by Edward Lee
"There, there," he attempted.
"I love you!"
"Arianne, I've already told you, I'm married. I'm in love with someone else now, and I'll be bringing her back to the mansion to live with me. If I weren't married, it'd be you," he lied. "But I am married." He consolingly touched her skinny junkie cheek. "So that's the way it has to be."
Arianne nodded dejectedly. "Sure you don't want to fuck my brains out on the floor one last time, for old time's sake?"
"No, really, Arianne—"
"One last blowjob? I'll swallow."
"No, I—"
"Knock my teeth loose and shit on my head?"
Dean's brow jittered. "We'll always be friends, Arianne. I promise." Then he briefly kissed her on the cheek and walked off for the Blazer.
««—»»
By sundown, Dean was landing at Sea-Tac International airport, and not fifteen minutes later, he was pulling up into his own driveway. There's no place like home, he thought with the widest of grins. He grabbed his suitcase and charged into the house, his heart racing to see his loving wife once again.
"Honey! I'm home!" he shouted with glee in the foyer. He checked the kitchen, the TV room, but Daphne wasn't there. Upstairs, he deduced, and ran up. "Honey? Did you see me on TV?" Then he barged into the bedroom, his smile a beacon of love.
He looked at the bed but it was not Daphne who lay there in wait for him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Dean asked.
It was a tall, naked man who lay on the bed, his head shaved, a satanic goatee around his chin, devil tattoos all over his skin. He was smoking marijuana and reading a comic book called Grub Girl.
"Who the fuck are you?" the man snidely replied.
Dean dropped his suitcase, aghast. "Well, pardon me, but I just happen to be Dean Lohan and I live here!"
The bald man's face crinkled. "What? Daphne's married?"
"Damn right she is! To me!"
The man shrugged. "Muff is muff, so don't get your dander up." He toked more of his joint, flipped the next page of the comic. "She never told me she was hitched, so I ain't doing nothin' wrong."
There's a naked tattooed bald guy in my bed! Dean finally got the full brunt. "Who the FUCK are you!"
"I'm Thron," the man said.
Dean gawped. "You? You're... Mr. Thron?"
"Yeah."
"You're my wife's boss?"
"Yeah."
"BULLSHIT!" Dean railed. "Guys with shaved heads and devil tattoos don't own high-end clothing companies!"
Thron cocked a funky brow. "Clothing company? I run a fuckin' outcall whorehouse, pal. And your wife's one my whores."
Dean's eyeballs felt as though they'd jettison from his head. "Whuh-whuh-what?"
"Magic Fingers Escorts," Thron related, not taking his gaze off the comic.
It must've been a good comic.
"Look it up in the phone book," Thron suggested. "I'm not ashamed of what I do. Any decent-looking woman with a working pussy is stupid if she doesn't sell it. Money's what makes the world go ‘round, and Daphne's slapping on some extra spin, let me tell ya. She's a real trooper, she takes all the kinks—you know, the scat guys, the enemas, the guys who like to wear diapers. Daphne's something. And—as you well know—she's hot. She begs to fuck me. What am I gonna say? No?"
Dean's eyeballs had not quite yet jettisoned, but they were getting close. It was disconcerting enough to walk into your own bedroom and find a naked, bald, tattooed guy lounging casually in your marriage bed. The cum-stains were disconcerting too. But worse was that Thron penis, however deflated, looked like a fuckin' roll of bratwurst, sheened shiny with what could only be the vaginal fluids of Dean's wife.
Just then the bathroom door clicked open, and out walked an unsuspecting and very naked Daphne. "I'm a fuckin' goat today, darling," she said clearly to Thron. "I gotta have it again."
"Come on," Thron complained. "Four times in an hour? Give a guy a break. Besides, I think your hubby might want to have a word with you, and thanks very much for telling me you were married." Before the words fully registered, Daphne's gaze slowly turned. Then she saw Dean standing there.
"Dean... honey! I—"
Dean just stared. No words were necessary... yet.
"I-I-I—"
Ajax was right. She's been cheating on me at every opportunity—and then, finally, the Good Dean metamorphosed into the Bad Dean, something which had not yet fully happened but something that was now totally in order.
"I've been Mr. Nice Guy too long," Dean uttered. He didn't open his suitcase, he ripped it apart, and a second later, he was holding his pair of horn-crankers.
In less time than it took to an average person to cough, Dean whipped the horn-crankers down and expertly had Thron's cock in their grips.
"Hey, man!" Thron reasoned. "Your beef isn't with me!" His groin shuddered, inches of limp dick laying over the horn-crankers' jaws. "It ain't my fault your cock-crazy wife came on to me and never told me she was married! Pussy's pussy! When it's in your face, you take it! What natural man wouldn't?"
Dean looked insane as the horn-cranker's jaw closed on Thron's cock. It would be so easy to yank it all out by the root... and it would be fun. But even Bad Dean retained some fund of reason. Everything Ajax had said was right, and everything Thron was saying now was just as correct.
