Last night was a blur. She definitely remembered strapping her husband to the table in the basement and berating him. Then he'd fainted, and she'd started to cry again. And she'd been nervous, so she'd drunk a hell of a lot, staring at the prone figure of her husband, frozen in a sitting position. And then... then what the hell happened?Jane came rushing in at that point."Michelle," she said, sounding panicked. "I think you'd better come to the basement. Now."Oh, fuck...***There he was. Charlie. Dead. 'This wasn't how it was supposed to be,' Michelle whined at herself.There was blood all over his body, all over the table and all over the floor. A gaping wound in his stomach was stained with dried blood. There were clearly visible cuts to his face and one of his arms. Long, deep cuts. Michelle was vaguely aware that no-one's neck was supposed to bend like that.Jane came up behind her, and said quietly, "Is there anything we can do?"Michelle shook her head. "This wasn't supposed to. That you would be offended.“It’s true,” she said, “I am proper,” at least I have been ... but not since Amanda Firestone. She thought back to the times she had made comments about people who used double entendres or exhibited outward expressions of sexual enjoyment. Before Amanda, I WAS a prude. I’ve been so foolish. “Oh baby,” she whispered, “And I’ve wanted you to eat me for so long.”Answering in a petulant grumble he said, “You could have asked Mary.”With a frisson of both responsibility and irritation, she sat up and murmured, “You’re right Baby. But you could have demanded what was rightfully yours. But what good is crying over spilled milk?”Purposely lightening the mood, she laughed as she rolled her ass off the wet spot on the bed and said, “Look what you have done to me now Arthur.” Giggling she went on, “From now on I guess we are going to have to use a rubber sheet.” Bending her legs underneath her she rose to her knees and straddled her husband’s body, walking on them.
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