| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted November 7, 2022 | Chapters: |
2 3 -4- 
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Terry tries to enjoy time with his wife
A chapter in the book The Beast
The Beast Ch.4
by Fleedleflump
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
Fair Notice: I'm not kidding with the sex warning.
She rears on top of me as I lay prostrate on the bed, pressing her buttocks across my face, burying my nose and mouth in a world of flimsy silk and sweaty heat. I reach up, running my hands up her bare back as I release a hot breath between her cheeks, and then talon my fingers to drag nails down between her shoulder blades, feeling a small wave of skin riding ahead of my touch.
She moans softly and her hands, braced just above my knees, grasp at my muscles with ardent fervour. I open my mouth wide, enjoying the sensations of her details sliding around my chin, and drag in another breath through her underwear. The metallic tang of her waning period teases my tongue as the air passes over it, and I feel my cock ache as it stands, brandished to attention.
“You dirty cunt,” she whispers, her words slipping to my ears through a fog of breath and heat. “You like that?”
She leans forward, her weight shifting, the warm pillows of her buttocks rising up around my cheeks. They aren’t as pert as they used to be, more like water balloons than tight cushions. Yes - so much better than before. I press my face forward as hard as I can, feeling my nose pushing silk against her arsehole, grabbing her hips to pull her against me.
And then I feel the wet heat of her mouth enclosing me, and the breathing gets harder and faster. She twines her tongue around my shaft, and then rises and unfurls it, like a child riding backwards up a twirl slide. As she lifts clear, I feel her plant a kiss on my tip, and my whole length bobbles in response, curtseying in encouragement.
“Mmmm,” she drawls. “Somebody’s all sticky for me.” She bears down again, her lips forming a seal that rides the ridge of my head and meets the furrows and slopes of the veins along my eager rod. I feel her breath, warm from her nose through my pubic hair, and her throat massaging me like a greasy glove. Waves of sensation flood through me, hot and breezy, pushing clouds of steam through my thoughts. I grasp at her cheeks, pulling them apart, releasing the vibrations of a loud moan directly into her groin.
Wake me up when the violence starts.
“Fuck off,” I say urgently.
Heather chokes momentarily and lifts, coughing over my cock in what is a unique and pleasurable sensation. “Yes, baby,” she says through heavy breaths. “I want to fuck too. You know I’m always horny when I’m on. It’s not fair.” She goes down again, drawing in my shaft, filling my world with dizzying arousal. Through waves of sensation, I pull her underwear down and bury my face between her buttocks, licking eagerly at her arse and pressing my chin against her Perineum. I know she likes that.
Sure enough, I feel her moan with appreciation, sending vibrations into my abdomen. Her weight shifts as she reaches down and cups my balls, drawing a snorting exhalation from my nose, and I spear my tongue forward with renewed vigour, twisting and exploring. It’s not getting in there, but it traces every detail of the sensation, back and forth, around the edges, above and below. I can feel her muscles pulsing and contracting in response.
“No,” she squeals softly. “Not yet.” She kneels forward, releasing my springing member and her glistening hole, and throws herself onto her back on the bed. Lifting her legs into the air, she slides her underwear over her knees, then bends them frog-like so she can reach to clear her feet. I stand and move before her, feeling my pill-inducted cock dancing excitedly as it points the way.
I mount the bed and kneel between her legs, marvelling at the shape of her. Age has only improved her allure, adding lines of detail and motion to her parts where before there was none. The softness in her breasts and tummy is like comfort, their pliance a thing of wonder. Her nipples stand, excited as the first time I kissed them, and her pubic hair invites, showing the way like markers on a runway. Her thighs are like down-stuffed pillows as they settle over my hips. In all ways, we are designed to meet this way. She is my lady, my better half, my concubine and my all. She is my goddess.
“Fuck my arse,” she says, her eyes meeting mine and a saucy smile twisting her lips. “Fuck me, you filthy bastard.”
