("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Good Hubby
by Kimmie Holland & Meeah Mackenzie (address withheld)

***

A wife uses her submissive husband's death fetish to 
get rid of him and start a new life. (MF/m-teen, reluc, 
d/s, v, sn)

***

One

Even though he knew it probably meant the end, he 
nearly sobbed in relief when he heard the sound of 
Wendy's heels on the stairs leading up to the attic 
bedroom. He'd felt so horribly alone lying there on the 
bed, naked, the dull pain growing in his belly. Dying. 
Dying—it seemed so hard to believe. He'd managed to 
turn over onto his right side, his knees partially 
drawn up, and he was panting lightly. He saw his wife 
standing at the head of the stairs now, one hand 
resting on the newel post, the love of his life, 
resplendent and beautiful, prismatic through his tear-
filled eyes, like an angel.

"You aren't dead yet?" Wendy said when she saw he was 
still gasping for air.

The note of disappointment in her voice was obvious. So 
was the frown on her pretty face. It lanced through him 
with a pain even more lethal than that of the poison 
he'd swallowed. She couldn't wait to be rid of him. 
Well she wouldn't have long to wait now.

"Sophie said that dose should have finished you off in 
a half hour. I hope you didn't cheat. You did drink all 
the cocoa I fixed you, didn't you?"

She eyed the empty mug on the nightstand suspiciously. 
    
Speech no longer seemed possible. It was all he could 
do to draw enough breath to keep from suffocating. 
Everything inside his chest felt all cottony and his 
throat was swollen and tight. He was, however, still 
able to weakly nod his head. 

"Hmmph," his wife said, her arms crossed under her 
breasts, still not sure whether to believe him or not.

Her friend, Sophie, had provided her with the powerful 
drug intended to kill her husband, as well as the most 
effective dosage. For years Sophie had had a crush on 
her, but Wendy didn't swing that way, not for the most 
part, anyway. Still, Sophie was just as glad to see 
Michael out of the way. She didn't think Michael was 
nearly the man that Wendy deserved—in fact, neither one 
of them hardly considered him a man at all. 

When Wendy, in disgust one day at lunch, told her about 
the snuff fantasies that Michael had confided to her, 
Sophie saw it as the perfect opportunity for Wendy to 
get rid of that spineless wimp and increase both their 
bank accounts at the same time. She eagerly convinced 
Wendy to encourage Michael's erotic death fantasies, 
getting him to describe them in detail, and, on rare 
occasions, to even help him to act them out. 

Wendy didn't share her husband's fantasies to say the 
least. He'd never been her sexual type, anyway; he was 
a man she considered strictly for marriage and 
security, not for fucking, and the revelation of 
Michael's kinky desire for surrender resulted in her 
losing what little respect she'd ever had for her 
husband in the first place. Coming after the discovery 
that her husband was a closet crossdresser just the 
year before, this latest admission was the last straw. 
Wendy was thinking divorce. Sophie, however, urged her 
to stick with it a while longer.

"Find out what really turns him on," Sophie advised. 
"You can surely use it against him when the time 
comes."

The time had at last come.

And not a moment too soon for Wendy.

Michael, wincing as another wave of pain passed through 
him, wondered how it had come to this. How had he 
allowed Wendy to convince him to be snuffed for real? 
He knew, of course. He was going to lose her, she'd 
told him as much, and he knew it was something he 
wouldn't be strong enough to bear. So when she offered 
to make his ultimate fantasy come true, he'd agreed. 
Part of him still hoped it was just a fantasy, that 
he'd be able to win her over in the end. She wouldn't 
really snuff him, would she? If she did, well, he 
figured he just might as well die. He'd leave it up to 
her; it seemed only natural, after all. She had the 
power of life and death over him anyway. 

