Murder in the First
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Murder Two free porn video
Murder Two
by jo199
I know that it sounds really chill, but I still think that killing him was the
right thing to do. Admittedly, he wasn't a bad person, or anything like
that. In fact, he was a regular goodie two shoes at times, though not
particularly towards me; understandably not at the end for sure. So how,
you might ask, is it perfectly fine to murder a perfectly healthy human
being, and come out the other end thinking it the right thing to do?
Let me start out by saying that it got to the point where it was either him or
me. It had been that way for a while, and it was quite a struggle. At first
he put up with me, even financing my occasional shopping extravagance,
but then he started having second thoughts about us. I think it was that
thing where he started visiting you know who. "She's a professional," he
said, "She's good for us," he'd add ... yeah, the biggest insult of all. I'm
telling you; I never approved of that turn in events, obviously, but then
after a while I just laid down and accepted it. He got the idea from that,
that I'd just lie down and accept anything. But, at first I even started
thinking of it as a good idea in its sick little way. I mean, there got to be
more times alone, for one. Like now; there's lots of time alone now.
But then it started to become what I imagine it was all along: Personal.
Just when it started feeling that way, he did me a strike two. He started
spending time with that bitch Linda from the tennis club. The bitch with
brains was one thing, but Linda was a bitch with a really sexual backhand.
How was I to compete with that? She had money that made Henry look
like a pauper, in spite of his twenty-two room mansion and polo career.
She had looks that went so deep I imagined she bled pink for less than
half a day on her time of the month. God her legs I'd just up and die for.
The fucking cunt! I'm a good looker, especially now that I've gotten over
Henry, and moved on with my life, but not like that, and definitely not
then, in the state I was in. There was me, repressed and moody, doing
prozac and the dizzy dame drug of the month, and she walks up, points
her tits at my Henry, and asks him if he'd like a ride in her old money,
Republican Rolls. He doesn't even look at me, and just gets in, and I get
to imagine what's going on for two days and a night. I was in such a
state, how I got home, I still can't remember.
Then I caught her with his golden dick in her mouth. Right there in our
own bed. I guess I'd gotten wasted the night before, and woke up a part
of some sick, perverted threesome. Me, lying there in shock, looking up
at them, and the worst part of all was they weren't even paying attention to
me. They just went on with it, Henry getting it up like the good old days,
cumming twice, once on her pearly ass, the second in her yummy,
collagen mouth. I just watched, kind of with this sick sense that I was
enjoying it, mainly numb though, as if bred from birth to understand that
at all costs one must never be a rude hostess. What exactly was I
supposed to do? I wasn't the one with the money, and I wasn't the one
with the hard weenie. I felt, well, basically useless, like I was already
dead. Henry had temporarily killed me, and like a good corpse, I just laid
there rotting while the bed rocked, perspiration dripping on my arm after
she'd gone and impaled her royal cunt on top, moans filling my ears with
the mating calls of marsupials in heat.
Linda's titties bounced, not swayed, not sagged ... bounced!
I felt so low. I mean, I moped and then just busied myself doing chores.
Before long I was dressing down, no longer caring about outward
appearance, joining in the housework. If I was to be treated like the help,
my mind reasoned, why not just accept it and act like the help. In a funny
sort of way, it helps; don't ask me why.
Henry and I never spoke. As for cohabitation, we were never in the same
room together at the same time. I thought, I'll just give it one more try.
What we needed was each other; you know, nobody else around. It was a
good idea, I thought. The more I dwelled on it, the more I found the idea
a good one. Then, as if some ghost was lending a hand, and quite
unexpectedly, the cook quit. We'd already lost the chauffeur, and a maid
who'd been in the family for decades, two months earlier. They saw what
was going on, and I could see the looks of disapproval, me barely able to
stand their looks of confirmation and ridicule. I have this rule of thumb
that I've come to believe in: If the common lowlife thinks what's going
on is deprived, it probably is. Men like Henry are supposed to be pillars
of their community, not icons to bad form. Human weakness, however,
I've found to be a relatively common trait among all human beings.