Perhaps ‘goddess’ was a misleading term. I press forward, dribbling a glistening trail across her inner cheek, and feel myself press up against her, meeting the instant resistance of muscles squeezing.
“Oi, wait a sec, lover boy,” she says, turning to one side to rummage in a bedside drawer. “Here.” She leans forward with a small tube and squeezes clear fluid into her hand. “Lube up a bit. I don’t need to be bleeding from two orifices.” Her fingers encircle me with a cool, wet grasp, sending a shiver through my guts and a renewed vibrance into my erection. I watch her breasts dance as she slumps back again on the bed, tossing the tube back in the draw and grabbing a bullet-shaped vibrator. “Now,” she breathes, turning her gaze back to mine, “where were w-”
I thrust forward, feeling my head pop through her ringpiece and my foreskin roll back. Half way in, resistance drags at my skin, and I pull back, using my shaft to spread the lube around, before pressing forward again. Her gasp finds my ears like the smell of fresh pie reaching for my nose, urging, enticing, requiring more. Her tightness clasps at the base of my shaft and I pull back slowly, feeling it gripping and pulling. She braces her feet on my shoulders, knees bent, hips lifted, creating an angle for maximum depth.
This is more like it. Stab her again!
Before I register the thought, my body takes over and thrusts forward once more, sliding my full length inside until her cheeks press into the hollows of my hips. She holds the vibrator against her clit and turns it on, flicking aside the string protruding from her lips. I feel a shudder pulse through her muscles and she arches her back slightly, eyes closed and nostrils flaring.
But I no longer see the passion. I see a knife, grasped in my hand, performing a dance choreographed by hate and depravity.
Die, wench. Show the world what you are truly made of. Foulness and seduction. The misuse of power. The cynical deployment of wiles.
I feel Terry losing grip and a spike of fear piercing my consciousness. All at once, I’m not making love to my wife. I’m shoving my dick in a sewer. Warm sensations are suddenly sweaty flesh slapping against itself. The rampant breath of joy sounds like the laboured wheezing of an ageing horndog.
Blue pills or not, my erection wilts like a vine under too much sun.
Fucking pussy!
“Wait, I don-”
I stab her like the whore she is. She needs to know there is no purpose for her, no function in life beyond the momentary slaking of my thirst. I aim for her witch-parts - the tools she uses to control men, the fetid repugnance of her clutch. As her screams fill the air, my frenzy increases, striking her again and again, revelling in her struggles. My muscles fill with the tightening joy of power, the reverence of anger released, the elation of justice achieved. As her cries reach a fever pitch, I rear back and roar my power into the sky, feeling the energy flow out of me like a torrent.
I crash onto my back on the bed, breath heaving through me and vision swimming. I look at my hand, dreading the sight of a blood-covered blade, but there’s nothing there, and the sensation of holding it dissipates. Heather is gasping beside me, and as her arm drops onto mine, her hand clasping gently at my wrist, I feel a little more like myself again, like I’m a husband and not crazed lunatic.
I am both.
Our cat jumps up on the bed and sniffs at us suspiciously, climbing over legs to inspect where the interesting scents are coming from.
“Fucking hell, Terry,” whispers Heather. “Your balls must have been the colour of blueberries! I feel like an icing bag that’s just been pumped full of the sweet stuff.” She looks down along her body and giggles. “If I fart right now, Mr Snuggles will look like a plasterer’s radio.”
I laugh and it’s the most human I’ve felt in a long while. Forget buying coffee. Forget mingling with the herd. Laughing with the love of my life - that’s the stuff of dreams.
“You can get those pills again,” she mumbles, rolling to press her warm body against my side.
Cuddling.
Killing.
Fucking.
Stabbing.
Caring.
Destroying.
This … is the life.
Fair Notice: I'm not kidding with the sex warning.
