Author: Arthur Kay Title: Killing Malomar Twine Summary: Jack and I
had gotten away with the perfect murder, so why do I feel so shitty?
The bitch deserved it, didn't she . . . ? Keywords: MF cons anal oral
het humor ill

WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual
descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are
offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now.
Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental.
The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative
consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is
intended for entertainment and should not be emulated in the real
world.

Killing Malomar Twine by Arthur Kay

Jack and I had gotten away with the perfect murder, so why did I feel
so shitty? And, as Jack had said, "The bitch deserved it!" She did, if
anyone did, so why did I feel so shitty? The police were at a complete
dead end, no closer now to solving it then they were last week. So why
did I feel so shitty? 

I just did, is all. Perhaps the fact that I don't go around killing
people, whether they need it or not, as a general practice, figures in
somehow. I'm funny that way about killing people. Even slimeball
bitches.

I looked at the clock. Jack would be here in thirty minutes. I had
time to get one more drink under my belt before I had to listen to his
rah-rah bullshit again. His pep talk, so to speak. His, "We've got
nothing to worry about, so relax, old fart. The cops are looking for a
guy who doesn't exist. With DNA from a man who died ten years ago. So,
lighten up, for crissakes, before you have a friggin' heart attack." I
could hear it now and quote it verbatim if I had to.

If only I had resisted his usual jackass bullshit on that fateful day.
But I was too fucking stupid, or too fucking horny! Horny! Yeah, for a
piece of Malomar Twine!

Malomar Twine! What a woman! She made all other women, including my
darling wife, Cindy, look like Ben Franklin by comparison. Malomar was
the epitome of feminine sexuality. The be all and end all, if you
will. And I will! 

She topped out at 5' 7" tall, with a set of sculpted, long legs on her
that looked as if Michaelangelo had spent his entire life drawing them
until he got it perfect. Add  long, ash blonde hair and the bluest
eyes you've ever seen to the mix and the picture's getting even
sweeter to look at.

But don't stop there, no sirree, buddy! Put some nice breasts on that
puppy. And not your run-of-the-mill boobs, either, but those kind of
titties that make most men drool all over themselves just thinking how
those beauties would feel like to the tongue. Picture, if you will,
the most perfect breasts you've ever seen in any copy of Penthouse or
Playboy, then triple it! Fuck, quadruple the equation. 

While were on this add-to-it tack, put some wide, flaring hips on
Malomar. Those hips the old time wives would say are built for child
bearing. Or, as the old time men would say: Built for holding onto as
you pound her beautiful fucking ass into the mattress. 

Got the picture, fella? If not, friend, you need a blood transfusion.
Stat!

Yeah, Malomar Twine. I'd secretly had the hots for her from the first
day I laid my old peepers on her. Shit, I can't count how many times I
thought of her while fucking Cindy. I would even squint my eyes and
pretend it was Malomar's perfect bubble-butt ass I was doggy-style
humping to beat the band instead of my wife's nice, but average-like
little heinie.

But that was then and this is now. If only I hadn't listened to Jack
on that fateful day. If only I hadn't such hots for Malomar Twine. If
only I had listened to the little voice in my head that warned about
cheating on the marriage. If only . . .

* * * * * *

THE PARTY was in mid-swing and Cindy had asked me to refresh her
drink, her usual rum and coke. I passed Malomar Twine on the way to
the kitchen and, as always, felt that old stirring in the old
crotcheroony.

In the kitch, I bumped into my old pal, Jack Spratt, as he fetched his
wife, Loretta, a refill. 

Yeah, I know, he's got a funny name. Rhymes with fat. And if Jack
hadn't heard every possible fat and lean reference people can come up,
well, he ain't heard a one. I approached him from behind as he was
putting some ice cubes into a glass.

"Hey, Jack," I said. "You bartendering? I'll have a rum and coke, and
while you're at it, throw in a Scotch on the rocks, splash of soda
with a twist of carefully sliced lemon. And be quick about it, man, as
I've got a big thirst comin' on." He spun around, grinning. That grin
of his! Every time he laid it on me, I thought of a canary. Sometimes
it was Tweety Bird. In Sylvester's big, old cat mouth.

"Yow, it's Artsy Fartsy," he said, then whispered. "The man who hasn't
had a decent blowjob in six years!" Shit, I never should have told him
Cindy hated oral sex and had performed it on me just one time, on our
wedding night, six years ago. She had been way tipsy and way overfed.
And, when I came in her mouth, surprising her, well, shit, she
upchucked an entire meal all over my crotch. Filet mignon, roast
potato, carrots and peas. With Lime Jell-O. Colorful, even when seen
on a groin area.

I would have stood for all the upchucking if Cindy had just kept doing
that magical shit to me, but, as she put it, "That's it! I'm never
doing that nasty thing ever again! See? It made me sick, Arthur."
Hell, Cindy, throw up on me, I don't care. That's the reason showers
were invented in the first place. Dontcha know?

"What's new, Jack, besides your neverending fascination with ball-
busting me?"

"Relax, old top, just funning. But as to what's new . . . " He
grinned, an especially wide one, even for him. Then he whispered in a
very conspiratorial tone, "You know Malomar Twine? Sure you do, you
fucking lech! Well, old crumpet, I've tagged her!" He grinned again,
his eyes bright.

"Tagged her?" Sometimes I have a senior moment. Even at forty two. For
some strange reason, an animal's ear was in my head. You know, where
they tag them and let the poor creature loose in the wilds.

"Schmuck! I've been fucking her, old fungus! For weeks now. And you
know all those perverted fantasies you have in your head about her?
Well, fuck it, old twerp, cross 'em out and start all over! This bitch
invented sexual heaven!"

