E-Written: The Murderous Bridegroom

**

The wedding was a thing of beauty, and all my friends said I looked radiant. Tons of society media was there, and after the wedding and festivities were over, Hank spirited me off to an island in the Caribbean for our honeymoon. That's when I began to see, on an intimate level, how strange of a man I had married.

The truth is, I didn't care. Maybe he was a wizard who cast a spell over me or something, but I was head over heels in love with the man. When he eventually did get around to consummating the marriage, I was more than ready. It was the last night of our honeymoon when we made love for the first time.

Hank was clearly experienced in the sexual domain; hell, he was experienced in everything, it seemed. He dominated me as nobody else had ever done, and even though it was our first fuck, he just kept fucking me until I had a rip-roaring climax. Since we didn't know anyone, anyone at all, on the island, I let my usual society girl modesty fly out the window and said nasty, horrible things as he slowly, tantalizingly, teasingly, drove me over the edge into the abyss of primeval sexual ecstasy.

When I finally drifted back to the world of the conscious, I was lying on the bed, legs still spread wide, with doubtless an inflamed, engorged, pussy, and with hard nipples, and hooded eyes. As I slowly focused with my eyes and raised my stare a bit, I saw Hank with a 35mm SLR camera, capturing my totally, freshly ravaged body, in all its glory, for posterity.

Now if you're a pretty, sexy, mid-twenties New York heiress, the belle of every high society ball, the last thing you want is a picture of yourself, naked, legs splayed, freshly fucked, on a hotel bed, or any bed, or anywhere, for that matter. I had never let anyone take such a picture of me, or any compromising pictures of me whatsoever.

Once, when I was nineteen, I sunbathed topless offshore on a yacht, and someone, somehow, got a picture of me topless. It's on the Internet, easy to find if you Google my name, and there's nothing I can do about it, and lord knows, I've tried. Luckily, almost every well-known girl has been victimized in similar ways, so the picture ended up making me more human, with obvious vulnerabilities, and in fact, ironically, it improved my image. Hank's picture of me would do the opposite.

I began to say something in protest, but the look in Hank's eyes shut me up immediately.

"I want to tie you up, my baby doll," Hank said.

"No," I said, even though Grandma had told me to deny Hank nothing. To say no to Hank Glitch is to ask for trouble, she had told me. Then she added, Hank Glitch trouble is not your usual run-of-the-mill trouble. You truly do not want Hank Glitch trouble. Trust me on this, Izzy.

Hank looked at me. His look gave me a terror that consumed me. Just his look! Channeling Grandma, I changed my response to "No, ... not until I've peed." I got up and scampered to the bathroom, my boobs bouncing like crazy.

I did in fact need to pee, and afterwards I returned of course, but now all smiles and loving, and I said, "How do you want me?"

Once I was tied up, spread eagle on our honeymoon bed, Hank announced, "I'm hungry. I'm going down to the hotel bar for a bite to eat. Should I bring you back anything?"

I knew enough not to ask him if he was simply going to leave me there, alone, tied up, naked, and vulnerable. Instead, I just said, "Maybe a margarita and some munchies, please?"

"I'll have a waiter bring some up for you. I'll tell him you're all tied up, so he should just go ahead and let himself in," Hank said. "I'll explain you'll need a straw for the Margarita, since you won't be able to hold it." He chuckled as he left me there, gobsmacked. The waiter did exactly that. Hank had decorated my abdomen with a $20 bill; "The tip for the waiter," he had said.

Hank next put a $100 bill inside my pussy. Benjamin Franklin's head was inside me, but part of the bill was sticking out. Franklin was the first man ever to get his head inside my pussy. I had the sinking feeling he would not be the last.

It was horrible. When the waiter entered, finally, I was so aroused from the situation, I must have been as wet as South Dakota during The Great Flood of '93. I actually climaxed when the waiter touched my tummy, close to my kitten, to pick up his twenty-dollar tip. His hand lingered on my abdomen, and I groaned. He looked at the $100 bill.

"Your husband said I could have the $100 bill if you let me fuck you," he said.

"I don't believe you, but it doesn't matter. You can't fuck me," I said.

"You're defenseless. How will you stop me?" her said, and I almost came when he said that. I'm too strange, even for me.

"Very simply. I say no. No means no. Sorry, my good man," I said.

"You said no, but how about now?" he asked, after playing with my nipples to a cacophony of my moans.

"It's still No, sorry," I said. My refusal, however, sounded weaker, and he picked up on that. Next, he played with my thighs, stroking them, closer and closer to my kitten, teasing me mercilessly.

