Kill My Husband, PleasebyEgmont Grigor©
Irma Franks, a hard-nosed former factory processor, fell onto good times when her boyfriend lost her in a poker game and she went to live with a wealthy guy Ben Franks, who won all rights to her. After getting used to her appalling accent, Ben married Irma after his estranged wife was killed by a sexually short-changed Russian who ran amok in the brothel called a club that she managed.
On this Wednesday afternoon, Ben's golf afternoon, Irma sat on the meaty thighs of Ben's sales manager Robert Jones attempting to squeeze semen from Robert who found it difficult to ejaculate. Once every session ooze that might just cover half a little fingernail was good for him. Irma endured that because he had the longest tongue she'd ever experienced and he kept telling her he loved her. This was the 24th Wednesday they'd both broken their marriage vows and they weren't to know Ben had been given a tip-off.
Ben, annoyed at missing out on his golf game, cracked his knuckles as he peered through the bedroom shades and saw his wife's tits flop up and down as she rode Robert cowgirl. The bitch never did that for him, always complaining of a sore back. As Robert turned red-face and rose to grab Irma's tits, face clearly in view, Ben slid his digital camera through the shades and took a photo.
"What the fuck," yelled Robert, still half-blinded by the flashlight.
Irma complained, "What fuck was that dear?" She'd had her eyes closed fingering herself off when the compromising photo was taken.
Ben had walked to his car around the corner without haste, to avoid catching anyone's attention, and had driven off before Robert raced out of the house, with his pants on and buttoning his shirt to angrily look up and down the street for the photographer who'd captured him in a compromising situation.
Robert explained his unusual behavior of running out of the house to Irma who wasn't interested. "I can't imagine anyone taking your picture having sex. They must have though it was Ben in action -- now you won't get anyone plunging the rod better than my husband."
Robert was satisfied with that explanation, initially; it easily could have been light reflection off a distant airplane. But his thinking changed a few minutes later when he drove off, found his car steering was heavy and unresponsive and stopping to check found all four tires had been slashed. He called out a tire repair crew, giving details of his tires and two hours later arrived back at work, considerably poorer after a tiresome piece of plowing caught on camera.
The receptionist confirmed Ben had gone to golf and in fact had called her two hours ago saying he'd cut his finger and therefore would take business calls as he would be riding the cart following his pals for the rest of the afternoon.
"How does a guy cut a finger at golf?' Robert asked suspiciously.
"A bad slice I should think," said the receptionist, whose father played golf.
Robert scratched his head and said, "Oh yeah?"
On Saturday afternoon at 2.30 Ben used a pal's high-powered rifle and tried to kill his wife. But up on the mound in the park in rapidly changing light conditions because of fast-moving broken cloud, he was just too far away for accuracy. Irma was on her knees gardening, the neighbor's cat sitting on the fence looking down at her. Ben aimed between his wife's tits and then adjusted the height and angle of the barrel to allow for distance and the breeze. The bullet decimated the cat and Irma was splattered with blood and entrails. She screamed and fainted. Neighbors called the police and an ambulance, reporting that Irma and a cat had been killed in a drive-by shooting.
"Blast," Ben swore, looking through the scope. "I liked that cat."
He delivered the rifle back to his pal and returning home found he couldn't drive down his street because it was barricaded off and cops were everywhere. Smart enough to know he needed an alibi, Ben went to the home of a pal Barney, did some sandpapering on the hull of Barney's boat and then woke his pal who'd been asleep in his nearby chair after downing too many beers while eating lunch his wife had left for him.
"Come on you lazy cuss, do some sanding. I've been on the job since 1 o'clock," said Ben. A bit befuddled, Barney had forgotten how much he'd sanded so credited Ben for doing most of that. "Gee pal, you've really worked your butt off."
Ben called home and a female cop answered, took details of his whereabouts and told him to wait there. No, there was nothing terribly wrong; his wife was being sedated. Three minutes later two cops arrived and began questioning Barney and Ben separately.
Ben claimed he'd been sanding the hull since 1:07, checking his watch before starting on the job.
Barney gave a collaborating statement, although putting the time at 1:00. He added that Ben had done the bulk of that afternoon's work.
"Why am I being questioned like this?" Ben demanded. "Have I been accused of stealing something?"