As Jack grinned once more, I could see Malomar Twine out in the living
room. She was conversing with that old, bald fart, Dexter Drake, the
president of our town's only bank. While Malomar chatted at him
animatedly, I could see old Drake had a small tent in his trousers.
And his upper lip was covered in a shiny layer of perspiration. He
also looked quite demented. And horny, if that's how staid bankers
look when their excited about anything other than money.

And, I hate to admit it, but, even at this distance, I had the start
of my own woody. She'll do that to a guy, even an ex-choir boy like
myself. I shifted my eyes back on Jack. He was adding soda to my
drink. I guess he was the barman, after all.

He handed me the drink. I looked at it and said, "You forgot the
lemon, Jerk!" I took a sip. "But anyway, Jack, tell me more about this
Malomar lie of yours. I'm all ears, Sylvester." This reference went
over his head, as it should have, but he did correct the lemon
oversight by quickly slicing a chunk off one and plopping into my
drink.

"Well," Jack began. "I was on the road one evening and . . . " Jack
stopped. Drake had just walked in, two short and stubby drink glasses
leading him. He was obviously fetching a refill for Malomar. He had a
look on his puss that said he had high hopes of making a small deposit
this fine night in the First National Malomar Bank. 

We both helloed old Drake and then Jack took me by the arm and led me
out the kitchen's back door for some backyard privacy. I was eager to
hear his tale. I had fogotten all about Cindy's drink. Rum and Coke?

"As I was saying, old eggplant, I'm on the road, right? Well, I come
across sweet ass Malomar pulled over to the side of the road. With a
rear flat, in fact. Anyway, to make it short, the brazen hussy says
that if I can find it in me to fix her wheel, she'd find me in her!
Just like that, but with a wink thrown in just to make it all the
clearer.

"And, old foghorn, just to make sure even a dunce like me got her
meaning, she ups and throws both arms around my neck. And plants one
right on me! Right there on the fucking road."

"No shit?" My woody was saying hello to me again by twitching a bit.

"No shit, old tidbit! Scout's honor and all. Well, of course I said
OK. Who the fuck wouldn't? After fixing her flat, we scoot on over to
her place. Nice apartment over on Kenway Street. Well, as you can
probably guess, old curmudgeon, I was all over her delicious ass! Like
a fucking teenager who's just found out his girlfriend's titties are
for real and are now available to him. 

"Man, I groped her and pinched her and pulled on her and you name it,
I did it. I hadn't been that fucking hot in thirty years, if even
then." Oh, yeah, woody was talking up a storm at me. I could see Jack
had a similar problem caused, no doubt, in reliving that first night
with Malomar.

"And, old tire iron, if you think she's mouth-watering in a tight knit
dress, well, baby, in the buff, holy mother of God, she'd raise the
dick of a castiron statue!" 

I saw through the kitchen window that old Drake had taken his deposit
elsewhere and Malomar was now chatting amiably with another horny
fucker, Charlie Payne, owner of Payne's Messenger Service. Payne kept
shooting glances in the direction of his frowzy-looking wife, May, who
was shooting glares at him from the sofa. Jack had said something.

" . . . figuring this could be a one-shot deal, I put her through the
all the paces. I had her blow me, you betcha, then I ate her pussy, I
fucked her missionary, then her on top, me from behind and a few new
positions I think I invented on the spot. And, old fruit, I had to
think of every fucking baseball game I'd ever seen, from Abner
Doubleday's birth all the way to the present, just to keep from
popping my cork too soon! It was tough as hell, I'll tell you!" I
could imagine.

"She actually blew you?" I was now looking through the window and
squinting my eyes to focus them on Malomar's luscious and pouty lips.
Oh, man, I thought, her fat bottom lip would have me cumming so fast
baseball wouldn't have a chance. I now had new admiration for Jack's
tenacity.

"Oh, yeah, old watch fob, and she deep-throated my old schlong, too!
Right down to the fur! All eight friggin' inches of it! No shit! And
no lie! She gives new meaning to the term cocksucker! And, old
nutsack, it was pure hell not to unload in that fucking lusciously
soft mouth of hers! Pure unadulterated fucking hell!" I knew exactly
what he meant. So did the insistent wooden thing now poking my
trousers  looking for the exit.

In case you're wondering why Jack uses so many old thing this and old
thing that, well, the fucker has watched way too many Britcoms for his
own good. Dumb fucker now thinks he was born in Liverpool and not
Brooklyn, New York.

"And fucking her, old sot, is something else, too! I don't know what
it is, but her pussy is different from your ordinary house pussy. It
sucks on your cock just like a hot, wet mouth would, squeezing away at
you and nibbling on it. Un-fucking-real, I'll tell you! It's like
putting your dick into the hottest, wettest, grabbiest pussy your mind
can conjure up. And when I finally let loose some spunk in her, man,
she used her internal muscles to vacuum me dry! Un-fucking-real!" Just
like my If-I-Don't-Cum-And-Cum-Soon-I'm-Gonna-Make-You-Very-Sick woody
was right now. Un-fucking-real!

Jack chuckled at me. "Yeah, old whippersnapper, I see your fucking
tent! Shit, old codger, I think they can even see it from one of those
space satellites! Shame, shame!" He grinned again, wagging a finger at
me.

"Blame your vivid tale-telling, Jack. And the fact that Malomar is now
hotly whispering into Payne's left ear." I pointed toward the kitchen
window. Jack looked and said, "I'll bet poor Payne's woodied up, too,
right now. Look! He is!" Yep, Payne was, that's no denying. He had a
visible tent, a fierce one, on his right pant's leg. That Malomar!
What chance did the Paynes of the world have against such a creature?