Anyway, that only left one maid and a part time gardener. I called the
gardener, and told him we'd not need his services in the near future. It
was a little more difficult letting go of Mary. I've known Mary since the
day I was born, but she seemed a little heartened to leave when I explained
that it was to help me and Henry find a little more time together alone. I
forged a nice check for her, and a raving review. . Good help is so hard
to find, and I have taken interest to learn that Mary landed quite well.
Mary is better off with another family anyway, knowing what was to
happen here in her absence. As you can see, I honestly feel more guilt
regarding Mary than I do poor Henry dying. I guess maybe it's a little
because I planned to play the homemaker, and thus, innocent Mary had to
move off for my self-seeking needs..
The more I thought about my plan, the more involved it got. I'm like that.
I get these ideas in my head, and just commit. My first stop was to go see
a doctor about my nubs. At best I'd always been no better than an A.
That could be fixed, I'd been thinking ever since seeing that Linda slut
bouncing. They couldn't fit me right in, (something about a law requiring
a waiting period) so I made some contacts in Thailand, and took a trip.
Believe me, that's easier to write than it was to do.
I knew that Henry would be a problem too. While I was away I could
only imagine what he'd be up to. For one, there was Linda, but then
when I thought about her I just didn't think she'd be the real issue. You
see, Henry was definitely not in favor of cosmetic surgery. You might
say that in his own sweet - authoritative - little way, Henry is into the
natural body experience. That's easy to say when you've been born into a
rich family, and through the Darwinian natural selection process of
money, born relatively perfect, it's easy to judge. I was by no means
perfect, however. What he saw in me, well, I guess maybe he didn't see
so much in me. I was desperate. I had to do it. I gave the doctor enough
money to buy half a new clinic, and in return, he did what he could to turn
a Pinto into a Mercedes.
It hurt like hell. It took forever too. Henry called me every day, and I lied
about trying to put together my own little trade business. "Something to
occupy myself while I'm alone," I'd said, hoping my loneliness might
communicate. He, of course, didn't believe a word I told him, but he was
there, and I was here. Maybe he wanted it that way, but he sounded less
and less sure of the isolation, wondering, I guess, what it all meant for
him. Henry always did view the world from a relatively selfish
perspective. I could sense some desperation in his voice though;
growing. I was imagining that he knew more than he let on, and even that
he wanted me back the way I'd been. It was kind of nice thinking he liked
the old me, but it was too late to take it back. Most of the surgery had
been done mere hours after my arrival. Recovery was another matter. I
was in that little clinic for a month before I could stagger to the airport,
bowlegged and handling a cane as deftly as Henry did his polo stick.
Bandages that had been everywhere, had newly been removed, and my
skin looked sickly pink in several unmentionable places. Still, I could see
that the whole thing had been an amazing success.
All that was left was the hardest part of all; winning Henry's acceptance.
It had gotten to the point where I realized that Henry had started to hate
me. I blame most of that on Linda, but there was still that other bitch; the
one with the brains. He saw her twice a week, come hell or high water.
Well, he'd not seen her in a month, he told me, and I had no reason to not
believe him, but he was going to go see her as soon as I got home, and
maybe even drag me along. I couldn't believe it. I'd no sooner gotten off
the airplane, and here was this man I'd done all of this for, insistent that
he go see this old whore; the one who, "Talked to him." The one who,
"Helped him overcome his compulsions." The one who, "Couldn't mind
her own god damned business!" Oh, I'm sorry, it was me who said that
last part. But, least I regress, I was asking, what the fuck was the idea of
seeing her again all about?
I just have to calm down a little before I go on. Just give me a minute. I
know you can't see me here, like this, all hyper from feeling like shit, but
just imagine me having to get hold of myself, before you get to read the
next part of my story. I feel so, intense. I hope you understand.
There was still some time. He couldn't manage an appointment with her
for two days. I had to do something. What had I done all of this for
anyway, I told myself? I thought, what he needs is some kind of fetish. I
went to the abandoned staff part of the mansion, and found Mary's old
room. She had left her old uniforms in the closet. I grabbed her most
formal French maid outfit, and tried it on. Unbelievably, it fit me
perfectly. It was the short one that she only wore at informal parties like
Halloween. I had to use some of my own heels, and seamed stockings,
but I was soon every man's fantasy maid. Even the apron and little hat
that helped accentuate my new perm were fun looking.