The officers exchanged glances and the senior one said, "No sir. Some jerks in a passing car apparently shot your neighbor's cat. Neighbors thought your wife had also been shot, an understandable mistake because she'd apparently fainted and was covered with the cat's blood."
"Oh my darling beloved, I must go to her," Ben said.
"Follow us sir, we'll drive with flashing lights but no siren because you wife's not terminal."
Irma was in drug-induced sleep. The cop leading the investigation interviewed Ben and was told about Ben's alibi. He asked if Ben or his wife had any sworn enemies. That gave Ben an idea to clean up a bit of crime that bothered the neighborhood but the cops had hitherto ignored complaints.
Ben asked, "What color was the drive-by car?"
"So-called witnesses have called it blue, green, gray and black and all different models. But none saw a shooting. We think they just saw cars being driven along the street by upright citizens."
Ben wondered if it were possible to drive a car upright. He scratched his head and said, "Gray eh?"
The sergeant looked interested. "Do you have a lead for us?"
"Yeah, the Morgan twins along this street at number 13."
"Thirteen -- that sounds ominous. Are you sure?"
"Yeah, the twins are nineteen-year-old wannabe hoods. Anyone around here will tell you the twins are suspected drug-runners. Their gray wreck is really souped up, would out-run cop cars."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah the kids have boosted about that in the bar."
"In the bar aged nineteen?"
"Yeah, that's what criminals do, isn't it? My guess is their parent's house is stashed with drugs, booze and guns."
"Then why haven't your reported your suspicions?"
"What's the use? The neighborhood has given up complaining because you cops do nothing, saying they are just teenagers letting off steam. Check your files."
"Right, you Mace, Garcia, Higgins, Sharp, Edwards and whatever your name is. Dress in full riot gear and raid Number 13 in this street and tear the place apart. But check first you have apprehended ....?"
Ben said, "Kevin and Gary Green."
"Right, ID Kevin and Gary Green before you rip open the house. You are looking for drugs and guns, stolen booze and...?"
"Bank bills from drug deals."
"You all hear that?
They chorused, "Yes Sergeant."
"Well, get on with it. Drive down in line quietly and unleash your surprise raid. Garcia you are in charge until I get there."
The police burst in and found Gary injecting himself while in another bedroom brother Kevin was pounding his 29-year-old sister. The teenagers were arrested when suitcases with unidentified drugs, guns and cash were found under their beds as well as stolen vehicle registration plates.
After the sergeant had returned to congratulate Ben for his vigilance and all the cops cleared out, Ben went to a distant pharmacy and copied off a print from an image in his camera of Robert fucking Irma. Grinning Ben addressed the unmarked photo to Robert's wife knowing she wouldn't need a caption because she knew both Robert and Irma very well.
Ben arrived back home to find the media waiting for him.
Irma sat on a chair in the back garden stroking the neighbor's replacement cat and feeling very restless. Robert would not come near her any more, saying he'd found someone else and since being covered in cat's blood her husband wouldn't touch her. And now this unsigned letter on which she thought she detected Robert's repulsive after-shave lotion. It would be just like him to rat on the boss.
The note read:
'Irma, are you aware Ben is fucking Pat Rivers his personal assistant? That means you are probably missing out."
She fumed. That was exactly how Robert would express himself. Ben had said Robert had become a real asshole since his wife had left him. Ben said he didn't know why Cathie had dumped Robert.
* * *
Ben sniffed Pat's beautifully trimmed box and felt his dick reach full erection. He lifted up and looked at her alabaster body devoid of noticeable excess fat and plumb in the right place were her delightful and expansive breasts with pert pink nipples that appeared trained to float into his mouth -- probably her husband had performed the training, expecting to be sole beneficiary.
Pat believed she was born to fuck and said she was capable of going all night provided she knew she could sleep undisturbed next day. Ben had not tested her out on that but was planning to do so sometime soon, very soon he hoped. It was satisfying having these quick two-hour romps at the end of most working days. He was toying with the idea of taking Pat away from her pot-bellied slob of a husband who worked as a barman. It was a crime that the jerk could possess such a prized woman like Pat. He thought, mine, mine.
"Oh darling, I'm waiting," Pat called gently, looking at her new and very expensive dress ring. "Suck and tongue me off and I'll then rake your balls with this ring until you bath it in jizz."
Ben sighed thinking she was so creative.
