Page 35 of Hello, Listener
“No,” I say quietly, “you don’t get to be done with this conversation. You know why?” She stands in front of me, trying her best tobe defiant. “Because I fuckingownyou. Thanks to our spoiled, rich fucking parents, I own you and everything in this damn house.”
“You don’t get to touch me!” she yells. I scoff as she tries her best to remove her wrist from my grip.
“Why not? Everybody else fucking does!” I pull her in closer. “I am going to make you touch me, Ashley. You... Ashley, you are going to crave every fucking minute of it. You understand me?” I lean down with my mouth just above her ear. She struggles and gets out of my grasp. She runs towards the front door of our large house.
“Ashley!” I yell, stepping over the broken glass, and begin to follow her out of the front door. “I don’t have time for this!” She looks back when she hears the echoing of my footsteps. She runs as fast as she can in her light blue cashmere socks. “Baby, you’re going to get your socks wet. I know how much you hate that.”
The sounds of her running are snuffed out by the mud on the gravel driveway. My large strides are an advantage the closer we get closer to the wrought iron gate surrounding our property.
“Look at you.” She turns to face me after she realizes the front gate is locked. Her blue eyes widen as I wrap my arms around her body tightly and throw her over my broad shoulders. We continue the walk back to the house in silence, only hearing the scuffs of my shoes on the wet grass.
“Put me down!” She yells as I carry her into our room. Her body bounces off our bed after I let her fall off my shoulders. She stares as I shut and lock the door. Ashley sits herself onto her knees in her overpriced black leggings and cropped white sweatshirt. Her eyes peer up at me under her long, sweeping bangs.
“What do you want me to do?” Her yelling turns into a compliance that I could get used to.
“You are going to beg, baby. You are going to beg for my forgiveness.” I stand with my arms crossed and my back leaning on the door.
“How am I going to do that?”
“I want you to crawl. Fucking crawl on your hands and knees and ask for my forgiveness.”
“You want me to crawl to you?” The disbelief in her voice is almost amusing.
“That’s right, princess. You want forgiveness? Well, then you are going to doexactlyas I say.”
Without much protest, my cheating wife sits at the end of the bed. She stands up and starts to walk in my direction.
“I said fucking crawl!”
Her shocked expression covers her face, and she gets on her hands and knees.
“That’s it, baby,” I encourage her like I would a dog. She stops in front of me, looking up towards my chest.
“Take off my belt.” Her tiny hands scramble up my pants and find my waist, searching for the metal buckle, undoing the ends in a matter of seconds.
“Take out my dick,” I command.
She unzips the black metal zipper and pulls my pants and gray boxer briefs down to my thighs.
“Show me how fucking sorry you are.” She grips my dick and wraps her mouth around the head and moves down my length. “Fuck, Ashley.”
She moves her head in a steady rhythm. “That’s it, baby.” Her rhythm moves faster, and I steady myself by placing my hand onthe back of her head. Her moans send vibrations down my cock, making my balance uneven.
“You know, baby, you’ve always been such a good little slut for me.” I pause, taking in deep breaths. “But it just makes me wonder, who else?” Her head keeps moving, and I am left without an answer. “You going to tell me, baby? Who else were you a slut for? Where else has my little whore been?”
She stops, and my dick falls out of her mouth and hits my exposed thigh. Her eyes stare at me in disbelief, words unable to escape past her lips.
“Can you answer me, baby, or is that mouth only good foronething?” I ask her and look down at her swollen, red lips. Her head fits perfectly in my hands. She stares up at me when I look into her big, beautiful blue eyes. With one quick twist of my wrist, I hear the crack from her neck. My wife’s body falls backward with her gaze towards the ceiling.
I tuck my dick back into my boxer briefs and pull my slacks up my legs. While staring at her lifeless body, I clasp the silver buckle. The belt slides smoothly in the loops of my pants. “Well, baby. What am I going to do with you now?”
Our Marriage in Pieces
Staring down at the plastic bags won’t make this process any faster.My look fixates on the several plastic bags in front of me. I took the day off to drive to the local hardware store. There are more pressing matters here at home that are worse than a few clients trying to sue some landlord who won’t fix their mold problems. I grip the handle of my coffee mug tightly and continue sipping the sweet bliss of the liquid caffeine. This won’t be my only cup for the day; I’m going to be up all night trying to figure out how to get out of this mess I put myself in.
The bags in front of me are more important than the lukewarm coffee I’ve been sipping on for the last half hour. The sound of the plastic crinkling is louder than it should be. I pick up the three bags and a pair of kitchen scissors, taking them to my ensuite bathroom. Leaving my mug on the granite counter, I walk over to my wife’s lifeless body as she lies on the plush carpet. It’s reminiscent of the way I have seen her lie on her side of the bed many times before.Only this time, she isn’t asleep. She isn’t coming back.
The plastic bags are bulky and inconvenient, but for everything the clerk puts in them, it makes sense. The bags fall on the marblewith a loud thump in my large bedroom. I begin to empty the flimsy bags and put them in order of how I will use them—planning out my actions, if you will.