She rears on top of me as I lay prostrate on the bed, pressing her buttocks across my face, burying my nose and mouth in a world of flimsy silk and sweaty heat. I reach up, running my hands up her bare back as I release a hot breath between her cheeks, and then talon my fingers to drag nails down between her shoulder blades, feeling a small wave of skin riding ahead of my touch.
She moans softly and her hands, braced just above my knees, grasp at my muscles with ardent fervour. I open my mouth wide, enjoying the sensations of her details sliding around my chin, and drag in another breath through her underwear. The metallic tang of her waning period teases my tongue as the air passes over it, and I feel my cock ache as it stands, brandished to attention.
“You dirty cunt,” she whispers, her words slipping to my ears through a fog of breath and heat. “You like that?”
She leans forward, her weight shifting, the warm pillows of her buttocks rising up around my cheeks. They aren’t as pert as they used to be, more like water balloons than tight cushions. Yes - so much better than before. I press my face forward as hard as I can, feeling my nose pushing silk against her arsehole, grabbing her hips to pull her against me.
And then I feel the wet heat of her mouth enclosing me, and the breathing gets harder and faster. She twines her tongue around my shaft, and then rises and unfurls it, like a child riding backwards up a twirl slide. As she lifts clear, I feel her plant a kiss on my tip, and my whole length bobbles in response, curtseying in encouragement.
“Mmmm,” she drawls. “Somebody’s all sticky for me.” She bears down again, her lips forming a seal that rides the ridge of my head and meets the furrows and slopes of the veins along my eager rod. I feel her breath, warm from her nose through my pubic hair, and her throat massaging me like a greasy glove. Waves of sensation flood through me, hot and breezy, pushing clouds of steam through my thoughts. I grasp at her cheeks, pulling them apart, releasing the vibrations of a loud moan directly into her groin.
Wake me up when the violence starts.
“Fuck off,” I say urgently.
Heather chokes momentarily and lifts, coughing over my cock in what is a unique and pleasurable sensation. “Yes, baby,” she says through heavy breaths. “I want to fuck too. You know I’m always horny when I’m on. It’s not fair.” She goes down again, drawing in my shaft, filling my world with dizzying arousal. Through waves of sensation, I pull her underwear down and bury my face between her buttocks, licking eagerly at her arse and pressing my chin against her Perineum. I know she likes that.
Sure enough, I feel her moan with appreciation, sending vibrations into my abdomen. Her weight shifts as she reaches down and cups my balls, drawing a snorting exhalation from my nose, and I spear my tongue forward with renewed vigour, twisting and exploring. It’s not getting in there, but it traces every detail of the sensation, back and forth, around the edges, above and below. I can feel her muscles pulsing and contracting in response.
“No,” she squeals softly. “Not yet.” She kneels forward, releasing my springing member and her glistening hole, and throws herself onto her back on the bed. Lifting her legs into the air, she slides her underwear over her knees, then bends them frog-like so she can reach to clear her feet. I stand and move before her, feeling my pill-inducted cock dancing excitedly as it points the way.
I mount the bed and kneel between her legs, marvelling at the shape of her. Age has only improved her allure, adding lines of detail and motion to her parts where before there was none. The softness in her breasts and tummy is like comfort, their pliance a thing of wonder. Her nipples stand, excited as the first time I kissed them, and her pubic hair invites, showing the way like markers on a runway. Her thighs are like down-stuffed pillows as they settle over my hips. In all ways, we are designed to meet this way. She is my lady, my better half, my concubine and my all. She is my goddess.
“Fuck my arse,” she says, her eyes meeting mine and a saucy smile twisting her lips. “Fuck me, you filthy bastard.”
Perhaps ‘goddess’ was a misleading term. I press forward, dribbling a glistening trail across her inner cheek, and feel myself press up against her, meeting the instant resistance of muscles squeezing.