"I'll also bet, old piss ant, every fucking guy in your house is on a
Malomar woody. Shit, you should name this place, the way rich people
name their second homes. You could call it Arthur's House of Woodies!"
He laughed. "No! Even better! Call it Chez Malewood! A lot classier,
dontcha think? Like something out of an old English novel." Now I
laughed. Chez Malewood, indeed. But I knew he had a point. I had seen
more than one male in full tent tonight, no doubt caused by Malomar's
mere presence.

Jack was back on his story. "Well, hoping she was real appreciative
for my flat-fixing effort, I wanted to tag her again as a night cap,
but she said she had to get up early. Which, in a way, while
disappointing, meant I could get home, late as hell already, to the
little lady I so loosely call wife. But Malomar told me she had
enjoyed it and wouln't mind a fuck rematch, her word for it. So, right
then and there, we made a date for the very next day. I slept fitfully
that night, you can imagine!

"Oh, her bed has a mirrored ceiling no less. What fun that is, I'll
tell you. But anyway, I've tagged her six times since that first
night. Each time getting wilder and wilder. The bitch is unsatiable
when it comes sex. And downright animalistic. She yells, moans, groans
and goes absolutely fucking ballistic when she cums! Ball-fucking-
istic!

"She even likes to watch fuck films at the same time, something I've
tried a zillion times to do with Loretta . . . to no fucking avail.
Loretta thinks they degrade women! Fuck, so what? I loved degraded
women. All men do! Don't you?"

I nodded. What else could I do? Besides, deep down I felt he had
somewhat of a valid point. He continued his deliciously and woody-
creating pornographic tale.

"And, although she's only twenty-six, Malomar has done it all. From
anal to well hung black guy gangbangs! She told me she once had a
thing she called a suckathon. She gave cum-swallowing blowjobs to
sixteen guys in one night! When she was only fifteen! Her boyfriend of
the moment wanted to share her with his gang of buddies, so he told
her, and she readily agreed.

"Yeah, old Kumquat, Malomar's a cum slut whore, but she's my kinda cum
slut whore! Yours too, if your honest and up front about it. Tell me,
wouldn't you just love to pull this cock-loving whore's cunt over your
head like a showercap?" He grinned at me and waited for my answer,
which I knew, he already knew

"You know it, fucker," I said. "But unless you're now her pimp, I
don't think my chances with her are too good. She looks like she'd
prefer the outdoorsy type, like yourself." It was true to me. That's
how I perceived myself. The nerdy type, who gets no closer to the
Malomars of this world than a color photo in a men's mag.

"Pimp? That's an idea, old bumbershoot! But seriously, folks, if you'd
like a shot at her, and I mean shot in the most slimiest and perverted
way imaginable, I can set it up!" His grin seemed the widest it had
been all night. His words, however, had me feeling excited and
disoriented at the same time. Like someone who's just won a big
lottery, but can't remember where he put the damned ticket.

"You can?" Sometimes I'm at a loss for words.

"Oh, yeah, old frump, just like that." He snapped his fingers. "You
won't believe me, but Malomar has already agreed to shtumping you,
old pentunia! Seems she likes the cut of your nerdy jib, whatever the
fuck a jib is! She brought your name up herself, right after a good
session of suck and fuck. We were talking about sex, of all things
new, ha ha, and she said she had a small sex crush on you. Said she
always noticed how you stripped her naked with your eyes each and
every time you looked at her." I think I blushed for I felt some heat
around my neck, but if I did, Jack didn't comment on it, for which I
was quite glad.

"Seems she gets turned on by men with glasses who make passes at girls
with nice asses. Her words . . . I swear. And she said she also gets
real hot when a man idolizes her to such an extent he's at a loss for
words. She loves, as she put it, being that kind of man's wet dream
come true. 

"She digs it when a guy fumbles with her bra and trembles just
touching her, mumbling instead of talking. So, old nerdy type, all you
gotta do when you're face to face and naked with her is just be your
born and bred nerdy self!" He laughed. I tried to laugh, but only a
dry chuckle came out.

"So, old fucker, you game?" Game? Hell, I'd eat a mile of Malomar's
shit just to find out where it came from!

I agreed to it all and he said he'd set it all up and call me about
the where and when. And, I swear, knowing that a rock hard woody at
the time is no excuse, at no time did I even contemplate any dire
consequences . . .

* * * * * * 

WELL, GOOD OLD JACK, that shit-eating-grinning anglophile, was true to
his word. Two days later found me, with a Scotch and soda with a
splash and a carefully sliced lemon blending in the glass in my hand,
sitting in Malomar's living room. As I watched her from the across the
room, making her own drink, a gin and tonic, I couldn't pull my eyes
away from her ass. 

The almost see-through nightie she had one left little to my
imagination, but covered just enough to tantalize me. Just standing
there, the ice tongs in her hand doing its small part, I could see the
cleft between her ass cheeks as one long shadow, which was caused by
the light coming in the living room window. If she had asked me, I
would have rushed over there and chewed the nightie off of her. The
bitch is, she didn't ask.

She had, as it is said, broken the ice by offering to make me a drink
and telling me, as she put it, to just relax. "I won't bite you,
Arthur . . . not just yet, that is!" She had giggled. A girlish and
very feminine giggle. And the way that bottom lip of hers quivered
slightly, well, I took a seat quickly, the better to conceal my new
trouser tent. I don't know why I did that, for I was there to fuck her
and she knew I was there to fuck her. I guess it's just male training
on how to behave in front of a lady. 