"How about now?" he asked.

"It's our honeymoon!" I explained. "My husband is the only man with whom make love. I just can't let you. Sorry," I said.

I couldn't believe I was apologizing for not letting this total stranger fuck me on my honeymoon!

The waiter removed Benjamin Franklin from my pussy. "My goodness, we're all nice and wet, aren't we?" he said, as he stroked the sides of my pussy, driving me nuts.

"Stop that, please. I'm not letting you fuck me," I said. Even I could tell there was no longer any conviction in my voice.

The waiter removed his pants. He approached my head, and offered me the straw, so I could taste the margarita. His cock was rock hard. It was kind of waving around, dominating my field of vision. I had a few healthy sips, and then the waiter put the icing on his moves, returning to my pussy and licking me, paying special attention to my clit. He stuck his fingers inside me, found my g spot, and he said, "May I fuck you now, Isabelle?"

"No," I said,

The waiter continued. I was approaching another orgasm.

"Now?" he asked. I folded it. I really needed a man inside me at that point.

"Yes, damn you," I squeaked out.

The waiter wasted no time, climbed up on the bed, mounted me, and he lovingly fucked me, kissing me on the mouth as we fucked. He was kissing, and I was moaning. It wasn't long before I climaxed, and shortly after that, the waiter unloaded inside me. Then he pulled up his pants, grabbed his money, gave me a farewell kiss on the lips, and another on my pussy lips, and left the room and my life, leaving me there, a ravaged, sweaty mess, his cum dripping out of my pussy and onto the sheets.

Then minutes later Hank returned. "I saw the waiter and traded his sloppy $100 bill for a fresh one. So, you did in fact do the deed with him?"

"Yes. It was good. He told me you wanted him to make love with me," I replied, still naked and tied up.

"And you believed him?" Hank asked.

"He gave me the note you wrote for me," I said.

"And you believed the note was genuine?" he asked.

"It's in your handwriting, addressed to me, and you signed it," I said.

"You should have checked with me first," Hank said.

"How?" I asked.

Hank was hard as a rock and climbed up on top of me. He entered with ease, and did not seem to mind taking sloppy seconds. In fact, it seemed to me that he enjoyed it. Well, that's an interesting piece of information to learn about your husband, on your honeymoon, right? I was so freaked out by this whole scene that I didn't even come close to a climax during Hank's fuck, but Hank either didn't bother to notice, or he didn't care, or both!

**

"So, how was your honeymoon with the lover boy husband?" Halley asked when we met for coffee. "I can see he hasn't killed you. Yet."

"Thanks a lot, Halley. Look, grow up, why don't you?"

"Are you really not worried, even a little bit?" Halley asked.

"Maybe a little," I whispered so softly that Halley had to read my lips to know what I said.

"Holy shit; you are scared!" she whispered back, in the same volume. I had to read her lips.

"Sometimes, there's something I see in his eyes," I said. "I can't really point to anything concrete, though."

"I kind of like you alive, you know?" Halley said, unreassuringly.

"You, me, my brother and nobody else, except my Grandma. Maybe my Mom, I don't know, the jury's out on her," I said. "Dad cares only about money."

"Come on, Isabelle, there are lots of people who want you alive!" Halley said.

"Well, there are some guys who would love to get me alone for a few hours, you know what I mean?" I asked, winking at Halley to make myself completely obvious. "Would they count? I doubt they're into necrophilia, although you never know."

"Like Doug, you mean?" Halley asked. Doug had been my last boyfriend.

"God, no. Maybe he'd like to fuck me up the ass one more time, but Halley, that's not for me. Doug is history, history, history, for now, and forevermore," I said. "If you want creepy, hang with Doug, and not Hank, any day of the week." Doug is an ex-Marine, and he never lets you forget it. "If I hear Semper Fi one more time, I'll barf," I said. Usually. I'm not that crude.

Halley giggled. "I prefer to say that Doug's herstory, to history," Halley remarked, and I had to admit it, it made me giggle.

"Who do you mean, then, if not Doug?" Halley asked.

"I mean, guys from my distant past. Two of them looked me up just before my marriage, trying to finish some unfinished business," I said, and winked, leaving no room for doubt.

"Do I know them?"

"No, Dylan was from summer camp in middle school and early high school, and we had never, and still have never, uh, you know," I said.

"Yes, indeed I do know. And the other one?" Halley asked.

I giggled and blushed. "He's married, so sorry girl, no tales out of school."