These were the ways he tricked himself, how he'd agreed 
to go through with his own murder and hadn't backed 
down even to the point of drinking the cocoa he knew 
was poisoned. He'd already written his will leaving 
everything to Wendy, signed over all his assets, which, 
after his parent's estate had passed to him, were 
considerable, and, along with a letter stating his 
intention to 'disappear' and start a new life, 
delivered it, sealed, to their lawyer, with 
instructions to open it…today…the day Wendy had decided 
it would be best for him to die.

He admitted that he was a closet fag, a transvestite 
sissy, a pervert, and cocksucker and included in the 
folio with these documents was the collection of 
snapshots of Michael in drag, of him giving head, the 
snapshots that Wendy herself took of him humiliating 
himself, kneeling before men she had him pick up in 
bars or meet over the internet. By then he'd already 
apologized to his wife and his stepsons. Wendy thought 
it was important for him to do own up to his guilt, 
that it set a good example for the boys to hear it from 
his own mouth. So abjectly he stood in the living room 
and in front of them all and admitted that he was a 
failure as a husband and father.

Yes, it had all seemed like some kind of kinky fantasy 
out of his imagination, but it was real, wasn't it? She 
was going to leave him, and, what's more, she was going 
to murder him. Not even all the sugar and cream she'd 
put into the cocoa was able to disguise the bitter 
taste of the strong and deadly poison. He was still 
trying to talk, but the sound he made was barely a 
whimper.

"It's okay Michael, don't try to talk."

Wendy put one knee up on the bed, curled her leg under 
her, and sat beside him. She was wearing a thin, wrap-
around skirt that rode high up on her smooth, bare 
thigh. Her thin sleeveless summer blouse exposed her 
slender arms and even a bit of her girlish breasts when 
she leaned over. Wendy caught her husband's eyes 
instinctively straining to see up her skirt and gave a 
small satisfied smile. She shifted a bit and allowed 
him a glimpse of her new pink lace panties. Was he just 
imagining that that he caught the musky familiar scent 
of her excited pussy? That beautiful pussy he would 
never ever taste again?

"You naughty boy," she mock-scolded, "even at a time 
like this."

She laid a hand on his feverish forehead. Her small 
palm felt so soft and cool. Until she touched him, he 
hadn't realized he was burning up so badly.

"Poor baby," she murmured and made a faux pity-face, 
her bottom lip in an adorable pout.  "Well, you can 
just relax now. There's nothing else you need to do, 
sweetie. I want to tell you how much I appreciate what 
you're doing for me and the boys."

Michael didn't know how to answer even if he could 
speak. It wasn't the pain exactly. It was more the 
terror as he lay there slowly and helplessly strangling 
while the woman he loved so desperately and helplessly 
looked blithely on and talked about the future her and 
her sons would soon enjoy.  He lifted his head a scant 
centimeter from the bed and tried to speak again. Wendy 
put her finger to her lips. "Ssssssh." 

He sank back, defeated. His eyes drifted lazily down 
his wife's shapely leg and followed the soft curve of 
her calf all the way down to the delicate ankle, which 
was decorated with the gold anklet he'd bought her last 
summer. Michael noticed she was wearing the sexy thong 
sandals he liked so much on her. And that her toenails 
were freshly pedicured. Did she have a date tonight? 
The thought suddenly hit him from out of nowhere and he 
felt a moment of panic. Why should it have surprised 
him? He suspected, after all, that she was probably 
seeing someone else. Nonetheless his heart lurched 
hazardously…from the drug, or sadness? His dry lips 
parted and a small strangled gargle came out. He moaned 
and squirmed a little in the sweat-dampened sheets. 

Beneath those sheets he felt and heard the crackle of 
plastic—in case he had an accident and lost control of 
his bladder or bowels as he died. Somehow the 
realization that Wendy, as practical as ever, had 
thought to take such sensible precautions made it all 
that much more chillingly real.

"That's it, honey," his wife said, approvingly, "just 
let it happen."

