Sacrifice (15 page)

The house was dark, except for the light of the television in the back bedroom. Sheila’s station wagon was parked, as usual, in the driveway, but a Sonata was parked next to it. And the Sonata was not Jeremy’s.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Ariana whispered as they tiptoed up the front lawn. “Maybe she had a friend come over to keep her company.”

“Yeah, and I know exactly what kind of company she’s keeping with him,” Jeremy said and hopped the fence to the side yard. Ariana followed, her latex catsuit creaking as she threw a leg over the top of the fence, and Jeremy put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh.”

They crept between the fence and the air conditioner and in seconds were in the backyard next to the window projecting the flickering blue light of a TV.

Ariana put her hand on his arm, holding him back from looking.

“Does it matter what she’s doing in there?” she asked. “If she’s not making time, are you going to back out on me?”

“No,” he promised. “She’s yours, no matter what, just like we agreed.”

She nodded, and released her grip. Jeremy stood next to the window and slowly moved his eyes to the right until he could see inside. The network news was on, a talking head anchorman sat behind a nondescript desk as a small window of live footage played next to his head. The blue and red light of the tube reflected off the small of Sheila’s sweat-slicked back, which writhed sinuously up and down, back and forth. Her hair was matted and stuck to her shoulders, and she leaned down to rest herself with her hands on a man’s chest for a second, before sitting straight upright again and wiggling back and forth against the stranger’s groin. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but Jeremy could see his hairy legs sticking out from beneath his wife’s white ass, and the man’s big, thick-fingered hands clenching his wife’s waist. She was giving her lover a full show, tilting her head back and massaging her own breasts for him, rubbing them up tight to her body and then letting them free to flop and shake as she bounced and moved in a passion dance across her lover’s groin.

Jeremy held up two fingers to Ariana, and she nodded. He dropped away from the window to a crouch and let her check out the scene so she was aware of what they were walking into.

She pressed her body to the brick and slid her face across the lower section of the window until one eye connected with the scene in the room. She grinned silently as she watched the woman wantonly fuck the man in her bed. She could see why Jeremy had put up with being cuckolded for so long; Sheila was a knockout. Long, kinky hair the color of apple juice, full, rolling breasts with wide brown nipples, a waist that tapered to a tightness most women would kill for, and a round bottom that had, so far, escaped the tracks of cellulite. Ariana couldn’t see her face clearly, but she had the impression of an aquiline nose and aristocratic good looks.

Sheila reminded her of the socialite cheerleaders who had snubbed her all through high school. She was going to enjoy killing this one.

Ariana pulled herself away from the erotic scene inside and crouched next to Jeremy.

“Ready to have some fun?”

He nodded.

“You’ve got the rope?”

“Yeah.”

“The gun?”

“Check.”

“The key?”

“Unless she’s changed the lock.”

“Lead on Mercutio!”

Jeremy led her to the basement stairwell, and fumbled the key into the lock. He turned the knob slowly, and then cushioned the door with his shoulder as he pushed it open, trying to make as little sound as possible. Taking her hand, he guided Ariana around a laundry basket to the slatted door that led from the utility room they’d entered by, into the downstairs rec room.

They stopped for a minute there, to let their eyes adjust, and then Ariana put two fingers to his back and pushed.

He moved on, towards the stairs leading up into the kitchen, and then stumbled, his foot slipping off the head of a doll. The toy squeaked, just a bit, and skidded to the side as Jeremy began to fall. But Ariana grabbed him at the waist and held him until he recovered his balance, breathing heavy and listening hard. There were no sounds from upstairs, beyond the faint cadence of a newscaster.

He started up the stairs, rounding the corner of the kitchen and then stopping at the hallway that led to the master bedroom. He put a hand up to Ariana and held his head out into the hall, listening. The TV was louder, and now he could hear the muffled sound of other voices, and his wife’s unmistakable moan of pleasure.

He waved two fingers and started down the hall, stopping at his daughter’s bedroom to peer inside. The door was open, and the bed still made. Good. As he’d suspected when he saw the car parked outside, Sheila had sent their daughter to her mother’s, or a friend’s for the night so she could have her fun undisturbed by conscience. Or interruption.

