Elly's Satin Sheets by Daniel P. Coughlin

I came here on a whim after I found Elly sucking another man’s cock in our bed. The tip of her tongue was tickling his shaft as he gently held her hair back for her. Their bodies glistened with sweat and they seemed so natural. That was all I could stand to watch. My stomach clenched up tight and I had to leave. My head began to pound and I became faint. I remember walking into the kitchen and looking for something; I don’t know what because everything was hazy and I felt dizzy. The next thing I recall is that I’m six miles outside of Cedar Rapids on my way to the cabin that Ellyand I built two years after we married. I like to come here when I’m stressed. I guess that’s why I came.

Oh yeah . . . the other man—it’s coming back to me now—he sold us the cabin. He had that smug smile that only a salesman knows how to wear. He had black hair and he was young. I remember not liking the way he looked at my wife. Images start flowing into my head like successive punches from a boxer. Now it makes sense—the late night shopping, the nights out with the girls, and the lack of sex . . . for me at least. And goddamn if I can’t help what’s happening now—my dick is getting erect at the thought of another man fucking my wife, pushing her down so that she can lap at his cock with her tongue. The images are really turning me on. My heart is about to explode, but somehow I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been. Other images keep pouring into my mind; in the kitchen, grabbing the twelve gauge from the back closet near the basement stairs, just to the left of the coat rack where Elly hangs her red blazer. Then more fucking, but not real fucking because now I’m holding my shotgun to his face and screaming at Elly to keep sucking his cock. She does, and then I tell her to bite it off. She hesitates until I tap her forehead with the cold barrel of my shotgun—the one Uncle Randy gave me for my twenty fifth birthday. Blood begins to pulsate and color the sheets on the bed and her face carmine red; it drips from her upper lip, in thin beads—she wears a mask of horror. Then his screams become annoying. He’s holding what’s left of his member, and Elly’s mouth looks red and it reminds me of a clown’s mouth. Now I see myself wanting to masturbate but the power over them is too much and I prefer to maintain this sick kind of control over them.

My attention is turned to the trunk of my car when I hear loud thumping and pounding on the hood from the inside. My wife is screaming and then more images float across my mind. She’s in the trunk with him. They’re naked but not tied up. I’m pulling into the driveway and parking around the back of the cabin, near the pine trees. I can hear the tires of my Acura running over pinecones in the gravel drive—crunch, pop, crunch, pop. Now I’m smiling as I force them to exit the trunk. My wife still looks sexy, even though she’s scared so badly that her glistening and tanned skin has turned ashen. The half-dickless salesman makes a run for it, and then I’m firing a round at him. The castrated prick is hit in the back and his skin peels back creating a rigid crater down low on his back, near his left love handle. The scent of fresh pine is seeping into my nostrils and creates a pleasant euphoria. Lying on his stomach, covered in mud and fallen leaves, the dickless shot-up fuck continues to crawl through dried pine needles, which are turning a rich, bloody port color in his slow moving wake. And there is Elly, whimpering, shocked, wide eyed and beautiful. I tell her to grab the rope from the trunk, and she does as she is told. Then I push her toward the salesman. Now she’s following orders, tying the rope around his neck. She screams for help even though she knows our nearest neighbor is four miles away. Orders are to pull tight on the rope and she shakes her head no, so I shoot the salesman in the shoulder. The weak bastard tries to scream but nothing comes out—the rope is too tight around his neck. Blood sprays across his upper chest and shoulder layering on like a second coat of gloss finish—dark brown all over. I get sick of watching her half-assed attempts, so I grab the rope and throw it over a strong branch on the maple tree to my left. Now I’m pulling him up. There’s really no hope for the dumb bastard and he looks silly flailing his wretched arms through the air and trying to grab the rope closing off his airway. Eye contact ensues between shithead and Elly. It’s kind of cute—how sad they are for each other and then he goes limp. The heat ridden bitch tries to go to him, mumbling softly until the wooden butt of my shotgun slams into the side of her head ripping her skin jaggedly from the top of her forehead near the hairline to the bottom of her face near the jaw. Blood runs heavily across her nose and cheeks and a faint cracking noise beneath her skin tells me I’ve fractured her skull.

Inside the house—the bedroom to be exact—each of her four limbs are tightly bound to the bedposts and I fuck her for hours in the missionary position. The duration of this fuckfest has no effect on my hard cock. Who the hell needs Viagra? Afterward she cries and so I strangle her. She looks beautiful, sexy. But then I’m turned off because she shits the bed and then I hear the muffled gush of urine flush out from her bladder onto the satin sheets that she insisted on buying.

In my whole godforsaken life I’ve never had a better sexual experience and it feels so good that I put the shotgun barrel into my mouth and pull the trigger before I have a chance to feel guilty.