Sex and Murder Magazine

By Bracken MacLeod

She lay in the dirt surrounded by bloodstained stones. I threw one of them. If I hadn’t, they would have known.

I want to kiss her swollen red lips. I want to taste them – taste her. I want her.

During the trial I comforted her, saying “Suffering is ennobling. You’ll be better for having endured it.” By then she wasn’t speaking to me anymore – not after I testified against her. I couldn’t help it. They called me to the stand. I had to tell the truth. I swore to God.

“She’s a fornicator and a whore. She’s an abomination before our Lord.”

I described the things that we found when we raided her house. The back room, the computer filled with pictures of women tied up, tied down, bound and gagged, mutely begging for more. There were the vinyl clothes, crops, straps, toys, blindfolds, and collars. All the things I’d held, worn, and lovingly applied to her while she breathed her love for me.

I didn’t admit that I was her partner in sin. Her tempter, her serpent, her top. If I had, it would be me under the weight of thrown stones with her, struggling to breathe through broken lips and a crushed nose.

The flesh skinned from her leg reminded me of our last conversation alone together. I pictured her absently fingering herself, asking me if I would still love her if she lost a leg or an arm.

“Of course,” I said.

“Would you help me lose one? You can pick.”

“Help you do what?”

“I want you to tear me apart.”

Someone turned her in the next day.

In the delay between the first stone and the next I saw the look in her eye – perhaps the pause said to her that we would forgive. She struggled up to her knees, penitent and humble. I threw the rock that sent her falling back to the ground. I threw it harder than anyone else. The woman next to me mistook my enthusiasm for righteousness, for the offended wrath of the godly.

God, I want to eat her pussy.

Can anyone tell? I try to discretely check my pants. No. Not obvious. Not yet.

Aamina makes a mewling sound that sends a ripple of excitement shooting down from the back of my neck, through my tailbone, into my perineum and vagina and back up into my guts. I’m trembling with the most shattering orgasm I’ve ever felt and I bite my lip to suppress my moan. I know I will never feel the Lord fill me the way I feel this. My Aamina.

The Deacon moves closer, holding aloft the largest stone yet, ready to dash it down.
Aamina releases the safety bell clutched in her hand. I rush to stop the Deacon from throwing the stone. “No! Stop! She’s had enough. That’s the signal.”

“The what?”

“The bell, it’s…” I realize what I’ve done.

Aamina sighs her last.

I love her so much.