They tiptoed down the hallway, stopping just before the half-open door of the bedroom. Ariana motioned for Jeremy to take a breath, and he took a deep one. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out the toy gun, and nodded. She held up three fingers, dropped one, then another, and then the third. They pushed through the door together.

Sheila was on her hands and knees now, taking it from behind, and the two adulterers looked up as one at the intrusion.

“Aw, shit,” the man said. Sheila didn’t say a thing, only rolled her eyes.

“Don’t mind me,” Jeremy said, crossing his arms. “Go about your business. I can wait for a few minutes until you’re ready to tell me why you’re fucking
my
wife in
my
bed.”

“Who’s the catwoman, Jer?” Sheila said with feigned disinterest from her ungraceful position on the bed.

“Oh no,” Jeremy answered. “I think you should introduce your boyfriend first.”

Sheila slid her haunches to the bed and lay on her side, exposing her all to Jeremy and Ariana. The tight line of her pubic hair glistened with moisture; they’d been at this for awhile.

“Whatever you like, dear. Jeremy, this is Paul. Paul, Jeremy. And…um…Catwoman. Been out for Halloween, Jer? I missed you last night. Figured you’d given up the spark.”

Paul had stepped off the bed and was looking bemused. He was a big man, at least six foot, dark-haired and well-muscled. His cock dangled at half erection, and he tried surreptitiously to hold his hands together to shield it from view. But it wasn’t working; a pale pink blob of flesh peeked out from beneath his fingers, like a fat worm inching towards the wet earth.

“I haven’t given up, Sheila,” Jeremy answered. “But I have a new game to play. A spectator sport.”

Ariana pulled the rope out from the bag Jeremy carried and tossed it on the bed.

“Tie his hands behind his back,” she said cooly.

“Do it yourself, catgirl,” Sheila said, stretching out lazily on the bed.

Jeremy took his cue and raised the gun. It all depended on this moment. He didn’t think he could take Paul in a fair fight. He was built, but Paul looked pumped.

“Do what I say for once, Sheila,” he said. “Tie your boyfriend’s hands behind his back if you want the two of you to stay alive. We’re going to have a little fun to night. And then I’m going to get out of your hair and you never have to see me again. If you’re up for it, you can fuck whoever you want, whenever you want. But right now, you’re mine for one last time.”

Sheila saw the look in his eye, and sat up. She glanced back at Paul, looking for advice, or permission. His cock had shriveled to hide fully, finally, behind his hands, and he nodded.

Sheila took the rope and slipped off the bed to start tying it around her boyfriend’s wrists.

“Behind his back,” Jeremy reminded, motioning with his gun.

Paul moved his arms to grip his hands together behind his back, and Sheila knelt behind him, face level with the tan line of his ass to tie his wrists together with the heavy twine Ariana and Jeremy had bought that afternoon, at the hardware store just blocks away.

Ariana stepped forward and reached into the hidden back pocket of her suit. Something clicked, and when Sheila looked up, it was to stare at the four-inch business end of a switchblade.

“Tie them tight,” Ariana demanded. “I’m going to test them and if they’re not Houdini-safe, I’m going to carve my name in your back. That way, you’ll never forget it.”

Jeremy moved closer, still threatening with the fake pistol, and Ariana held the very real knife to Sheila’s back.

The naked woman wound the rope tight around her lover’s wrists, and at Ariana’s direction, crisscrossed the strands and drew the noose tight. When she was done with his hands, Ariana directed her to tie his ankles together as well.

“That hurts,” Paul complained at one point, and Ariana answered, brandishing the knife at his face.

“Better that than this.”

He shut up.

When Paul was sufficiently hog-tied, Ariana cut the end of the rope with her knife and told him to lie down on the bed.

“You just watch now, baby,” she cooed. “Jeremy,” she said, voice dripping all honey, “tie up your little slut here.”

He crossed the room and handed Ariana the gun. She stepped back and watched as Jeremy pulled the rope tight around Sheila’s wrists, and then did the same to her ankles.

When he was done, he pushed her down face-first on the bed. She rolled to her back and wrinkled her nose at him in disgust.

“Don’t fucking make faces at me, you whore,” he said. “You smell like the cum bucket you are.”

“No different than I smelled from yours, dickhead,” she spit.

“All right,” Ariana said. “Let’s not get ugly. We’re here to have fun, right Jeremy?”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Good, clean, fuck-everyone-in-sight fun.”

