Because she asked.
Because of length (1915 words or 7 pages) I have split this story into 2 parts.
Be warned, this chapter is dark and graphic. It is also in early first draft form; there are some revisions I have yet to make, so please excuse any clunky passages.
The woman’s pulse fluttered like a doomed butterfly under his fingers; every struggling beat an electric wind in his blood. Her throat swelled, searching for release, but instead he squeezed tighter. Her nails, manicured, pink with white tips, dug into his hands, and her bare feet kicked at his ankles.
He ignored the little beetle-like points of pain. All he cared about were her eyes. Her soft brown, doe-like eyes. Warm, like caramel. Deep, like mud. He stared into them now, her pupils wide and dark black against the brown, expanding ever wider and wider with every vain gasp for air. Defiance gave way to desperation in her eyes.
He focused on those eyes, so warm and dark, like a womb for his mind. If he did not, the voice inside his head would begin to scream. He could feel it there, sitting behind his eyes, a buzzing pressure, a buzzing presence, a buzzing buzzing buzzing bee inside his head. Always judging, always goading, always screaming.
The woman’s throat deflated. Her eyes turned black and slack. The pulse under his fingers fluttered raggedly, weakly, one last time. Then the buzzing bee went quiet.
Victor’s knees gave out from under him, and he fell, collapsing over the crumpled body of the woman.
Carolyn. Her name was Carolyn. She was so beautiful, even in death. Her warm caramel eyes were still as bright as the day he had married her. Just as bright, just as empty.
She had butterflies in her hair that day, bright blue wings dancing in the roses twined into her dark brown hair. The sweet scent of roses cocooned them when they made their vows—vows to hold faith and honor. Vows that apparently meant as little as the life of butterflies.
A storm of electric winds coursed in his veins. Fire and light. Light and life. Life and Chaos. Chaos and destruction.
He pushed himself back onto his knees. Carolyn’s body sprawled, a bloodless heap. Her silk robe splayed open, baring a large white breast and a soft belly. Her cunt was naked, shaved as bare as a girl’s. His hate was spent, but desire and anger still rode the wind in his blood.
She had never shaved for him.
“You beautiful, heartless, faithless fucking whore…”
He crouched over her and inhaled the scent of her perfumed hair. Her lips tasted of tears. He groped her breast, pinching a tepid nipple with one hand and stroked her bare cunt with the other. He had always wondered what it would feel like, hairless. Now he knew. It felt soft and smooth, like wet silk, or like crumpled rose petals. Her bright eyes stared at the ceiling.
His balls ached with the need for relief. He rubbed his thumb over his head and groaned. Heat consumed him, and he held his cock, squeezing it like he had squeezed Carolyn’s pretty white throat. He stroked his cock against her shaved pussy. Definitely like roses.
He remembered that scent of crushed roses the first time he had fucked her. She had dominated him from the beginning. Her sweet brown eyes had bored into his, as if daring him to impale her deeper, harder, faster. He remembered that he had come too soon.
“Ah, Carolyn…” He breathed into her dead ear. “I will always love you.” He slammed his cock into her cunt. Her head flopped over, limp as a rag doll. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the room. Blood roared in his head. “I loved you.” Slap. “As a boy…” Slap. “I loved…” Slap. “You from…” Slap. He grunted. “ Afar.” He paused and kissed her slack lips once more. “I fought for you Carolyn, and I married you.” He thrust hard into her again, grunting, sweat dripping down his back. “I still…” Slap. “Love…” Slap. “You…you…fucking…bitch…whore!”
He groaned and shot himself inside her. He panted, all fire and light and strength spent with his cum. His eyes hurt and the buzzing started again. The blasted buzzing, why wouldn’t it stop? “You never loved me at all, did you, Linnie?”
He stood, the buzzing loud behind his eyes. She was dead, and it felt…right. Her white body sprawled on the pink carpet, his cum glistening on her unmoving flesh.
She was supposed to be nothing like his mother. His mother had been a drunk whore, a gold digging adulteress, worthless, vapid, and vain. Carolyn was better than that. Had been better. Warm to his mother’s coldness, dark chocolate brunette to his mother’s insipid platinum façade. How could she have done this?
“Who is he?” He had raged at her. She just smirked and smeared bright red clown makeup on her lips.
“What business is it of yours, Victor? You’ve got your own boytoys; let me have mine. What—don’t act so outraged and innocent, Victor-dear.” And she had walked past him, rosebud lip curled up in a sneer.
How dare she? He had never been a faggot, ever, and he had never been unfaithful. She knew that—she had to have known that. It was just some cruel bitchy jab at his impotency. He wasn’t good in bed—he tried, he really tried—but he never could make her come. And every time he tried, the weaker he became, and after a while, he just stopped trying.
“Oh Carolyn, Linnie, love.” He started crying.
Now what? Oh god, he thought, I’ve killed her, and I’ve got no way to cover it up. No, no, no there’s got to be a way, there’s always a way. I can call the police and say thieves came in the house, tied me, killed and raped her. No, there’s no mark on me, who would believe that? Better she had killed herself, found her hanging in the shower.
He looked at the hand-shaped bruises on her neck and knew that wouldn’t work. Too many episodes of “Law and Order.” He had to make her disappear. Erase all evidence that she had died. That he had killed her. Stuff her in a freezer. Cut up her body. Take a fishing trip and dump her into the sea. Claim that she had left him. But wouldn’t they know—nobody just disappears for no reason.
Part two will be continued over the weekend.