"Would you do the two of them now that you're married to psycho-killer?" Halley asked.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I teased. We both loved The Talking Heads.

"Would you?"

"No. Extra-marital hanky-panky is not for me, Halley," I said.

"Smart move. Too dangerous with someone who has three wives dead already," Halley said.

"You have a one-track mind," I said.

"I thought it was all of my lovers who have one-track minds, but not me?" Halley replied.

"You mean all they ever want to do is to...?"

"Exactly," Halley said. "I mean, how many times does a man have to conquer me in order to feel like a man?"

"Don't go all Bob Dylan on me, Halley," I said. "I'm not in a philosophical mood."

"I'm not Doug," she replied, and we both giggled. I guess I had always complained, but of course it was really bragging, about Doug's size.

"So, what are you going to do about the constant threat to your health, or at least to your sanity, and definitely to my own peace of mind? I mean of course the man who you're currently married to," Halley sarcastically asked. There was, however, a palpable touch of concern detectable in her voice.

"Halley, I'm tired. Since I love you, I'll say it one more time. Hank is a complicated man, to be sure, but he loves me, he adores me, and bottom line: He's a good man," I said, not trying to hide my exasperation.

"What about the CFO of the Glitch Corporation?" Halley asked.

"What about her?"

"What's her name, again?" Halley asked.

"Mitchell-Moore. Margaret Mitchell-Moore. However, she goes by Maggie. Before you ask, she's in her mid-fifties, and she's both pretty and sexy," I said. What I didn't say was that Maggie seemed to be always around. She would constantly emerge out of thin air. Sometimes, Hank and I would make love, or probably a better description would be that he'd brutally fuck me, and then he'd roll off me and go to the can, and there would be Maggie standing in the doorway. She'd just be standing there, deaf-mute, staring at me. If I didn't have nerves of steel, I'd have been totally freaked. Or, speaking in the plus perfect, totally fruck.

There was no denying it, however: It was creepy, it was disturbing.

**

"I didn't want to do that, Hank. I love you, and only you," I said. "I didn't want to do the waiter on our honeymoon. All I want is you, my love."

"Yet, you did him, didn't you?" Hank replied.

"As you well know, I was naked, tied spread eagle, with a $20 bill on my abdomen, and a $100 bill artfully sticking out of my poor little kitty-cat," I said.

"Yes, you were tempting, that was the idea; but he didn't force you, did he?"

"No, he just played with me until I became a hopelessly aroused mess, who didn't know up from down, and I had a moment of weakness. Besides, we both knew you wanted it," I said. "I try to please my man, and my man is you," I said.

"I know, and I love you for it. All I'm saying is to consider it? Let's invite Dylan and Tim over and just see what happens. Okay?" Hank said.

"Tim is married," I said,

"Not happily," Hank replied.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You can't possibly expect me to do it with Tim in front of his wife? How perverted are you?"

"You forget: I'll be there, too. Tim's wife will be distracted," Hank said.

"You'd fuck Tim's wife for this crazy idea of making me a slut? You're fantasizing. You're not fucking someone else's wife while you're married to me!" I exclaimed.

"Maggie will help distract Tim's wife. Tim's wife Sandra is a closet lesbian, you know, with serious complexes related to her mother. Maggie will be dressed in identical clothes to Sandra's mother's favorite outfits. Tim's wife goes for women like that when she's on the prowl, while her husband is drunk out of his gourd," Hank said.

"How do you know so much shit? You're freaky at times, Hank," I said.

"Dylan will be delighted beyond all reason. I suggest you seduce him first; he's less kinky than Tim," Hank said.

"I agree Dylan would be thrilled to spend that kind of quality time with me, but what about me? I don't want to! All I want is you, Hank!" I said.

"Let's play a game. I'll be the still young and innocent Dylan, and you'll be, let me see, yes, you'll be you, Isabelle. Let's get dressed, and we can get started, okay?" Hank said.

"Sure, we can play games all you want, but I don't want a threesome with Tim and Dylan, or anyone. Add you, and I'm sure we will, and it's a foursome. I can't possibly do it. That kind of sex is just not in my makeup," I said.

**

"Wow! Three men? Seriously?" Halley said. I nodded sheepishly. "How was it? What's it like?"

"It's beyond amazing! Fabulous! I had more orgasms that a centipede has feet!" I said, getting wet just remembering it. "The most amazing experience in my life."

"Who was the best?" Halley asked.

"You mean of the men?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" Halley inquired, rather rudely, if you must know.