“I’m glad you still agree,” she said. “Because I think I’d like a taste of your wife’s beefcake here. If he can get that thing up again, it looked like a rod worth a ride.”

She unzipped the side of her black latex suit and let a tit hang out for him to see.

“Whaddya say, Paul?” she urged. “Think you can do the job for me? I know I don’t have jugs like your squeeze over there,” she nodded at Sheila, who was starting to finally scowl in anger on the bed next to him.

“Whatever you say,” he answered, and Ariana laughed.

“That’s the spirit,” she said, stripping the suit down to her boots.

Paul obviously admired the tight line of her belly and thighs as she walked to the bed, still wearing the long black boots and elbow-length gloves. The catsuit trailed behind her on the floor, and her otherwise pale, flawless skin showed yellow and purpled around her ribs from Jeremy’s kicks the night before…

“Guard your whore, Jeremy,” she advised, and knelt on the bed to straddle Paul’s already admirable erection.

“Just a little lesson in how it feels to have something of yours taken right out from under you,” she said to Sheila, retracting the blade of her knife.

She put the haft against Paul’s chest.

“My finger’s on the trigger,” she warned. “I hope you’re not a shaker. Make one false move, and I won’t wait to see if it’s because you’re cumming or trying to escape. I’ll release the blade into your heart.”

She could feel his cock tremble and grow harder against her thigh at the threat, and she grinned. Amazing what turned some people on, she thought, and lowered herself onto him.

“Yesss,” she grinned as he entered her, and she began to repeat the motions that Sheila had been making, not long before. Only Sheila had taken her time—she hadn’t been holding a knife to his chest, so Sheila hadn’t fucked fast and dry and hard. Ariana grunted and sighed, as much from pain as pleasure. Paul lay wide-eyed and silent beneath her, aroused by the violation, but aware of the hands tied behind his back and the knife at his heart. Despite the fear—or perhaps because of it—he found himself cumming as soon as Ariana announced her orgasm. She closed her eyes and rode him even faster, squeaking in short bursts of pleasure as the orgasm flowered from her groin to her thighs and belly in a wave of heat and pleasure. She raised herself off of him just as his own last jet of sperm dribbled from his cock to slide like extra hand lotion down his shaft.

“Jealous, bitch?” Ariana asked Sheila, pulling her catsuit back up and rezipping the zippers until once again, she was a vision in black.

“Bite me,” Sheila snapped.

“Oh no,” Ariana said, tugging the last zipper down her arm. “You’re getting ahead of me now. I had something else in mind.”

She pointed at Paul’s now-flagging, glistening cock.

“Bite him,” she demanded.

When Sheila didn’t move, Jeremy grabbed her hair with his free hand and pushed her head to Paul’s crotch.

“Suck it like you do when you’re alone,” Ariana demanded. “See what it’s like to taste someone else’s juice on your lover.”

“Fuck you,” Sheila said and rolled back.

Jeremy slapped her on the side of the head with his hand.

“Get busy,” he said. “For once in your life, you’ll do as you’re told.”

Sheila looked up at him, hatred in her eyes, and then took Paul’s dick in her mouth, sliding it in and grimacing.

“You love it and you know it,” Ariana laughed, and then said sweetly, “Jeremy, cover Paul, would you?”

Jeremy walked around the bed, and shoved the gun barrel up under Paul’s throat, where he couldn’t get a good close-up look at the weapon. For a few more minutes, the ruse had to work.

Ariana hit the button and let the switchblade out again. She held it to the muscle popping and retracting in Sheila’s neck.

“You might want to sit on him,” Ariana suggested, and Paul went bug-eyed, as Jeremy threw his leg over the man’s bare chest and rested his full weight against him, crotch to sternum.

“Keep sucking,” Ariana advised Sheila. “You’re really good at this. Jeremy, did she ever do this for you? If so, you were a pretty lucky boy.”

Jeremy looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

“No, she claimed she hated it after the first couple times. She never did it once we were married.”

“Ah,” Ariana said. “Just goes to prove, some things are best left for affairs.”

She pressed the knife against Sheila’s throat, so the woman could feel the pinch of the blade. Her skin turned white around the edge of the blade and a drop of blood slid along the edge, as if the knife were a new capillary to guide it somewhere else.