Goodnight, Simon (Six Pages From The Diary Of A Wronged Woman)

   It's all done - the plan worked pretty well, I really think. A few minor glitches, a few improvisations here and there but I am pretty fucking pleased. What can I say? I have just spent the most thrilling twenty-four hours of my life. A tragedy if I never know anything so wonderful again.

   I called Simon from a callbox, told him I had just arrived. I would be there in a half an hour. Was the champagne waiting? The hotel receptionist was forewarned and would send me up, he said. And unsuspecting Simon actually said he loved me. I smiled in hatred. The night was chillier than expected, but then I was not exactly warmly dressed under my coat. I knew Simon would appreciate my eye for little details like that.

   He was so pleased to see me - I smelled fantastic, Simon said, the insincere cunt. We kissed and I closed my eyes in a mixture of repulsion and anticipation. He went to take my suitcase but I said, 'Oh no,' I had a little surprise for him in it. A fucking unusual one I might have added. I put the bag near the bed, next to the champagne and the glasses. I took off my coat and Simon liked what he saw underneath. Tight red short dress, no bra, red fishnets and red high heels. Simon undressed me, surprised to find me naked under the dress. He stripped and looked more simian than usual to my hate-filled eyes.  And to think that only two weeks ago, I had loved swarthy Simon, I had seen his Jewishness as strange, sensual and exotic, his squat and hairy body as animal and exciting, a dramatic contrast to my own unusually pale skin.

   We started to make love; at least he did, I was making hate. I told him fuck me hard, not to mind if his huge great cock hurt me. Go on Simon, give it to me, harder, harder, harder, my love. Simon was thrilled, he told me much he loved me, and I trembled with detestation, his words making me feel nauseous with black, all-embracing loathing.

   Now it was time for the surprise I had promised him, how he'd love it. He must close his eyes, he must promise not to peek at all. He lay face down on the bed and I saw the repellent hairs on his back.

   In my bag I found the red leather gear I had bought just yesterday: a mask and a red leather bra with holes for my rouged nipples. And four separate metre lengths of 15 amp red electric flex. I looked at myself in the mirror. Scary stuff, just for Simon. Open your eyes, Simon! And Simon turned over, opened his eyes and gasped audibly.

   I spoke seductively, 'Let me tell you Simon, I want to dominate you - I'll tie you up, I'll sit on your face, my love, for the best mouthful of your life. I shall work you up, make you more excited than you can imagine.' He fell for it. He could barely speak. His big ugly cock grew harder than ever.

   I tied him up, arms first, then legs, how lucky the bed had firm supports. I murmured how turned on I was, how I would take him to the heights of pleasure, how he excited me. I forced myself to fellate him for ten or twenty odious seconds before helping myself to some more champagne to wash the taste of his cock away.

   'None for you yet Simon,' I crooned in his ear, 'You'll need to earn your champagne by satisfying me.' And when Simon was fully trussed up, not like a turkey as foreseen, but more a giant hairy sacrificial lamb, I tightened the cords.

   I told him to close his eyes and trust me and then I sat on his face so firmly he nearly choked. 'I have another surprise for the love of my life,' I said; he didn't even look embarrassed and closed his eyes as ordered. I moved down and sucked him urgently after saying he should keep his eyes closed or our game would end.

   So I took out the gag and slipped it round the back of his head, a manoeuvre practised a dozen times in readiness. I quickly wiped his mouth and sealed it with my waiting tape. Simon was alarmed but too late. 'Don't worry Simon, dearest, just watch your special blowjob,' I said and lifted up his head gently and placed a pillow under to help him see. I told Simon how I loved his fat cock and his conceit was mercifully hidden by the sealing tape on his lying mouth.

   Then I went down on him again and kept my promise and Simon moaned in joy. I nibbled him with my teeth, each nibble harder than its predecessor. When I felt him start to come, I sunk my teeth viciously into his throbbing circumcised penis. Simon went rigid and writhed like a madman in a straightjacket; if he could have, he would have screamed the place down, but no. I bit bloody gristle again and again; I practically chewed his cock off.  I revelled in what he must have been suffering.

   'Did you like that, you fucking cunt of a Jewish bastard, you worthless piece of shit, you loathsome hairy piece of dirt?', I enquired coldly of the coming Simon, spitting bits of his own blood, semen and skin over his trussed-up body. It was some sort of negative rhetorical question, I suppose, because Simon clearly didn't like it, was no longer enjoying our game, and couldn't answer anyway. I grabbed his hairy balls and crushed them with a malicious squeeze. Whilst he howled mutedly and helplessly, thrashing around as much as the flex allowed him, I gave him my little speech.

   'Simon, listen carefully. If you don't stop struggling I promise you I will blind you. Or by Christ I'll cut your fucking bollocks off. Look at my lovely knife.' Simon looked at the knife I flourished and quietened down a little, which was quite brave of him; he must have been in terrible pain, his bleeding dick half gnawed off and his filthy bollocks so cruelly ground by my not-so-caring hand. I smiled at his agony.