We had two drinks each and small talked our asses off, all the while
my eyes giving me lots of trouble. I found myself unwillingly, but
also very willingly, staring at each part of her in turn, from her
gorgeous, barely concealed cone-shaped breasts, to her shapely, oh so
fucking shapely, legs. And, as she mouthed words, that bottom lip of
hers was an eye magnet.

And, each time my eyes would settle into a stare at any one particular
delectable part of her, I'd find myself fighting to divert them
somewhere else. Any where else, I wasn't choosy. And the somewhere
else soon became my next stare target. Much to my embarrassment as I
recalled her comment to Jack about how I stripped her naked with my
old, bespectacled nerdy eyes. And how she had told him it was each and
every time I looked at her. 

The overall effect Malomar had on me also had me stumbling over words
in a way that reminded me of a nervous kid doing a recital of all
fifty states' capitols in front of a large adult audience. "Now,
Timmy, what the is the capitol of Indiana?" the bitch teacher asks
him.

"I know it, Ma'am, don't tell me, just let stand here sweating myself
into a human puddle." Yeah, she had that effect on my ass. My Malomar-
staring ass.

Well, anyhooha, the two drinks had fortified me and made me brassy
enough to say, with a look-down-at-my-watch flourish tossed in for
good measure and overall general effect, "Should we, uh, Malomar, get
it to? I-I mean get to it?" What class! What savoir faire! What
bullshit.

I had spoken the words as I stood up, my tent somewhat dulled by the
two Scotches, thank you, God, and crossed the distance between us. I
felt tottery on my feet and light-headed and it wasn't from the
alcohol. It was the smell of her as I neared her, my stupid glass
still in my hand, that had me feeling giddy. It was a light and
delicate odor, magical almost, as if flowers now had stiffer
competition than they could easily handle. It wafted up to my nostrils
and filled my brain with images of harems, naked women, and hot desert
nights.

Well, we got to it, all right. Immediately. She stood up and told me
to undress her! I knew her dastardly plan! She wanted to enjoy
watching her word-fumbling, hand-trembling, sweating and idolizing Mr.
Nerdo make a sweat puddle of himself on the carpet just before he
gasped his last words and died, his woody tent eyeing the ceiling.
Well, I thought, if that floats her boat, I'll more than oblige her.

Now, if I hadn't been forewarned by Jack, my normally idiot self would
have amused her, indeed. But, with his words in my brain, I nerdied it
up even more. I fumbled, I mumbled, I squirmed, I stuttered and made
myself visibly tremble, all over me and complete like. What a
perfomance! I was Mr. Nerdo, personnified.

And she loved it. She giggled here and there and even laughed once.
But not in a deprecating manner, oh no, more as a fun thing, if you
get my drift. She made me feel downright comfortable stripping her ass
naked, which I secretly thanked her for. Then she stripped me down,
with hands that spoke from great practice and experience. Soon, my 7-
1/2" lollipop proudly pointed his indented cyclopian eye at her. And
drooled a tad, making the tip sticky and shiny looking. 

Then, as if she had eyes all over her body, she swooped her head down
and licked the Cyclops clean with one quick swipe of her hot tongue.
She stood back up, looked me right in the eyes, ran her tongue over
that man-killer bottom lip, and said, "Mmm, you're delicious, Arthur!"
I knew that! From many years ago.

When I took her naked body into my arms and kissed her, our first kiss
on this planet, I couldn't believe how it felt to me. Her lips weren't
just soft and lovely and, as the poets say, kisses sweeter than wine,
they were beyond intoxicating. They made wine look like soda pop. 

And, to take it further, kissing her was like falling into her, my
whole being and soul swallowed up by her, in a vortex, a hot whirlpool
of sublime ecstacy. I had never imagined a kiss could be like this, so
heady, so mind-blowing, so luscious. So beyond the ability of words to
describe.

Malomar, I reasoned with a brain now turned to fudgy wonder, had to be
a goddess. A goddess sent here to drive mere mortal men into an early
grave just by kissing them. For her kiss, that one kiss, had reached
into me with a magic, a magic unknown to humans, that went down to the
lowest depths of my very soul. A depth I didn't know I possessed. No
man should ever fall in love with a woman from just one kiss, but no
woman ever kissed a man the way Malomar Twine kissed. I was in love.
With Malomar Twine.

When we finally ended up in her big bed, after my living room
gropings, fumblings, salivatings and many finger-fuckings of her hot,
wet pussy, I looked up at the ceiling mirror over us and knew I had
died and God had put me in charge of fornicating with Malomar Twine.
Thank you, Big Fella! I owe you big time.

After a myriad of hot, wet and sloppy French kisses, my first attack,
so to say, on her ever-fascinating body was a direct tongue and mouth
assault on her vagina. After less than a minute of tongue actions I
had just invented, with her squirming and moaning and holding my head,
I knew I had found the fountain of youth. And it tasted like pussy.
Ponce de Leon, eat your fucking heart out, pal! I got here first.

I ate her for a time and heard her say, "Arthur, let's 69, I want to
taste your nice, big cock at the same time as you suck on my cunt!"
Just like that, she laid it on me real dirty-like and all. My dick got
even harder, if that was at all possible.

Malomar told me to get on top of her and deep-throat mouth-fuck her
while eating her out. She put it just that way. Blunt and sexual. Oh,
man, the head of my cock could now teach even a baby beet the meaning
of the word red. With some pulsating pink and Day-Glo purple tossed in
for added color. 

Thus, as I used my recently invented pussy-eating techniques on her
snatch, I mouth-fucked her, exactly the way a man fucks a woman in the
missionary position, with long, deep in and out strokes. Her mouth was
more pussy-like than any woman's real-life pussy. Un-fucking-
imaginable! It was like eating a woman and fucking her at the same
moment. Mouth. Cunt. Cunt. Mouth. If I closed my eyes, I couldn't tell
the difference.