I walked out into the doorway between our entry way and the living room,
and stood at attention like we had Mary do at formal greetings. It made
me feel a little foolish, but I wanted him to notice the whole effect. I stood
there for hours, waiting as the sun moved onto the western horizon.
When Henry didn't come, I started looking around for him. I could tell
that his car was in garage because he'd not closed the door. Looking
around the house though, I didn't see a sign of him. Going outside, I
walked around the grounds, and he was gone. Maybe Linda had him, I
thought, but really didn't think that was likely. No, I'd have known if he
was with Linda. He was just hiding, I understood. When he got like
that, there was no use in pressing the matter. I went inside, and closed the
door, depressed that another good plan had fallen through the cracks.
Looking around, I was a little amazed that the house didn't look cluttered.
I mean, I'd been gone for a month, and Henry had been left home alone
without any staff. I expected pizza and take out Chinese boxes up to the
ceiling. Instead, all I could see for the wear was a month worth of dust.
It was almost as if Henry hadn't spent a single minute in the house since
I'd left.
"Oh, give me a break," I moaned, picking up some dust spray and a rag,
making a more practical than expected use of the outfit. "Fuck you!
Fffffuuuuucccckkkkk you! Fuck you, Henry! You think you have the
upper hand, by going off and doing what you want, but I am here to tell
you, boy; I'm not going away. I will win, and the way you've treated me
will not go unpunished!" Almost in a daze, I cleaned, the urge to do
something constructive, overbearing. I'd wanted to make that
constructive urge something towards my relationship, but I think that, that
realization that Henry hadn't been home for a month was the last straw. I
just gave up. I started to clean, and just let that bit of constructive
behavior completely erase Henry.
And, it was beautiful, in its own little way. For the first time in years I
felt completely liberated. I'd pick up a vase, and spray some dust spray
on some table that had been in Henry's family since George Washington,
and ran that little cotton rag around on it, and to be honest, felt more
female doing that than I'd felt anything, doing anything, since forever. I
couldn't stop. I didn't stop. I don't know when nature stopped me,
because all I remember was waking up on the couch, my panties on the
floor and my fingers pleasuring my newly tucked pussy for the first
orgasm I'd had since the operations. Even my new, bigger and bouncier
beasts no longer hurt, the simple touch enough to rock my new, more
optimistic perspective on the world. It felt so good that I finally realized
that I just didn't need Henry. He was irrelevant. All I needed was a little
housework to keep busy and make myself feel needed as a woman, and of
course my own hand.
So, I decided to get rid of Henry.
There are two ways to get rid of someone. One is the obvious, murder.
The other is to ruin him financially. Believe me, a guy like Henry has a
hard time deciding which one is worse. I decided to do both. I mean,
after all, I might not be successful murdering the prick. Maybe I should
rephrase that because in my mind, his prick had been conspicuously
absent for some time: I might not be successful murdering the man.
There, that sounds nicer. I'm over being mad, I told myself, as clear
headed as I'd been since my first application of lipstick in my bathroom
mirror fifteen years ago.
I went into the office, opened the safe, and forged Henry's signature on a
dozen documents. Taking them over to his lawyer's office, I had the
man's whole show officially handed over to charity. The lawyer thought I
was nuts, and even suspected that it was someone other than Henry
who'd signed away eight generations of wealth. I just laughed at him,
and asked him if he really thought I'd do something illegal like forging
documents? He was still reluctant, so I did something I'd never done
before. I loosened the buttons on my maid outfit, sticking out enough
breast to risk giving him a heart attack. Then I got down on my knees,
and unzipped his pants. You have to understand, Henry's lawyer is an
elderly gentleman; he's long ago imagined he'd never again see the likes
of what I was about to do to him.
On the other hand, I too paused. I'd never done anything like it before
either. It felt, well, kind of dirty. I'd spent the morning feeling good
about myself, and didn't much like feeling dirty. His cock got hard right
away, and it smelled strange, repulsive. I've never done this before, kept
echoing in my mind as I leaned forward. It kept right on ringing in my
head as I tasted the bulb of his penis. Then he leaned forward, no longer
able to hold himself back, and it was in me. My eyes kept blinking, as if
unable to decide if they should stay wide open or totally shut. Realizing
that I was biting him with my teeth, and that, that probably wouldn't win
his help at selling poor Henry down the drain, I clamped down with lips
instead, and started to twirl my tongue around his shaft.
