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Cecile had no money; she paid him with her mouth. It was a done deal. She got David's password, and then got on her knees. Brian finished quickly. She made sure of that with a wildness she'd never known was in her. He came in her mouth and she swallowed it without looking him in the eye. She felt whorish and dirty, getting up off her knees and brushing dirt off of her pantyhose, but she had David's password. That was the important thing. Brian never said a word to her. He zipped up, chuckled to himself, and walked out.

She got home and logged into the computer. There were emails from her. Dozens of them. She had to dig a bit through the archives, but she found them, hiding there. Clever! Some had photos. Cecile saw her naked tits and ass, her bald little pubic mound with the obnoxious clit ring. She saw that dirty, slutty smile. The bitch was years younger than she was. Brunette like her, but a lighter shade, with less grey. And she was smiling like she owned him, her David!

The emails were nasty too, about his cock, his muscular ass between her knees, her mouth on him, the feel of his cum on her tits. Cecile's guts burned. Her eyes welled with tears. Her throat tightened. She wanted to throw up. She read email after email, and finally closed the account and logged out.

She'd been suspicious for weeks, now she had proof. David had another woman. So that's how he wanted to play. She'd deal with him and his little slut her own way.

"If I can't have him, neither will you."

Seven brandies later she was feeling free and angry, like a tiger who'd discovered its cage door unlocked and open. She waited for him to come home. It was long after dark when his car pulled up.

He kissed her on the forehead, dropping his briefcase by the door and his keys on the little cherry wood table.

"What's up, honey? Sorry, I'm late."

Sorry indeed, you bastard! You were with her, weren't you?

He actually looked boyishly handsome to her tear-blurred eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She pulled the knife behind her back a little higher, fearing he might see it before he turned around. He looked at her strangely, cocking his head to one side. He looked so cute like that; she almost lost her nerve. Almost. The slutty-looking whore in the email flashed into her mind and her resolved stiffened inside her.

I can't wait to feel your cock buried deep inside my throat, David. I can't wait to taste your cum. Make me your whore, just the way I like it.

Whore indeed!

She plunged the knife into his back as he turned. David stumbled forward and fell onto the stairs.

"Wha!?"

"Who is she!?"

David groaned, writhing, trying to reach the knife. She twisted it, tearing through tissue in a cruel vengeance for the pain he'd caused her.

"Who? What?"

"The woman in the pictures, Snugglemuffin69! Who is she!? How long have you been seeing her!? How long have you been fucking her, making her your little whore!?"

She yanked out the knife and stabbed again, deeper this time. He screamed, but weakly.

"Snu- wha- who?"

"I know all about her! You thought you could fool me!?"

She stabbed again.

"Cecile! For God's sake!"

"Who is she!?"

"She's you! Don't you remem-" the breath went out of him as she leaned her weight on the knife, driving it deeper.

"Me!? Nice try, asshole! I read all the emails. I saw the pictures."

"Your medication, Cecile! Have you been taking it?"

"What medication? I'm not on-"

She looked down at her blood-soaked hands and saw the bracelet on her wrist: Clozapine, anti-psychotic.

"Call an ambulance, sweetheart. Please!"

Cecile stumbled backward.

"I'm not on any anti-psychotics! I'm not-"

She saw her in the mirror, Snugglemuffin69, covered in her husband's blood, staring back at her with a wild glee in her eyes.

"If I can't have him, neither will you..."

David died on the stairs.

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