© Carey MacLean, 2012
Her heart pounded out of her chest as she gazed down into his eyes. A sense of empowerment filled her to the brim as she witnessed his total submission to her. She wielded her body skillfully as it were a sword – her most dangerous weapon. In truth, it was.
The man smiled up to her. They all did after they got their taste of her.
“Cara mia,” the Italian Casanova whispered as he caught his breath, “I think I’m in amore. We must do this again, sì?”
Her eyes twinkled as if she knew a secret he didn’t. She leaned her body into his as she still straddled his naked waist, his manhood reaching full arousal between her folds once more.
“You’re incorrigible Antonio,” she whispered over his lips before biting down hard which caused him to yelp like the dog that he was. “What will your wife say?”
She eyed his wedding ring finger which still carried the indentation, not to mention tan line and then gazed back up into his eyes.
“Your wife, what would she say?” She switched her gaze from mischievous to stern and demanding. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you a little something more for the road.”
And she rolled her hips over him which made his eyes glaze over with passion and a moan escape his lips.
“What wife?” He stuttered.
“Wrong answer,” she told him and brought the syringe to his throat and injected him with the clear poison that she had dubiously concealed under the bed’s pillows.
Antonio’s pupils dilated almost immediately. She knew it wouldn’t take long for it to work its magic. She proceeded to extract his rather generous piece of anatomy and jumped out of bed. She could see the bluish tint of Casanova’s skin growing deeper as his breaths grew ragged.
I guess this one’s suffocating to death then, she thought to herself.
After a quick shower, removing all traces of Antonio’s touch from her body, she redressed herself and left the Italian marbled bathroom.
She proceeded to her purse and pulled out her tiny spray bottle of what would look like perfume and got to work. She meticulously went around the room, removing any trace of fingerprints on any of the furniture she could have touched.
Once her loose ends were tied, she turned to see how Antonio was faring. Gurgling was coming from his throat as his eyes bulged out of their sockets.
“Oh Antonio,” she stood before him, “it’s such a shame. You were by far my favourite. I’m sure your wife will be sleeping soundly tonight and every other night from now on. Nighty night handsome!”
With that, she left the room, got in the elevator, and exited the posh Four Seasons. She jumped in a waiting taxi, heading to her next destination – home.
Finding herself in her garden, she pondered the events that had just taken place. The vilest of creatures these types of men were. She should know; she was at the mercy of one of them before she found her backbone. Oh, but when she had, boy did he beg for her mercy. Mercy she gladly provided, in the form of a swift designer ice pick to the heart that is. His heart had been as cold as that of the crystal that ended his miserable existence. She was free from her demon. The problem was that countless others weren’t.
“Something’s got to change,” she mumbled to herself as she sat in her hammock, taking a sip of her glass of Pinot Noir while she let herself sink back, her latest book in hand.
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