Wednesday, November 8, 2017

A work of Dark Fiction

This is a much different version of the fun story I published yesterday, as part of TMI Tuesday: November 7, 2017 ~ Use Your Words!. I warn you that todays story is dark - very dark - and not erotic at all. It was inspired both by the killings at Sutherland Springs last Sunday and the dinner conversation I had on Saturday night with a former FBI Profiler who told me some horrific stories... the kind that don't make it to television.

The story below is actually the first draft of the story I eventually published yesterday but this one is so awful I couldn't use it. I changed it completely and made it something a lot lighter and possibly a little humorous [see here]. If you choose to scroll down and read the dark version please don't mistake me for a misogynist or a psychopath - it's just a work of fiction!!  #TriggerWarning


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This post has also been submitted to Wicked Wednesday 


click here for more 'Wicked Wednesday' stories

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Instruction: Create a short story using the words below. It can be funny, sexy, sad, quirky, kinky and/or intriguing. Get those creative juices flowing!
Dragging; Kitchen; Bedroom; Sofa; Albert Einstein; Closet; Eggbeater; Olive Oil; Rain; Eight

I'm no Albert Einstein but I figured recreating my wife's favorite scene from 9½ Weeks couldn't be that hard. I went to the kitchen and checked the refrigerator - we had strawberries, a can of Dairy Whip, some leftovers, and... and... eight eggs? Maybe I should make her an omelet?


Fuck it, the strawberries and cream would do. As I went back up to the bedroom I could hear the sound of a police siren in the distance. Looking out the window all I saw was rain. What a fucking shit day this was going to be. Again.


My wife was still in the closet where I'd left her. Dragging her out I saw her cellphone on the floor  - who had she called? And how? I'd given her such a beating last night I thought I'd killed her. But that didn't matter anymore - I was going to make it up to her now with strawberries and a can of Dairy Whip. 

Fuck that. 

I threw her onto the kitchen bench, face down. She fell with a lifeless thud. I picked up the Olive Oil and poured it over her naked ass. Fuck 9½ Weeks, let's try a little Last Tango In Paris instead! I slathered the oil all over her crinkled crease and then fucked her asshole. She was tight, making it the best fuck we'd had in a long time. Better than the one last night.

Last night she'd told me she wanted me to go all Christian Gray on her: spank her, slap her a little, take her roughly - like a man. "Like a real man!" she said. It was the last thing she ever said. I slapped her so hard she screamed and when I slapped her again she tried to run, squealing. That was when I punched her...

But there was no need to dwell, we both knew what happened next. 

Do the dead remember anything? 

The sounds of Police sirens snapped me back to reality. She'd called them somehow, this morning. And while I was trying to make a sexy brunch for her too! BITCH!!! 

The sirens were close now, right outside my house. Someone was banging on the door. I was fucked. I slumped down on the sofa and laughed. Even in death my wife had managed to fuck me over one last time. I laughed out loud. She thought she could have the final word? Not fucking likely, bitch.

The eggbeater I'd shoved up her dead cunt would see to that. 

Everyone would know my name now. I'm fucking infamous now, bitch!

4 comments:

  1. You are right about that being real dark!!!

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    Replies
    1. Yeah, it seemed to follow a course of it's own!

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  2. Fuck thats very dark - well written though

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, but I'm still not happy with it (but decided it wasn't worth wasting time over since it had no redeeming qualities). It would work better as a script, where an actor could give a better tone to the voice.

      Delete

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Remembering an Ex on Fetish Friday