Out on a Limb

Evelyn

It wasn't that he regretted killing Eveyln. Far from it. Sucking the life out of her while watching her overinflated breasts wriggle and jiggle had given him just as much pleasure as any of the women he danced with in recent years. Like so many others she was a woman riddled with possibilities, and she wore her greed and insecurities as plainly as the rhinestone embellished thong underwear that peeked out from her waistline and the knock-off purses she would never have the money to replace with real ones. Her perfume provided insight into other possibilities and reeked of mediocre intelligence, artificial fruit, and the naïve, teenage wont for vanilla that convinced her she was good enough for men to eat.

Her looks weren't much more sophisticated, and the harder she tried the worse she came across. Her hair was too blonde to be natural and was either worn too straight (often reminding him of an exotically pierced woman he impaled upon a length of wrought-iron fencing back in the late nineties) or too curled (stoking memories of a pin-up model he once disposed of in pieces along the coastline. That woman's look by contrast had been so interesting that he coerced Constance to dress in the same bombshell style for Halloween and then had her take him in her mouth over and over until the itch finally subsided).

Don had to concede that Evelyn had the figure to match his pin-up girl from days gone by, but her likeness to that rare gem stopped there. Evelyn dressed in overly tight skirts, button-busting blouses, and cropped tops adorned with the completely unprofessional and bedazzled images of kittens 'hanging in there' or rhinos begging society to 'save the chubby unicorns'. For whatever reason, she thought adding five-inch heels, abundant strands of fake pearls and other enormous acrylic jewelry (coordinating with her acrylic nails no less) completed the ensemble and made her outfits altogether work appropriate.

No, killing Evelyn Blair had been more akin to taking a walk down memory lane, and he never had regrets when he reminisced over his kills. What made Evelyn different in all of this was that he had not chosen her. Strangely enough, she had selected him — or perhaps more rightly, she targeted him following the specific instructions and strategic placement as his new assistant by none other than Ferguson Chatterton.

Evelyn took up her post shortly after the 'renovations' were completed on his new office (thanks to Constance's tongue-lashing) and he officially took his place as a Vice President of Strategic Development (or whatever the hell his nonsensical title was). Office staff assumed Evelyn was another one of Ferguson's in poor taste pranks, and Don went along with things as he always did. He paid her no more mind than any other employee, and treated her as if she were poised, educated, and had all the credentials in the world, never batting an eye at her exposed underwear, gaping cleavage, or glaring incompetency.

It wasn't that he didn't feel the pull towards killing her, but shitting so closely to where he ate was just bad form. (Yes, he had killed one of their gold club acquaintances, but they hardly knew her to say hello to her. And yes, he had killed a good friend of Constance's, but that had been in college before they began dating exclusively so it hardly counted.) Yet despite his lack of interest it didn't stop Evelyn from dropping her tits in his face every time she needed him to sign a form, and it certainly didn't stop her from wearing those second-skin leather pants that made squeaking sounds when she walked and tempted him to peel both layers of her skin off very, very slowly.

And still he resisted. He played the part of the good son-in-law, the faithful husband, and the dutiful lackey until the evening he walked into his office and found Evelyn stripped down to nothing, her breasts secured by an arm, both nipples peaking out, and her perfectly waxed cunt covered with a semi-annual report he needed to submit the next day.

His expression barely registered surprise, but his thoughts went to, Well, fuck. I'll never get the smell out of that document. He also thought enough was enough and that Evelyn would have to die if for no other reason than he needed to get his work done on time so it wouldn't interfere with the newest project he was setting for himself.

And so he sauntered into the room without so much as a glance in her direction, sat down and said, "If that's my report Evelyn, I hope you made all the revisions I asked for."

The woman looked at him wide-eyed, stunned, and not a little bit trembling from either the coldness in the air or her own nerves, dropped her bodily perfumed paperwork, burst into tears, and ran into his bathroom. He hoped she would stay in there long enough for him to pack up his things and head home for the night, but for someone who dressed in such astonishingly tight attire, she clothed herself and returned to the main room with remarkable speed.

It was then that Don learned of Ferguson's pathetic (albeit hilariously obvious) plan to have Evelyn seduce him and then ensure they were either caught on tape or caught by someone whether it was a cleaning lady or another co-worker. Ferguson's thought was that if he could stage his darling Constance being cheated on he could be rid of the thorn in his side that was Donald Fancy.