Dean opened the horn-crankers, pulled them away. Thron's fat cock remained intact. Then Dean faced Daphne.
"Dean! Honey!" she stammered. "I love you! He's lying! He-he-he... raped me! I swear!"
Dean grinned at her. He began to step forward.
"No, honey! Please! Please don't kill me!" she begged.
Dean kept stepping forward. "Oh, darling, I'd never do anything like that. I'm not going to kill you, I'm just gonna... shove you around a little—" He grabbed her not by the hair but by the face, and slammed her hard against the wall. Flecks of sheetrock blew out. Then he punched her in the face, punched her in the stomach, one after another, alternately: the face, the stomach, the face, the stomach, for a good ten minutes. She shit on the floor and urine sprayed freely from her vaginal cleft. A final blow to her cheek shot several teeth out of her mouth. A final blow to her stomach made her vomit.
Daphne lolled in the corner, her face a cross-eyed bruise. Her pleas of mercy continued but all that surfaced were big bubbles of spit and blood.
"I'd fuck you one last time but... you're not worth the energy it take to pop a load," he said. "Shit, I'd rather fuck a box of frogs."
Her pleading blubbered more blood and drool. Several more teeth fell out onto the floor, like big white pills.
"Take care of yourself, honey," he said and began to walk out. But then he stopped short. "Oh, I forgot something."
Daphne, barely conscious, looked up as if to ask What?
"This," he said, and forcefully kicked her one last time in the gut. Bile and vomit sprayed the wall. Then he gave her an additional kick square in the vulva, for what he perceived of as good measure. "Happy trails," he bid.
Wreathed in relief, Dean walked out. "Later," he said to the bald man, who remained naked on the bed reading his comic. "She's all yours."
"Thanks," Thron replied. "Have a good one, buddy. And don't feel bad, she was getting crusty if you want to know the truth. Stretched out."
Dean loped happily out of the house, pinching a dip of Skoal and casting an errant spit into the bushes. He got into the car and drove back to the airport. Back to his life, and back to his true love.
Back to his true self.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Happily ever after. That's what awaited him when he returned to the Lohan Mansion. His father recovered from his wounds, and counseled Dean in the running of the ranch. Cash poured in, and in very short order, Dean Lohan was the richest redneck in the entirety of the state of South Dakota. He grew his beard back, let his hair fall to his shoulders, and was seldom seen dressed in anything other than faded blue jeans and black METALLICA T-shirts.
Ajax gratefully became the estate's new groundskeeper, while his new wife, Shirley, continued to run the house and willingly offered herself up as a living sperm depository for Ajax' throbbing need. Her big tits wobbled... everywhere.
But Dean had a new wife too: Arianne. It was a wonderful life by both of their standards. Dean got laid or got his dick sucked whenever he pleased, and Arianne had her man. The true heart was enough, in fact. Now that Dean was back with her, she kicked her drug habit without a hitch. But Arianne's drug habit wasn't the only thing that was kicked.
Arianne's ass was kicked just as thoroughly. Some women liked it rough, and this skinny little tramp was the epitome of the notion. It was a woman's secret, of course: a man's love was never proven until he demonstrated the promptitude with which he was willing to slap the snot out of the woman he adored.
"Where's my beer, bitch?" Dean demanded on a lazy summer day when the sun was high and the grasslands of his lucrative ranch swayed deep-green in the northern breeze. He was watching a Yankees game on the television.
"Your beer's in the fuckin' refrigerator, dick-shit," she replied. "What am I? Your fuckin' maid?"
Dean got up and punched her hard in the mouth. The sound of the wet smack echoed about the mansion.
Arianne blinked out the stars, got her husband's beer, and brought it to him. She even opened it for him, then cuddled up close to his strong warm body and smiled with blood smearing her lips.
"I love you, baby," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. The kiss left a print of blood.
"Yeah, yeah," he replied and swigged his beer. "Let me watch my game. Clemens is pitching."
She hugged him tight, then dozed comfortably against his muscled shoulder.
No, life couldn't be more perfect.
And standing in the cluttered dark, in a disused coat closet in the foyer, was the rusting pair of horn-crankers.
They would never be picked up again.
Edward Lee has had over thirty books published in the horror and suspense field, including Flesh Gothic, Messenger and City Infernal, Infernal Angel and House Infernal. He is a Bram Stoker award nominee, and his short stories have appeared in over a dozen mass-market anthologies, including The Best American Mystery Stories of 2000, Pocket's Hot Blood series, and the award-wining 999. Several of his novels have recently sold translation rights to Germany and Romania. His movie, Header, will be available on DVD in mid-2007. Meanwhile, City Infernal, Messenger, Ghouls, The Bighead, and Family Tradition have been optioned for film. Upcoming mass-market novels include Golemesque, and Brides of the Impaler. Lee lives on Florida's St. Pete Beach. Visit him online at:
edwardleeonline.com