, we might have still made a go of it. But you didn't of course. You loved it."

"I couldn't; I thought he was alive. In court, he'd have claimed I wanted it!"

"Don't be so naïve. Every rapist says the victim wanted it. The damage to your breasts? The fingernail cuts in your arse? He'd be in prison by now. Except I've killed him."

She just shook her head.

"Liar."

"Anyway, I've got to go. Happy landings in Canada."

He walked out leaving an envelope, which she opened. Inside was a plastic bag, which she also opened. It contained a tightly folded pair of white panties. The brown stains, and other secretions long since dried up. And nestling in the grubby gusset was a pendant.