We did it this way for but a short time before Mr. Nerdo lost it. I
couldn't help myself, she felt just too damn fucking good. Her mouth
was so hot and wet it was as if my dick was in hell during a rain
storm. 

I knew I was going to spurt and I tried, oh, how I tried, to hold it
back, but it was of no use. A goddess had put a spell on me and I was
no longer in charge of my dick or its thoughts on the matter. Hell, I
had even forgotten baseball existed. Who the fuck is Doubleday?

I had been in her mouth to the deep-throat level when I felt the first
overwhelming urge to spurt coming on. My besotted mind, or my male
ego, wanted her to taste me, so I pulled out just enough to leave the
head in her mouth. And then I let go. As if I had a choice!

And, boy-oh-boy, did I let go! It came out of me in a rush, a deluge,
an elongated feeling of orgasming. I was cumming and cumming and
cumming as I had never done before in my entire life. My eyes were
closed tight and my nose was buried deep into her cunt, feeling her
juices wet me up and smelling her sweetness. I heard moaning from my
groin area and a gurgling sound. She was swallowing very audibly, as
if to let me know she loved my particular brand of male sperm. 

Then, after my last ejactulation tremor, she deep-throated me, all the
way to the old fur, as Jack as so correctly put it. She moved her
mouth up and down, working every last drop out of me as if she had a
cum thirst that couldn't be easily slaked. 

When we finally broke up the position, she said to me, "Oooh, Arthur,
you came such a big load. I'm gonna be tasting you all day. Thank you,
Darling!" I got playful and said, "Shucks, ma'am, tweren't nuttin'!"
She giggled at my idiocy.

We stayed in the bed for a time, me showering her with love-kisses on
every part of her I could lay a tongue on. I was not waiting for Godot
to appear, but for Willie Woodie, that fat little prick I just love
playing with. Oh, here we go, hello there, Willie!

I had the mind to prime her pussy with a little finger action, but,
call it ego perhaps, I decided to use my prick as a thermometer, just
to see if she was glad to see him. She was! This lady does not need
any priming or, for that matter, any jump-start to get her pussy motor
going. She was as hot as hot can be and wetter than water. It was like
putting Willie Woody into a steambath oven. 

As I fucked her, I realized that Jack had been right again. Her pussy
was a fucking mouth! But minus any teeth, thank you, lord. Yeah, Jack,
she chewed on it, all right, just like you said. But you left out the
part where her cunt muscles would ripple all around my cock on the
down stroke. And chew away on it on the outstroke. Just to fill your
journal in, Jack.

At first, her legs were spread out as wide as they could go, squeezing
and unsqueezing both sides of me. Then, in the mid-heat of fucking,
she threw her legs around my back, locked them, and proceeded to fuck
the living ass off me.

She thrashed wildly, biting me up, my ears, my neck, my shoulder,
while at the same time, her long nails raked my back and my ass
cheeks. The pain of it hit me severely, but I didn't give a shit if I
bled to death right there in the middle of her big, mirror-up-above
bed. Fuck, that's why they invented paramedics to begin with, dontcha
know?

We fucked this way for a bit, my control being back in control, so to
say, before she said she wanted to get on top of me. I obliged the
lady and quickly found out why mirrors are put over beds, as if I
didn't know already.

When I first looked up, I saw him. The naked, nerdy porno star.
Beneath the naked porno star goddess, who was delightedly humping the
dick off of the naked, nerdy porno star. What a sight! And in living
color, too! Man, what I wouldn't have given for tape of it all!

As Malomar worked my cock in a fashion I didn't know was possible, I
would occasionaly catch a glimpse of her gorgeous breasts in the
mirror. I was fascinated at the way the naked, nerdy porno star was
kneading them, tweaking away at both nipples. He looked, with his head
on the pillow, as if he had just learned that women had the damn
things. He was googly eyed and stupid looking.

Then, the guy in the ceiling mirror winked at me! As if to say, "I
know what you're doing, you dirty pig, you're fucking her, no
mistake." And I was, no mistake. And she was, no mistake. And then the
guy in the mirror looked as if he was about to cum, for he was dizzy
looking, with glazed-over eyes.

And then he was gone because I had closed my eyes, pressed Malomar to
me, and unloaded so intensely I thought my dick had melted in her
cunt. I yelled. She yelled. We yelled individually and in unison. And
we moaned the same way. And we thrashed together until all the
strength left me and I felt like a human puddle in the center of the
big bed. With an audience of two floating above us and mimicking our
every move. Minus my puddling. And, curse me, I never thought of
Cindy, not even once. I was, to coin a term, Malomarized.

* * * * * * 

MY MALOMAR FUN went on for a few more months, adding Jack to the
equation and making it a hot threesome. Oh, what fun the three of us
had! Picture in your mind, if you will, every conceivable position
available to three people, one woman and two men, and we did it. With
a few new positions Jack had read about in some sex book. And we did
our slap and tickle get togethers over and over, as our little ménage
à trois was now on a once a week basis. 

Anal sex was added early on and even piss-swallowing by Malomar. I had
never pissed in a woman's mouth before, had never even given it a
thought, if truth be known, but I found it to be sexually stimulating.
But, for you out there who feel that's just too-too much, I'll leave
further details untold. Suffice it to say, I learned to love it. But I
think it was more Malomar's spell over me than anything else.

