You thought a woman like me would actually marry a man like you for love? You thought I'd let you defile my body with your DNA? You should have listened to your friends.
You come home from work to find me waiting for you in a sexy little black dress. I model it for you. I bring up the elephant in the room - we haven't had sex in six months. I'm shy about it, looking down a lot, pausing to find the right words.
I open the box next to me and pull out a pair of handcuffs, a ball-gag. Suggest we spice things up.
You're surprised when I gag & cuff you - you thought it would be the other way around, but hey, anything to get laid after this dry spell.
To your surprise, I sit back down on the couch, making no move to touch you.
You should have listened to your friends when they said I was only interested in your money. You will never touch me again. Two years is just long enough not to draw suspicion.
I produce a syringe, a special compound -part of the lethal injection cocktail. I tell you how it's supposed to make your blood boil. I wonder what will go first - your heart, or your pain receptors. I plunge the needle into your neck, emptying the contents into your blood stream.
Perhaps I will have sex with you one last time - in a fashion. Didn't you always dream of this, going out during sex?.
I stare deep into your eyes, watching you writhe in pain, my hitatchi pressed up hard against my panties. Gasping along with you as you take your last breaths.
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