She calmly squirted some hand lotion into her palms and 
rubbed her hands together as she watched with interest 
the struggle between fear and acceptance taking place 
on her husband's face. Then, to help him pass more 
quickly from one to the other, she reached into the 
panties he was wearing and took hold of his penis, 
which was inexplicably already half-hard—although 
Sophie had explained that an erection was a common 
enough side-effect, welcome or not, with this 
particular lethal poison. She began stroking his small 
cock lightly, teasingly letting her fingertips slide up 
and down the shaft. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Michael responded, in 
spite of himself, just like he always did to his 
beautiful wife. His legs parted slightly and his body 
stiffened, the pre-orgasmic arch forming in his lower 
back. He'd always been a quick spurter, but this time 
Wendy was grateful. She had no desire to draw this out 
any longer than it was strictly necessary. Michael's 
eyes glazed and his hands, lying palm-up in surrender 
on either side of his head, curled slightly in two 
ineffectual fists.

"Feel good?" Wendy cooed.

Her husband made an inarticulate gakking noise and 
nodded. Grateful. Wendy hadn't touched him in weeks. 

She smiled down at him again, this time a little sadly 
he thought, like he was a sick puppy. "You look so 
sweet like this."

Just then one of Wendy's sons called up from 
downstairs. "Mom?"

"Give me a minute, Alex," Wendy snapped, one of the few 
times Michael had ever heard her speak crossly to her 
boys. "I'm with Michael. He's dying."

Hearing Wendy say it like that so matter-of-fact and so 
plainly, as if this were all perfectly natural, seemed 
almost surreal. At the foot of the stairs, he heard 
Alex snicker. Michael knew that he and his brother 
would be glad to have him out of the way. They never 
saw him as anything more than a usurper in their 
mother's bed. 

It was bad enough before they knew he was a sissy 
crossdresser, but from the first time Wendy had him 
dress up and introduced his femme persona to the boys, 
they'd lost what little respect they'd ever had for 
him. At home, Wendy often had Michael dress enfemme and 
he bore the boys insults and snickering often with 
tears in his eyes. With their mother's encouragement, 
they treated him no better than a maid. Now they'd both 
be able to attend the college of their choice free and 
clear with the money he was leaving them. Maybe they'd 
feel just a little less disdain for him? 

"Don't go anywhere just yet, Alex" Wendy added. "I'm 
going to need you and your brother to help carry his 
body down."

"Okay, but we want to catch a movie in town at 3."

Wendy looked back at her husband. "Oh, it won't be that 
long." 

Michael heard his stepson grunt and walk off. If there 
were any last doubts in his mind that his wife was 
going to go through with his murder, it was wiped away 
after this exchange with her son. With the last 
mindless panic of the dying, he realized he had to get 
up, to escape before it was too late. It was now or 
never. If he could just get to a phone, call 911, there 
might still be time to save himself, to pump his 
stomach, administer an antidote…but, in spite of his 
panic, his body wasn't following even his most urgent 
commands. 

"I knew you wouldn't want Tim here to see you like 
this," Wendy explained, unaware of the crisis through 
which her hubby was passing. As she mentioned her ex-
husband, her hand had picked up the pace, stroking his 
cock in the exact rhythm she knew always brought him 
off quickly. "So I told Alex to call him over later to 
help bury you. Wasn't that thoughtful of me? I've 
decided on lilac to plant over your grave. The flowers 
should come in nicely by next spring. In two or three 
years, no one will ever be able to guess there's a 
grave there. When they bloom, I'll cut some and bring 
them inside. I'll remember you that way. Isn't that 
nice?"

Michael managed, at last, through his constricted 
windpipe, to force out a few hoarse words. 