It's funny, but my marriage didn't suffer at all by my many Malomar
dalliances. If anything, it got better! I was now fucking Cindy with
much more gusto than I had in years. And, now that I had Malomar in
real life, I didn't have to imagine her while driving Cindy through
the mattress. I had, in essence, the best of both worlds. A seemingly
happy marriage and great sex. I just didn't have the two worlds rolled
into one happy package. But, have cock, will travel! And the trip
between the worlds wasn't that long to make.

Then, as it has been said before, the fucking roof caved in . . . 

* * * * * *

IT ALL STARTED with a visit from Jack. He looked as worried as hell
and, instead of politely asking me to mix him a drink, he insisted on
it. He needed one badly he said and told me I was ". . . gonna need
one, too, old sock!" His state of mind now had me worried, too. What
the fuck was it? Did he have cancer? Had he caught his wife with
another guy? With a woman? I was anxious to know, so I made the drinks
in record time.

"What is it, Jack?" I asked, wanting to know, but a little afraid to
know.

"It's Malomar, old thimble." Did she have cancer? I nodded and Jack
continued.

"The fucking cunt bitch is blackmailing me, old twerp!" He had spat
out the words and I knew I had never seen him this angry. Blackmail?
Malomar? No way. Love goddesses didn't go around doing such earthly
things.

"How? What . . . ?" I didn't get the chance to finish.

"And you too, old nerdo. She has photographs and films, God fucking
damn it, of you fucking her, me fucking her, the two of us fucking
her. . . that motherfucking little cunt!" I stood there shell-shocked,
spilling my drink. "And she says she wants $50,000 . . . from each of
us or, well, you can imagine the rest." Jack plopped down into the
sofa, also spilling his drink, and looked as if all the air had gone
out of him. He sighed as he looked at me. I didn't know how or where
to begin. So I began rather stupidly.

"Malomar? My Malomar? Our Malomar? That Malomar?" Christ, I did say
stupidly, didn't I? Jack stared at me as if looking at the world's
biggest fucking dodo. I also felt like it.

"Yeah, old fucking schmuck! Malomar, your Malomar, my Malomar, that
low-life blackmailing cunt Malomar. Fifty thou, from each of us, in
cash, small bills, or it's kaputsville for the two us. That fucking
Malomar!" At least I now knew which Malomar! Jack sighed again. I went
ahead, trying for less stupid on my part.

"Well, Jack, let's not panic. It's a problem, ergo, there's a
solution. Somewhere. We could pay her off, get the negatives and the
tapes, or whatever she has, and burn the fucking things. Problem
solved, though we're both a bit poorer. But we can afford it. Look at
this way. So it comes to about two grand a fuck, so what? She was a
great fuck!" I grinned at him, knowing my stupid was still flying
high. Jack sighed again and looked at me, a rotten look on his face as
if he had just sniffed a skunk's ass and found it expectedly quite
distasteful. He finally spoke.

"A man, a plan, a canal, Panama!" Huh? I thought.

"Huh?" I said. It now seemed as if my old anglophile Jack was ready
for the fucking loony bin. Someone make the call! Quick, before he
hurts someone!

"It's a palindrome, old kiwi dick, it reads the same forward and it
does backward. The fucking word boob is one, too. And that's what the
two of us would be, from front to back, going and coming, if we paid
up. We'd never be certain she gave us all the shit and, when the money
ran out, bingo! Here comes Malomar for another shot at the boob boys."
I saw his point even though I didn't really want to. I had a bad
feeling in me as to how this was going to go.

"So what do we . . . ? I started to say.

"We kill the fucking cunt! Kill her dead! Chop her the fuck up and
mail her ass to seventy-two foreign post offices. With no return
addresses. Or grind her greedy little soul in your backyard wood
chipper. Or melt her in acid. I don't give a fuck which method. Don't
care a hairy rat's ass. You choose. I'll even do the dirty deed, if
you don't have the stomach." He sounded serious, which scared me no
end.

"Jack, you're talking crazy. We'd end up in jail, with me servicing
some big, black dude named Banger while trying to look good in a
dress. We'd never get away with it, Jack. Right?" I hoped he would
agree, but I had my doubts.

"Wrong, old frog fucker, we would get away with it! You're forgetting,
old snot, I'm the county coroner. When they bring her in, I'll issue
an autopsy report that'll have them not only spinning their wheels,
she'll be in the cold case files faster than you can say blackmailing
cunt!" He grinned at me. An evil grin, if ever there was one.

"And," he continued. "I'll even give them some sperm DNA from a hobo
guy who died ten years ago. After I kill the cunt, I'll squirt his
sperm into her snatch. They'll believe it was rape and go looking for
a rapist who doesn't exist." I had a question.

"Jack, I don't know diddly shit about DNA and all, but how come you
have this hobo's sperm on hand if he died ten years ago?" If I was
going to be a party to murder, at least I should try to cut off a
possible killer's mistake at the pass.

"When he came in, I saved it! Then, to play it safe, I destroyed all
our records on the guy. As far as the world goes, John Harvey Hanratty
no longer exists!" Hanratty? Why the fuck did he have to make the guy
seem human?

"You saved it? For ten years? What the fuck for? Just in case you had
to murder someone and needed a hobo patsy? Talk to me, Jack!" I had to
know, in case this was one of your typical murderer's gaffes coming
down the pike.

"I saved it, old fruitcake, because I wanted to see if I could get
away with it. You know, just pushing the limits, testing the official
boundaries. Call it an experiment, a learning thing. Aside from you,
old snot, I had no one in mind to do away with at the time. As I say,
just fucking around. At first, I just toyed with the idea. Then one
day, I said fuck it, let's see if my theory holds water. And it did,
no one knows the fucker ever existed." He took a sip of his drink.
"Except you and me, old apricot."