   'You can look upon this as a personalised, private Auschwitz nightmare, you can struggle all you like, you can't get free, no one can hear you.' And Simon thrashed about in fear, foolishly ignoring me. I had to act. Without premeditation I took out my hammer, showed it briefly to Simon. I brought it down with all my strength on each fucking knee in turn.

   'Don't struggle Simon dear,' I said 'Or you will suffer even more, believe me.' Simon lay still. And why was that? The hairy petrified little rat had fainted. I poured myself champagne and tipped the ice bucket over Simon's face. 'Wakey, wakey, Simon,' I sang cheerily.

   I looked down on him through the slits of my red leather face mask, a sex demon from Hell. And then an amusing thought occurred to me, 'You used to like to watch me piss, didn't you, Simon dear?' Another rhetorical question I fear.

   I shoved my cunt into his face. 'Would you like me to piss on you now, you fucker?', I enquired. 'I could give you a real eyeful if you'd like that.' He was wide-eyed as if in anticipation. 'I'd love to give you a little pissy treat but sadly that's not on, the police can trace DNA from urine, so a golden shower is out. When they find your worthless corpse tomorrow morning, I'd hate to leave a couple of stale pints of my DNA all over you.' Not surprisingly, dearest fucking Simon looked petrified with terror.

   ‘Well now, Simon, just why I am doing all this to you? And so unexpectedly! Well, let me tell you, it's because you are a total fucking bastard. You made me fall in love with you by telling me a load of blatant fucking lies. Then you got bored with me and told me you were married in order to get rid of me. But you weren't married, you only married your stupid slut of a wife later. How do I know all this, you vermin? Simon, you're so fucking stupid. In the pocket of your nice designer suit I found your nice new wedding ring. With love to S from G, dated the 26th of November. A new ring, Simon, dated last fucking month.' Simon closed his eyes.

   Next, my suitcase yielded my new surgical gloves, which I carefully donned. Simon's eyes followed my every move in direst apprehension. I showed him one of my bottles of acid. He started weeping. I held the acid under Simon's nose and he flinched as I told him. Not only would I blind poor fucking Simon, I would scar his widow, how sad she would be, both Simonless and blind. And do you know what, the Avenging Angel over my shoulder seemed to tire. I was too friendly with the bastard and I thought why not blind him anyway? Teach him a lesson for being awkward. So I felt obliged to do it.

   I pushed the blade of my nice new Sheffield steel carver into his left eye. And stood back to admire my handiwork, although it was not a pretty sight. I even felt a slight twinge of sympathy for him; after all a slit eyeball couldn’t have been a lot of fun. Then I suppose I must have taken pity on poor bleeding, half-blinded Simon, my former lover, my Cyclops, and I slit his fucking throat with a single merciful stroke.

   Past killings told me to step well back and it took Simon a full minute to die. But I was not idle and masturbated in front of his single staring dying eye. I hope he hung on just long enough to see my God-almighty pulsing climax. I felt weak with the force of my emotion. My Angel was surprised.

   So I moved on to the act's conclusion and unpeeled the tape and cut the gag with the carver. To my disgust his mouth was full of vomit and bitten-off pieces of tongue. I carefully poured acid over his face and into his gaping bloody mouth, hopefully burning away all of my DNA-laden saliva and pussy juice.

   Simon's face fizzed a bit as the acid burnt in as I knew it would. I took out the waiting pair of cheap 'not-my-size' red shiny panties I had previously wiped on the floor of a convenient ladies room to get a good selection of mixed DNA and other female nasties and stuffed them, oh so delicately, into Simon's mouth, trying to avoid touching his vomit.

   All in all, Simon looked a most unattractive sight: one eye socket gaping, his face covered in blood, puke and lumps of tongue, acid burns, his throat slit from ear to ear, his upper body covered in blackest gore, his shrivelled penis half chewed off, his black bleeding bruised balls, and his shattered kneecaps. And his lower extremities lay at a jaunty angle, which caused me a wry smile of pleasure.

   My next little treat for Simon's body was rather undignified I confess: I turned him over on his stomach. I forgot to mention one thing: in between the discovery of Simon's disgraceful treachery ten days ago, I had been tempted to have another couple of my one night stands and the used condoms I found under my bed now came in rather useful. I parted Simon's hairy buttocks and tipped in the contents of both condoms; I then shoved the dildo (did I mention my twelve inch black dildo?) and gave his filthy arsehole a damn good prodding.

   What a clever concept, I believed: Simon's visitor would be seen to have been a transvestite whore and things had just got out of hand. The hotel receptionist would recall I had looked a little sluttish after all. I showered thoroughly and packed up all my executioner's tools and, dressed like the tart I sometimes am, left the hotel a happy girl. One less worthless cunt in the world.