Later Ben pushed his dripping fat cock up her main channel although he had been invited to try the alternative. That could wait. He pushed right in.
"More darling, more. Another half inch please."
Ben went red in the face attempting to meet that request. She then clamped him and he blew, thus ending the two-hour session when he was creamed. How lovely.
* * *
Irma, her cunt swollen through self-abuse was desperate to have a man fill her. As far as she was concerned there was no substitute. Dogs were too risky and horses, oh shame on your Irma; think of your cervix being driven up between your breasts, if that was anatomically possible.
She gnashed her teeth. Ben wasn't home. It was early Friday evening and he probably was fucking his PA, the bitch. She recalled Pat's husband was a barman and that gave her a great idea. She called some bars to find if a Mr Rivers worked there. On the eighth call she found where he worked and went to that bar. A bouncer at the door pointed out Mr Rivers to her.
Irma waited until the bar had cleared as office workers staggered off home. She sat in front of Mr Rivers, knowing she was showing him an eyeful of cleavage. They began talking and she waited patiently as he occasionally broke off to serve other customers. Eventually he said, "You'll have to excuse me, it's my meal break."
"I haven't eaten Laurence, may I accompany you?"
Laurence looked at the wobble of the cleavage and said yeah. The staff room was small so they sat close, although no one else was in the room at that time. Aware that Laurence hadn't touched her Irma asked if she could feed him. Although the request surprised him, he said yes. Soon he was being kissed before Irma forked in the next piece of steak. When he finished he kissed her properly and dug a hand down to feel a boob. The hatch to the kitchen had been closed fifteen minutes earlier so there was no one to see them.
"Lock the door and lay me over a table Laurence."
He grinned. "Somebody might come."
"That person will be you, lucky boy. The door Laurence."
Irma was so desperate for a man that lucky Laurence didn't even work up a sweat. She was bouncing around like an airplane flying over mountains.
Laurence returned to work with a swagger and drained of semen. He had an invitation to call on Irma every morning if he wished. They soon had quite a thing going. Laurence told her he'd once worked as a bouncer so presenting her butt to Laurence she asked sweetly, "Are you capable of busting the arms of a guy who did the dirty on me?"
"The swine, yes of course baby. If I do that for you perhaps I could hold down my bitch of a wife and you pull out her ovaries?"
"Laurence, how dare you. We agreed not to talk about our spouses."
"Oh yeah, right. My apologies."
Two days later Ben told Irma an unidentified assailant had attacked Robert as he left the office the previous night and broken both of Robert's wrists. There appeared no reason for the crime although the assailant had snarled one word: masturbator. "I went to see Robert today and he's a quivering mess, wondering why the world is against him."
"Oh poor Robert," Irma said, and Ben though she hadn't sounded at all concerned.
Next morning Irma asked Ben for a thousand bucks to enroll on a weight reduction course.
"Yeah, you have become fat," he said, peeling off ten one hundreds.
After that comment Irma really hated him. That evening she went to the bar and gave Laurence the thousand bucks and thanked him for dealing with the swine.
"Darling, I have another job for you. Kill my husband please."
"I want him dead."
"Okay, allow me to think about this."
"When all his assets become mine, I will pay you 20K."
"I want thirty thousand bucks. There are big risks involved."
"All right, but that's the limit. Come to me with your plan in the morning darling. If it's a good one you may have my ass again."
* * *
Pat fucked Ben almost legless.
"Wow, that was great. You were a real powerhouse tonight."
"I'm not getting any at home and haven't for a while. I suspect my husband Laurence has found someone else."
On the way home Pat called into a phone store and picked up a machine capable of recording outgoing phone calls. She plugged it into the phone system in her home office and put the machine out of sight. She aimed to tape the philandering bastard. He didn't like mobile phones, being scared of possible radiation. He could of course phone sweetie from a call box. Well, she could only but try.
Next evening Pat was horrified when she played back the tape. It was the first of three calls Laurence had made that day. She though of calling the police but there hadn't been a crime. Perhaps all she had recorded was loose talk. If she took that recording to the cops they'd laugh at her. She called Ben and luckily his wife didn't answer. Yes he could meet her if it were that urgent and they arranged to meet in the gas station parking lot 100 yards down from her home. She walked to the gas station and found Ben already parked. They kissed and she said, "Your wife and my husband are fucking so they must have found out about us, possibly from Robert. Laurence was a bouncer for a couple of years after he came out of the army so probably was the guy who broke Robert's wrists."