Well, old Jack was right about it. If anyone could get away with a
murder, it was Jack. As county coroner, who better to doctor an
autopsy? Shit, he could easily turn it into homicide by a maniac male
monkey, complete with banana peel weapon clues. It looked like it
would be a cinch to pull off, but I didn't want to rush into things.
Those gaffes, you know.

I said. "Let me think on it, Jack, OK? It needs some real careful
thought. I mean, you're talking murder here, which is not a simple
thing to execute and not leave some kind of evidence. Fibers, hairs,
who knows what else? The cops may seem dopey, but that's a trick they
use, look stupid while solving the crime. Throw the fucker off the
track and give him a false sense of security. Think about Colombo,
Jack, for Christ's sake. And, man, old chum, I'm fucking allergic to
prison. I'd break out in terminal hives. We . . . I . . . should at
least sleep on it, you know?" I looked right at him. I knew I had
sounded a wee bit panicky, but he was as cool as a fucking
refrigerated cuke, just grinning at me in that weird way of his.

"Hey, no prob, old turnip! Think it over. Take your sweet ass time.
Then, we'll kill the bitch!" He grinned again. I felt sick and empty
inside. He scared me. He was too damn cavalier about this whole
murdering someone thing. And that grin of his didn't help make me feel
none too secure, either . . .

* * * * * *

I DON'T KNOW HOW, don't want to know how, but Jack did it, so he said.
I believed him and, even if I hadn't, the newspaper article made it
quite clear: Malomar, my Malomar, our Malomar, that Malomar, was quite
dead. Raped and killed by person, or persons, unknown. The police
chase was on, with clues they said they now had that would lead to an
early arrest. The DA, some schmuck in an ill-fitting suit, was quoted
as saying, "While we don't know exactly who did it, we do know all
about him. I expect he'll be in custody real soon." The subtle
reference to DNA hadn't escaped my notice.

Poor Malomar. And poor me. I now lived my life in constant fear,
expecting any moment to hear a bang on the door that said, "Sonny, get
out your prettiest dress. You have a date with Banger tonight, in cell
three, 9:00 p.m. Don't forget to wear your bright red lipstick!" Oh,
yeah, I was scared shitless and witless.

Jack on the other hand, looked happy, if not giddily relieved, about
the whole horrible affair. He kept telling me to lighten up, old this
or old that. Before you have a frigging myocardial infarction, old
this, and we have to bury your sorry ass in your sweat, which we sure
now have plenty of, old that.

I tried my level best, if you could call it that, to be brave and pull
it all together, but being party to my first murder took its toll. And
Jack knew it. Then, to help me along, so to speak, and prop my sorry
ass up, he said what I needed was some shock therapy. And he said he
had just the shock to jolt me back to normal. He invited me to his
cabin in the woods for a weekend of fishing. 

I was there now, a drink in hand. He was mixing one for himself.

"Listen, old bean, Malomar's dead. Dead! Fucking up now ain't gonna
bring her dead ass back. Is it?" I shook my head, not knowing what
else to do. "So, old fucker, to get you back to a semblance of
normality, what say we watch her fucking videos of us in all our naked
ass glory? Eh?" What? He hadn't destroyed them all?

"Jack, I thought you . . . "

"Yeah, old biscuit, I did. All but one. Our first threesome, as it
turns out. And, in case you forgot, it's hotter than fucking holy
hell! And, old whiskbroom, before you say or ask anything else, let me
just say, that we, old muskrat, are not even on the B list of
suspects! No one but you and I know we knew her in a sexual way. No
one! Believe me, I can see all the files on the case any time I have a
mind to." He grinned at me. 

I was starting to feel those murderer's errors were beginning to crawl
out from every piece of woodwork in the cabin, but I knew expressing
any doubts would fall on Jack's deaf ears and be poo-pooed away. The
fucker grinned again.

"Now, Chauncy," he said. "Go hit Play on the fucking VCR and let the
show begin, old chummy!" Again with the fucking grin! But what the
fuck, I thought, why not? And if truth be available, I was curious to
see Malomar again, even if it was just an image on an RCA TV screen.
It's sick to say, but I missed her. So much I was willing to watch a
corpse have sex with two ass holes.

The movie started and there we were, all three of us, naked and as
alive as alive can get. Poor Malomar. But she was a bitch, after all,
so I forced myself to pay immediate attention to the technical
qualities of the film They were excellent. The picture of us was as
clear as can be. Christ, you could even discern each hair on Malomar's
unshaven pussy. That pussy! What a waste to take that magical thing
out of this world. 

There was Malomar, deep-throating Jack's fat cock here and there, her
eyes wide open and staring right into his pubic hairs. She once told
me she preferred having her eyes open, unlike some gals, because it
added sexual excitement to it all. She sure did look sexually excited
as he swallowed him whole hog, super-sized head and all.

And there was me, Mr. Nerdo, right behind her, my cock buried deep in
her snatch, working my ass like a porno pro. While I fucked her, she
was moaning all around Jack's cock, sounding as if she had found there
was a heaven hidden in his pubes.

This fucking scene, pardon the pun, went on for quite some time before
Jack and I changed positions. I was now moaning my fool head off as
Malomar lunched on my prick, her eyes open as if to see what went into
the meal.

A time later, we changed again. Malomar crawled on top of Jack, facing
him, and told me, "Put your cock in my ass, Arthur, I want to feel you
both at the same time!" The film me obliged her and the real-life me
now watched her getting double-fucked and obviously enjoying it
immensely. Her screams and yells told me that much.