"Wendy, please…please …don't…do…this…lets 
try…again…please…I love…"

"Don't Michael," Wendy said in the cold stern voice 
he'd lately come to know so well these last weeks. 
"It's too late. We've been through this before. It's 
old. You've made your choices and I've decided to move 
on with my life. The boys want you dead and I want you 
dead. I know its beyond you to take it as a man, but 
can't you at least take it with just a little dignity? 
I thought you accepted that you had to die? Don't 
disappointment me again. Can't you think of anyone but 
yourself? Don't you care about me or the boys? I have a 
date tonight to celebrate and I want you dead and 
buried. I have to get on with my life, Michael.. Why do 
you always have to be so difficult?"

Oh god no. Michael felt a chill pass through him—it 
might have been the Angel of Death itself passing over 
his body. He knew at that moment it was really and 
truly over. Wendy had found someone already. Michael 
had fantasized about such a thing, of her fucking 
another man, had suspected it, was all but assured of 
it, but now it was out in the open, a reality, from her 
own lips. He should have known. He was going to die and 
his beautiful wife wouldn't waste a moment starting a 
new life with a new and more virile lover. She'd 
probably fuck her new lover on the bed Michael died in 
that very night! 

That was her plan, and now he was ruining it by begging 
for another chance.

Wendy's beautiful face crumpled. Tears ran down her 
cheeks. "Don't you appreciate all the trouble I've gone 
through? Don't you care how hard this is for me? Damn 
you!"

She let go of his cock, jumped off the bed, and ran 
into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 
Michael heard her sobbing.

Oh god please, he silently, please come back. I'm 
sorry. I'll die, please, I promise just come back…

If only he could speak, he would have cried the words 
out loud. But no voice would issue from his constricted 
throat. An awful pressure was building steadily inside 
his and his heart was beating erratically. It didn't 
seem possible that his body could hold out much longer. 
His vision faltered and only with the greatest of 
effort was it possible to bring it back. But very soon 
it would be an effort he knew he'd have no strength to 
make. He would then lie motionless under the black wave 
of death and let it bear him away.

Michael was now terrified of one thing: that he'd die 
while Wendy was pouting in the bathroom. He didn't want 
to die alone. He'd been so relieved when she'd come up 
to check on him and now he'd ruined everything with his 
selfishness. Just give him one more chance and he would 
die, quietly and obediently, just as he'd promised, but 
please just don't let him die alone, without seeing the 
only woman he ever truly loved one last time. 

Michael heard Wendy running the water and then the 
sound of her blowing her nose. She wasn't crying any 
more; in fact, she was talking quite cheerfully on the 
cordless phone. Whoever she was talking to seemed to 
have calmed her down. She was happily agreeing with 
everything they said. 

After a while, the door opened and she came out of the 
bathroom. Michael followed her with his feverish eyes 
and shuddered with relief when he saw she was coming 
towards the bed. Even without speech, he tried to 
communicate his love and gratitude. He wanted to 
apologize for his earlier cowardly and selfish behavior 
but his lips were already numb, as were his fingers and 
toes. He wanted to tell his beautiful wife that he 
accepted it all now. That he would die as she wanted 
him to. That she was right and it was the best thing 
for everyone. Just don't leave me again. Please. He 
wished he could tell her these things but the time for 
talking was over forever. There was drool on his chin. 
Perhaps seeing her hubby's surrender in his eyes, Wendy 
smiled down at him approvingly. 

Michael wished more than anything that she'd take his 
penis in her hand again while there was still time. His 
wife seemed to read his thoughts. She climbed onto the 
bed beside him for what they both knew would be the 
last time. 

Wendy took hold of his shaft between her long cool 
fingers. She gave him a mischievous glance. "How about 
one last blow-job?"

His leaking cock answered for him.

Wendy grinned. "Okay baby. Just relax and enjoy. But 
don't take too long to cum, okay? You don't have that 
long. You don't have to hold back anymore."

She reached back and slipped off her thong sandals and 
swung her pretty legs up on the bed. Her sexy feet were 
only inches from his face.

"Would you like to suck my toes one more time?" she 
asked, looking up from between her husband's legs where 
she'd begun to sensuously lick the swollen tip of his 
cock. 

With tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, 
Michael managed to nod his head, yes. 

"You're so cute," she said. She moved one of her feet 
close enough to her hubby's face so he could lick her 
pretty pale toes. Michael took her plump big toe into 
his mouth to suck while she worked on his cock.

It didn't take long before he felt what he knew would 
be his last cum building up behind inside his balls. 
Wendy sensed it, too, of course. She bobbed her head 
quicker, not caring to prolong this any longer than 
necessary. Michael felt his heart stop—and stutter 
weakly to a start. Still, he was trying to hold back, 
wishing the moment could go on forever, that he could 
hold on to Wendy just a little longer. He knew that he 
would die soon. His attempts at self-control were 
feeble…and futile. He sucked on Wendy's sweet toes and 
found himself thinking of her lover fucking his wife's 
pretty body while he lay cold and alone under the earth 
in the backyard. 

In the past, he had fantasized about this, had asked 
for this, and now it had come to pass. Wendy had seen 
in his kinky fantasies an advantage for her and her 
boys and, conspiring with her friend Sophie, she'd used 
them against him. He never really stood a chance. 
Michael felt his wife bring her other foot over his 
chest and lightly graze her polished toenails across 
his nipples. At the same time, she gently squeezed his 
balls and tightened her lips around the head of his 
cock, urging him to cum. He whimpered and opened his 
mouth wider and Wendy slipped all five of her soft toes 
between his lips. 

And then it happened: he burst inside Wendy's mouth, as 
she sucked and gulped the last seed he would ever 
produce. She sucked him until he was drained dry and 
then she sat up and kissed him on the mouth. He could 
taste his dying cum on her lips.

She gazed down at her husband with what, for the first 
time, looked like genuine sympathy. She could tell that 
he was ready to die, but his body just wouldn't let go. 

"It's time sweetie," she said softly. "I didn't want to 
have to do it this way, but I'm afraid I'm going to 
have to help you along. I called Sophie earlier. She 
said if you didn't go within the hour to finish you off 
this way. It won't be hard, I promise."


Two

After his weak little orgasm, Michael went to his death 
as gentle as a lamb. I got out the nylon restraints 
that he liked me to use on him and I fastened his 
wrists to his thighs, but it really didn't turn out to 
be necessary. The silly rabbit lay there passively, 
looking up at me with big adoring eyes. I slipped the 
thick plastic bag over his head and fastened it tightly 
around his neck with a pair of strong elastic bands. 

I checked to make sure that no air could sneak in, just 
as Sophie had instructed me. It was a perfect seal. 
Michael breathed normally for a while and then I could 
see him laboring a bit, the plastic molding itself 
around his sweaty face as the oxygen inside the bag 
rather quickly ran out.

Still, he didn't put up any struggle; even if he'd 
wanted to fight it, he was too weak by then, and I 
don't think he wanted to fight it any longer. I doubt 
if he suffered too much. At one point, he opened his 
mouth, gasping, and the plastic got sucked inside. His 
body stiffened and his toes pointed and then he 
shuddered all over like he was freezing, even though he 
was covered with sweat. I saw his penis twitch and I 
thought for a moment he was about to get hard again, 
but then I saw the little arc of golden liquid, and 
knew that he'd merely lost control of his bladder. 

I have to admit it was so sexy watching him die that I 
reached under my mini skirt and touched the front of my 
damp panties. I came almost immediately, sliding down 
the wall I was leaning against. It was one of the best 
orgasms of my life. Certainly the best Michael ever 
gave me.

After ten minutes or so, I recovered enough of my 
senses to call Tim, my ex, my other ex, I guess I 
should say. 

"It's done?" he asked. "No problems?"

"Done. No problems."

"Great. I'll be right over."

I called downstairs to my oldest boy and told him to 
find his brother and to come upstairs to the bedroom. 
On the bed, Michael was completely still and silent, 
but I wanted to be positive he was dead. I asked my 
older boy Alex to take the bag off his head to check.