"Well, there were also Maggie, and Tim's wife, Sandra," I said. "Don't look at me like that. I was naked and tied up; I didn't have much say in the matter, and Maggie really likes to clean out a girl after she's been, well, ..."

"Fucked bareback?" Halley offered.

"Yes, exactly, and then there was Sandra, too. The two of them at once was amazing, especially with all three men watching!" I said, almost climaxing just at the memory.

"Is there more?" Halley asked, displaying a perverse interest, as anyone might imagine.

"Well, while Maggie and Sandra were going to town on my body, Hank fucked Tim's wife Sandra with Tim and Dylan right there, and Tim got inspired and he fucked Maggie, his wife's new lesbian lover."

"Jesus H! That left Dylan alone, I guess. Was he jerking off to this scene from Caligua, Volume 2?" Halley asked.

"Of course, until he got inspired and pulled Maggie off of me, and replaced her with his wonderful cock," I said.

"So, your would-be boyfriend from summer camp way back when is well endowed?" Halley said.

"Yeah, and he feels much better inside me than when we're both wearing jeans and frotting, you know?" I asked, knowing I must have looked all dreamy-eyed.

"I'd like to meet Dylan," Halley said.

"I'll tell Maggie. She can arrange anything," I replied. "There is one disturbing thing I learned from all this."

"What?"

"Well, maybe I shouldn't say. It's speculation, after all," I said.

"Now you have to tell me." I shook my head no. "You can't do that. You're too much of a tease! Spill, girl," Halley entreated.

"I don't know," I said, wishing I had never spoken.

"I'll make it easy for you," Halley said. "You finally realized the obvious: Maggie is horribly jealous of you. You have youth, money, beauty, everyone lusts for you, and you don't care, you probably don't even know, and you only want the wife-murderer Hank Glitch."

"Are you saying Maggie has a thing for me? Because I don't ..."

"No, you moron. I'm saying that Maggie has it bad for your hubbie, Hank Glitch," Halley said.

"That's ridiculous; she's a dike," I said.

"No, she's not. She was play acting, to please Hank. Maybe she's bisexual, but my guess is that she simply does whatever it takes to please Hank," Halley said.

"You're being silly," I said.

"Oh, come on, Izzy. You know it's true, deep down. In fact, watch your back, girl," Halley said.

"What are you saying?" I asked, even if I already knew.

Halley just sat there, raising one eyebrow. I knew, that she knew, that I knew. Shit, now I'm sounding like Donald Rumsfeld.

**

I had to know. Halley had put the fear inside me, and once it's there, you can't get rid of it. To be fair to Halley, though, I'm not an idiot. The fear was already there, inside me, I was just in denial. Halley's contribution was to strip away my protective veneer of denial. So, I had to know.

Don't forget I'm a cute little sexpot spoiled rich girl. I proposed we go off, just like that, to a hidden place I had heard of, tucked away in the north of Italy, near Lake Como. Just the two of us.

"Why do you keep saying 'just the two of us?' Who else would there be? I'm not planning any more threesomes or foursomes or whatever. Our last one will keep me for quite some time. Quiet time with you does indeed sound nice," Hank said.

"I mean, without Maggie. She somehow always seems to be with us," I said.

Hank agreed, but I knew Maggie would find out. She always does, and somehow, she'd be there, too. I had a plan, though, and Halley's help was key. Halley, of course, never lets me down. We weren't to go to Lake Como, but even Hank didn't know that. Halley was to take some boyfriend, or potential boyfriend, or whomever she could find, and reserve two rooms at a chateau I'd heard of in the heart of France: In the Burgundy region. It was isolated, and it had harnessed a small creek to even have a moat around it!

The chateau was magnificent. It was in the heart of Chablis wine country, and they raised their own animals (for things like milk, not for eating), and fresh vegetables. I had my socks charmed off, and even Hank was taken with the place, especially the pretty French hostess, and all the young French maids dressed -- yes -- as French maids, who made up the rooms and served the meals.

Hank was surprised to find my BFF Halley there, too. As planned, she had arrived the day before us. I couldn't believe it, but she brought with her my ex-lover Doug. Well, I had told her to bring whomever she wanted, but seriously, Doug? My guess is she wanted to experience the giant cock phenomenon. Hey, there are women like that. There's no fighting it. Forget that Doug doesn't know how to use his cock, and all he wants is to get off inside a girl, missionary position every time, and has no imagination, and is a boor outside of the bedroom. Hey, live and learn, Halley!