Malomar shouted she was cumming now and then and, at some point, Jack
came with a loud whoop yell. I soon followed suit, but more
gentlemanly sounding, or perhaps more nerdy-like. Take your pick.

The film then went white and I assumed it was over, so I started to
get up to eject the tape, but Jack said, "Hold on, old whisker,
there's a little more. She's edited the damned thing!" I sat back down
and waited.

The white turned into another picture of us all and there was Malomar,
on her knees before Jack and me, her head thrown back and her mouth
wide open, her tongue hanging out. She had her tongue's sides pushed
in. It reminded me of a cup-like receptacle. A tongue cup, if you
will. Jack and I were beating our dicks ferociously and I now
remembered the scene as I watched it unfold. It played out on the
screen, reinfocing my memory of it all.

I came first, putting the head of my cock against the edge of her
tongue cup and shooting my load into it. I filled the cup up and
watched as some dribbled out of the tongue's edges and fell to the
floor. 

She showed her mouth to us both so we could see the sperm and probably
for some perversity in her because she knew it was being filmed. I now
watched her swallow it all. Greedily, if that's the word.

Jack soon followed suit, dropping a large-blobby style cum ball in her
tongue cup at first and then following it up with what look like to be
at least a cup of cum. I watched, fascinated, as his cum streamed out
of him and puddled into her cup-tongue, sloshing over around the
sides. Malomar did her mouth display trick again and promptly
swallowed Jack's entire discharge with an audible gulp. She smiled at
the camera as she looked up at us and said, "Thank you, boys, thank
you. That was delicious!" She looked ravishingly beautiful. In spite
of the cum that was now drying on her chin.

There followed a quick scene in which she stood up and took turns
kissing us as we fondled her all over. Then the white appeared again
and Jack threw me a nod of his head that said, now moron, now you can
kill the VCR. I did just that . . .

* * * * * *

THINGS WENT SWIMMINGLY after our little cabin fishing trip. I was more
relaxed and resigned to it all. I no longer feared the knock on the
door, but the idea of it was still floating around in my brain
somewhere, sitting on a back burner, so to speak.

Then the shit hit the fan once more! 

The police had made an arrest in the Malomar rape and murder case, one
Phillip Oscar Hanratty. They had the man dead to rights, the article
said. His DNA was a perfect match. And the sorry sucker had no alibi
for the time in question. And, if that don't beat all, he was seen
just a few blocks from Malomar's apartment complex on the night of her
killing. The DA delightedly refered to the case as a slam dunk!

Well, I almost shit a brick! I called Jack and he knew what I was
calling about even before I had said word one. Not wanting to talk on
the phone, we arranged to meet at Carlyle's Bar & Cafe in an hour. I
got there forty-five minutes early! And ordered one helluva triple
Scotch, splash of soda, carefully sliced lemon. I was half in the bag
when Jack arrived and he looked chipper as he grinned his usual
fucking grin at me.

He ordered a drink sent to our table and, when the drink was in his
hand, he said, "Hee hee, old cohort, looks like we have a small
problem!" No shit, Sherlock! What clued you in? "But it's only a
problem in appearances, no in reality, old worrywort." I started to
say something, but he raised a hand to silence me.

"It seems, old moose droppings," he began, "our particular Hanratty
had a long,  lost twin brother, and an identical one at that. Ha ha!
That's why the DNA matched. Who knew? The fucking dumb ass hobo! This
new Hanratty, at least new to us, is seventy-five, goes fucking in and
out of dementia, and he's a hobo just like dear old brother John." He
paused to take a sip. He appeared very calm. I was a mess inside.
Murderer's gaffes were now everywhere to me.

"Well, old asswipe, it seems the new Hanratty came into town looking
for the old Hanratty with the idea of patching up a family squabble
going back to the first water. He never found brother Johnny, so he
told me." Huh?

"You spoke to him?" I couldn't believe my ears. Killer's gaffe,
anyone? We got 'em right here, no waiting! I must have looked, to coin
a phrase, slighty wild-eyed to Jack, for he now spoke softly to me as
if remonstrating to a recalcitrant child.

"Calm down, old pip, so I spoke to him . . . so fucking what? My job,
you know. He's a rundown old fart and, speaking medically, I don't
give him more than a few more months to live. Along with the DT's, his
in and out Alzheimers, he's got advanced stomach cancer. Inoperable,
by the way." He took another sip and looked direclty at me. And he was
grinning. Of course.

"And, old frypan, here's the fucking corker! He says he just might
have killed her, because he remembers killing someone that night, so
why not her? Now, old toenail, ain't that something? It seems the
Hanratty clan was born to serve us well in our time of greatest need!"
This time he laughed, one of those guffaw-type laughs. 

I couldn't help myself, the circumstances being so strange and all,
plus the booze in me, so I laughed with him. My usual Mr. Nerdy laugh.
But I had a question.

"Tell me, Jack, what will they do now with this new Hanratty?" I
couldn't live with myself if they put this old coot in jail, out of
his head and half dead already, or not.

"Ah, old lardass, he won't even go to trial. He's way too demented to
participate in his own defense and too sick to serve any time. Oh,
he'll be locked up, for sure, but in one of those old folk's type
hospital jails. In a strange way, old marshmallow, we did him a favor!
He just might suck a few more weeks out of life than he could out on
the streets. So, buck up, old bucko, stiff upper lip and all. Eh what,
old bean?"

He picked up his glass and pushed it toward me in a toast. "Here's to
the Hanratty boys, we couldn't have done it without 'em!" Feeling the
liquor hitting me quite suddenly, I pushed my drink out, found his for
the clink, and said, "Here's to Malomar Twine, wherever she is!" Jack
grinned.

Clink.

The End.