I was too squeamish to look. I hid my eyes with my 
hand. I peeked out between a crack in my fingers. "Is 
he dead?" 

"He's dead," Alex said.

He had taken the lighter I used to start an incense and 
was holding it to Michael's left nipple. Jeff grabbed 
the lighter out of his brother's hand and with a sly 
grin said, "Hey watch this!" He applied the flame to 
the tip of Michael's cock. Naturally, they found such 
clowning around to be hilarious. Boys will be boys, I 
guess!

They'd never seen a dead body before and I let them 
examine it all they wanted. Michael didn't object (hee-
hee). They were upset at all; they both found death 
pretty cool. The boys made fun of his nakedness, of his 
smooth girly body, of his tiny cock, and painted 
toenails. It was my younger boy, Jeff, who noticed the 
bed was wet.  

"He peed himself, Mom."

"That's what happens sometimes when you die sweetie. 
Just be glad he didn't poop himself, that happens 
sometimes, too."

"Yuck, that's just gross."

I agreed, which is why I'd had Michael clean himself 
out with a series of increasingly larger enemas over 
the last week. I'd also restricted him to a liquid 
diet. In addition to cleaning him out, the lack of 
solid food had greatly weakened him, making him less 
prone to struggle against his death, and more 
susceptible to the poisoning

The boys continued to horse around while they waited 
for their dad to arrive. By now, knowing he was 
definitely dead, I'd gotten over my squeamishness to 
have a look at the body. Michael's mouth was open, his 
eyes staring, but he didn't look too bad. Just a little 
scared, maybe. But, all in all, that was to be 
expected, I guess. It must have been pretty horrible 
for him to die like this, in the prime of his life, 
with so many years ahead of him, but, in the end, even 
he realized it was all for the best.

When Tim arrived he found us upstairs waiting. He gave 
me a long passionate kiss. It was like old times 
between us. The boys were happy to see us together 
again.  Money wasn't going to be a problem. Life was 
good. Tim stood over the bed where the body of his ex-
rival lay, now cold and impotent. He looked Michael 
over from head to painted toes and snickered.

"Well she sure did a number on you didn't she, 
buckaroo?" Then he called over his shoulder to Alex and 
Jeff. "What do you say, boys. Should we get this fairy 
planted?"

They wrapped Michael up in the soiled sheets, plastic 
liner and all, and carried him downstairs and out to 
the backyard where his grave had already been dug. I 
watched from the upstairs window as they 
unceremoniously dumped his body into the hole. Then Tim 
unzipped his fly. 

The boys didn't hesitate to follow their father's lead. 
There they all stood at the edge of the grave and 
urinated on Michael's corpse. Go figure. I guess it was 
a male-bonding thing. I was glad Jeff and Alex had 
their father back full-time. Boys their age need a 
strong male role model, not a worthless sissy like 
Michael.

Tim and the boys finished pissing and each took up a 
shovel. I watched them throw dirt on my late hubby for 
a while. Then I gave Sophie a call to tell her the good 
news. 


Three

Well, all that happened three years ago this November. 
Since then, Tim and I remarried. The boys are off to 
college and we're enjoying our second chance at love 
and life together. Sometimes I wonder if I should be 
more thankful to Michael than I am, but, to be honest, 
I very seldom think about him at all, even when I take 
cuttings into the house from the lilac garden planted 
over his unmarked grave. 

In fact, I didn't realize how much I'd forgotten until 
I began writing this story. I'm afraid, he never was 
very important to me. And, besides, he got what he 
wanted, too. The way I see it, he was lucky to have the 
opportunity to sacrifice his life for me and the boys.

And he got a farewell blowjob to boot. What more could 
he have asked for?

END

For more stuff by us please visit: 
http://thefreakbox.blogspot.com/

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fStoreID=336055&fMode=
edit

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 60