“Oi, wait a sec, lover boy,” she says, turning to one side to rummage in a bedside drawer. “Here.” She leans forward with a small tube and squeezes clear fluid into her hand. “Lube up a bit. I don’t need to be bleeding from two orifices.” Her fingers encircle me with a cool, wet grasp, sending a shiver through my guts and a renewed vibrance into my erection. I watch her breasts dance as she slumps back again on the bed, tossing the tube back in the draw and grabbing a bullet-shaped vibrator. “Now,” she breathes, turning her gaze back to mine, “where were w-”
I thrust forward, feeling my head pop through her ringpiece and my foreskin roll back. Half way in, resistance drags at my skin, and I pull back, using my shaft to spread the lube around, before pressing forward again. Her gasp finds my ears like the smell of fresh pie reaching for my nose, urging, enticing, requiring more. Her tightness clasps at the base of my shaft and I pull back slowly, feeling it gripping and pulling. She braces her feet on my shoulders, knees bent, hips lifted, creating an angle for maximum depth.
This is more like it. Stab her again!
Before I register the thought, my body takes over and thrusts forward once more, sliding my full length inside until her cheeks press into the hollows of my hips. She holds the vibrator against her clit and turns it on, flicking aside the string protruding from her lips. I feel a shudder pulse through her muscles and she arches her back slightly, eyes closed and nostrils flaring.
But I no longer see the passion. I see a knife, grasped in my hand, performing a dance choreographed by hate and depravity.
Die, wench. Show the world what you are truly made of. Foulness and seduction. The misuse of power. The cynical deployment of wiles.
I feel Terry losing grip and a spike of fear piercing my consciousness. All at once, I’m not making love to my wife. I’m shoving my dick in a sewer. Warm sensations are suddenly sweaty flesh slapping against itself. The rampant breath of joy sounds like the laboured wheezing of an ageing horndog.
Blue pills or not, my erection wilts like a vine under too much sun.
Fucking pussy!
“Wait, I don-”
I stab her like the whore she is. She needs to know there is no purpose for her, no function in life beyond the momentary slaking of my thirst. I aim for her witch-parts - the tools she uses to control men, the fetid repugnance of her clutch. As her screams fill the air, my frenzy increases, striking her again and again, revelling in her struggles. My muscles fill with the tightening joy of power, the reverence of anger released, the elation of justice achieved. As her cries reach a fever pitch, I rear back and roar my power into the sky, feeling the energy flow out of me like a torrent.
I crash onto my back on the bed, breath heaving through me and vision swimming. I look at my hand, dreading the sight of a blood-covered blade, but there’s nothing there, and the sensation of holding it dissipates. Heather is gasping beside me, and as her arm drops onto mine, her hand clasping gently at my wrist, I feel a little more like myself again, like I’m a husband and not crazed lunatic.
I am both.
Our cat jumps up on the bed and sniffs at us suspiciously, climbing over legs to inspect where the interesting scents are coming from.
“Fucking hell, Terry,” whispers Heather. “Your balls must have been the colour of blueberries! I feel like an icing bag that’s just been pumped full of the sweet stuff.” She looks down along her body and giggles. “If I fart right now, Mr Snuggles will look like a plasterer’s radio.”
I laugh and it’s the most human I’ve felt in a long while. Forget buying coffee. Forget mingling with the herd. Laughing with the love of my life - that’s the stuff of dreams.
“You can get those pills again,” she mumbles, rolling to press her warm body against my side.
Cuddling.
Killing.
Fucking.
Stabbing.
Caring.
Destroying.
This … is the life.
.
.
This is my NanoWrimo project for 2022. As such, this was written today and may get changed as the story develops later. I am not posting a chapter every day but will aim to post quite frequently.
I hope you enjoyed the read.
Mike
.
.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. .
This is my NanoWrimo project for 2022. As such, this was written today and may get changed as the story develops later. I am not posting a chapter every day but will aim to post quite frequently.
I hope you enjoyed the read.
Mike
.
.
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