Penelope 7. She’s dead, but I’m still aroused.

It’s time to end this:

An hour after yet another round of one-sided sex I was no less sure there was no love left, just frustration and pain. I fetched my best knife from the display in my office and went to the bedroom where Pamela was asleep. I moved quietly to Pamela at the left side of the bed and gently pulled down the single sheet she was sleeping under. Despite all the past revenge fantasies I intended to waste no time taking sexual or sadistic enjoyment of Pamela’s pale fat bulk of a body, leaning over her with my right hand empty and the lethal knife held in a dagger grip in my left hand.

I slapped my right hand down over Pamela’s mouth, thumb under her chin to shove and tilt her head back across the neck roll she used instead of a pillow. The force exposed her thick throat as she startled and began to wake. She barely had time for the first sound of some hand-muffled exclamation before I used my full strength to drive the knife down into the center of her throat. The katana point of the knife easily cut into her soft neck and drove through her windpipe with a small crunching noise followed by the thud of the heel of my hand against her neck.

Pamela heaved on the bed when the killing thrust sunk home, her legs and arms thrashing but her head pinned down by the hand on her mouth and the knife. I twisted the knife back and forth before pulling it out, leaving a ragged wound in her neck.

Throat stabbed:

Pamela’s scream was muffled by my palm, not even as loud as the audible hiss of air from the deep wound. In a moment the noise became a wet bubbling gurgle as torn vessels leaked into her windpipe. She tried to inhale and instead started to choke on the flow of her own blood, her eyes wide over my mouth covering hand. I could see the shock and fear in her look at me as she understood I was the one hurting her. The wet coughing gurgles got louder when I let go of her mouth. Pamela struggled frantically on the bed, her hands pawing at the gaping wound in her throat.

My thoughts reeled as the enormity of what I had done swept through me. I dropped the knife, my now right hand dragging her left wrist aside and my left hand knocking Pamela’s right hand aside to expose the ragged hole. A flow of dark blood pulsed from one side of the torn wound, flowing and ebbing rather than jetting. I realized I had torn a neck vein, not an artery, giving Pamely a slightly slower death. I reached down with my right hand and grabbed at the ragged wound. I could feel her very hot blood flooding against my palm, each fresh pulse of wet heat flooding my senses with excitement, feeding an untapped depth of sadism I was just now discovering. My clenching thumb pushed into the wound, the tip partly in her severed trachea feeling the movement of her useless attempts to breathe air and cough up the drowning blood. I could feel my cock hardening rapidly but this was something different, more than just sexual, the life I was taking from Pamela feeding me pleasure.

Pamela thrashed on the bed hard enough her throat came out from under my hand, her rent windpipe flooded with the thick blood she coughed up, spattering her face and the already bloody sheet behind her head.