They listened to the tape and heard Laurence say he'd felt a cold coming on so had not called on Irma that morning. Her offer of ass would have to wait.
Ben grunted and cracked his knuckles and listened.
Laurence said he'd worked out a plan. He'd take a week off work and keep an eye on Ben and his wife from the time they left work. If he could establish a pattern, say finding they regularly visited a bar after their disgusting act of adultery, then when it was time to act he'd call Irma. She'd wait for Laurence to arrive at an agreed place in a stolen car. He'd intercept Ben and as she drove the car down the street, as instructed by phone just before the interception took place, he'd push Ben on to the street and she could drive over him. He'd then jump in the car, Irma would drive around a couple of blocks and they'd abandon the car and drive off in her car. She'd drop him off a couple of blocks away and then drive home quickly and be watching TV when the police called. He'd refine the plan such as getting her to make a call on the house phone to a friend just before she left to deal with her husband. That would establish a partial alibi. Two minutes after the killing she could call for delivery of take-outs and ought to be home by the time they were delivered. The cops wouldn't suspect a women being involved in a crime having the presence of mind to order take-outs as part of an alibi.
"Oh God," Pat said, hugging Ben.
"Don't fret darling. We have the drop on them by having this information. I'll know how to act when the time comes. I shall succeed and then I'll sell my home and buy an apartment overlooking City Lake and you can live with me, permanently."
"I'd love that. But I'm still afraid."
"Darling, dice is on my side. Your husband served in the infantry -- it was as a foot solider I presume?"
"He drove tanks."
"Well I also did a stint in the army and after finishing basic training was placed in intelligence."
"Ooooh. That should give you the edge."
"That's my thinking darling. Keep taping calls. But even if I don't get any more information if they stick to that basic plan I'll have the drop on your husband and my cunt of a wife."
"Ooooh. I hope you never have the occasion to call me a horrible name like that."
"Baby, the only occasions I have with you is you popping my eyes almost out of their sockets."
"Well darling that's not difficult for me. I regard my pussy at an orchestra your monster is the conductor."
Ben swelled with pride.
Thereafter Ben and Pat left the office at exactly the same time every night, cutting their two-hour fuck if necessary. They walked to the same bar, stayed for exactly fifteen minutes and parted, Ben then always walked back to the office facing on-coming traffic.
Then it happened. It was a dark night, raining. Ben saw a guy on a cell phone and carrying a torch. As Ben approached the guy said, "Excuse me sir. I'm lost. Can you help me?" and he then aimed his torch up the street and there was a single flash.
"Yes buddy, I'm know this area well," Ben said, coiling his body athletically. "Where do you want to go?"
Ben saw a flash of teeth as the guy raised his arms to grab him. Moving smoothly, with the guy exposed because his arms were spread, Ben chopped the guy in the throat and pushed him out on to the road. A car full of noisy youths came roaring down the street and ran over the assailant. A woman pulled up just short of the body. It was Irma. She turned over the body and screamed "Laurence!" and screamed again for the last time ever as another car loaded with drunken youths hit Irma sending her flying into the air and across the street where she was run over by a dump truck that accelerated away.
Ben walked through an alley into the next street where Pat was waiting, shaking like a leaf.
"It's all over darling you best let me drive as we need you to calm down."
Ben drove straight home with Pat where they sat in the lounge with monthly reports spread all around them. First the take-out delivery guy arrived and Pat called to Ben to come to the door.
"Did you order take-outs, I didn't"
"Ben laughed, oh it must have been Irma who made the order knowing we'd be hard at work. What a darling."
"It's twenty-two dollars including delivery sir." "That's fine -- here's forty, keep the change pal. I'm so happy about my wife being so thoughtful. Now son, you marry only a kind woman, do you hear?"
"Yes sir, goodnight sir."
Two grim-faced cops arrived with grave news and then established the fact that Ben and Pat had apparently been home all evening working on urgent reports, The cops were somewhat surprised to find the nearest next-of-kin together. It was a very thorough investigation but all the pair under suspicion stuck to their story -- they had been in all evening working. None of the neighbors who were home watching TV had noticed any vehicle leave or arrive at Ben's house, not even Irma's final departure from home that rainy evening.