Then he was fucking my face hard, his balls hitting my chin, and his
pubic hair tickling my nose. He was an old man, did I tell you that? Yes,
he was old, and he needed to go fast, so I let him, and then helped him,
and then used my hands to hold the base of his cock tight, and to massage
his ball. I wasn't too bad at it, I realized, the cock feeling satin, and the
taste getting less strong the more it was in me. If I did it right, he'd cum
quicker, I thought, my newly expanded lips getting a little numb from the
operation and their first time sucking cock. Just as I grew to accept the
fact that I was whoring myself for a business deal, the cock exploded in
my mouth, filling me with sticky cum. I held it in, not wanting to do
anything that the lawyer might interpret as offensive. I even managed to
smile up at him before grimacing and swallowing the sperm.
Needless to say, the lawyer was a little more accepting of the work I'd
given him. He liked the idea even better when I reminded him that he'd
get ten percent of everything liquidated, and that I'd maybe be able to
come by every month or so to see that he was getting along OK, "You
know, just to talk or whatever. Of course, I don't know if I'm going to
be around. It depends on what I decide to do after this, or what the
authorities intend to do with me," I told him.
"That, of course, was my concern," he said generously.
"I suppose that I might just stay at Henry's mansion," I said, off
handedly.
"It will be sold, and at the price you're asking, soon. You see, this is
what I mean. I don't think you've been thinking clearly," the lawyer
returned. I could tell that he was concerned. It wasn't just the blow job
either. The man genuinely was a gentleman.
"I mean, I guess, as a helper, until I come up with something else. The
place will need a caretaker in the mean time anyway. I kind of enjoy
taking care of the place. Maybe the new owners will even hire me. It's
silly, but I don't know ..."
He shook his head, as if he was looking at the breakdown of an old
friend. If it was Henry he'd been worried about though, the lawyer was
in my camp now. I left him in full motion, selling off and handing over
Henry's financial life at such a pace that I doubt Henry would have been
able to recover even if he'd stopped the leakage then and there.
Back at the house I had one thing left to do, and one day left to do it in. I
couldn't chance waiting until after Henry had seen that smart bitch. She
knew what she was doing. She'd put the brakes on everything, and then
I'd be right back where I started, only worse. I'd have done all of that
suffering and surgery for nothing. She'd even talk Henry into having me
put under the knife again to try and make me like I was. They were that
tight. Is that sick or what? The two of them together were just impossible
to deal with. I had no choice, don't you see! I had to kill him. He left me
no options, no maneuver ground. I was up against a wall, as surely as if
he and that smart doctor bitch he liked so much were standing there
offering me a last cigarette and a blindfold. Fuck that! Henry wasn't
going to see that lady ever again. I was determined!
Fortunately, it was easy. You see, Henry was on Prozac and you know,
that much stronger and newer, dizzy dame drug of the month. I went into
our bedroom. He always left them right where anyone could get to them;
on my side of the bed even. All I had to do was empty the bottles into the
toilet. Just to fool him, I put aspirin in the Prozac bottle, and some over
night antacid tablets in the other one. He never was very good at
remembering the details of the things I did. He'd never catch on - until it
was too late. Poor Henry. Finally, you're going to get exactly what you
deserve, I said, sitting down on a chair in the room and waiting.
Sure enough, less than an hour later, Henry came in. He didn't even look
at me. He just went up to the night stand, took the fake pills, and
wandered off to hide again, none the wiser that he'd accomplished nothing
but buy me enough time to see him dead.
I went to our dresser drawer, and filled a suitcase with mostly cosmetics,
lingerie and shoes. It's kind of surprising how little clothing I had, and
how much of it was too formal to be of much use to a working girl. With
a last thought, I took Henry's medication, such as it was, and added it to
my suitcase. Then I moved into Mary's room, and started my new life as
a caretaker.
Luckily, the people who purchased the house needed a maid as much as
I'd hoped they would. As for Henry, I'm pretty sure he's dead. If not, I
still have the aspirin and antacid by my bed in those cute, little,
prescription bottles. Every night it waits for him just in case he thinks he
can come back from the dead and fix things the way they were.
The End
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