Out on a Limb

Date Night

Don arrived home some time after eleven, and after tucking away his souvenirs heand Constance enjoyed a Mediterranean meal comprised of goat and feta cheeses,sun-dried olives, roasted red peppers and black tapenade, crusty pieces of bread dipped in grotesquely over-priced, if decidedly delicious olive oil and chilli-infused balsamic vinegar. They rounded things out with morsels of seafood brined in their own expensive concoction, squid ink pasta nests, and paired the entire meal with a lovely Beaujolais Constance had one of the maidsbring up from their covetous thousand capacity wine cellar

It was quite a lovely meal, and one they regularly partook of in some shape or form, the influences of it coloured by the fond memories of a summer spent in Corsica not so long ago. Like those with similar financial means they vacationed on secluded isles and tucked themselves into obscure destinations only the exceedingly wealthy could afford. Unlike their acquaintances though, they didn't overly brag about their getaways, but instead cherished and closely guarded the secret spots they found (not like that moron movie star who declared her $250,000 servant-laden yacht trip along the ancient waterways of Shanghai a bucket-list item everyone simply had to try at least once in their life).

Thinking back on it, Donald had to admit that trip ranked amongst his favourites, and not just because of the food and wine, nor Constance's company, which admittedly was pleasant enough. It also hadn't been because of the sun-kissed backpacking college student he pushed off a remote cliff on the second day of their trip. Well, that had been a pretty great highlight— he couldn't deny that. There had just been something special about the day in general, and though he had no plans to kill anyone on their getaway, the impulse had been too much for him to resist (not that he ever really resisted killing when the urge struck him).

He had just come off a multi-million dollar deal Ferguson was forced to publicly applaud (and financially compensate) him for, and far more notably (if privately) he had just completed the disposal of a fresh-faced English literature professor after executing her by way of a thousand precise cuts. The work had been something of a masterpiece and required meticulous effort on his part, especially since he mapped out each cut down to the final one that split her jaw from her skull and joints from the trunk of her beautifully marred body.

Any butcher could have sliced and diced her into bits and bites, but Don considered himself a connoisseur (a lover of the arts if you would), and wanted to ensure his pretty dove was conscious for as much as possible of her destruction. How else would she be able to appreciate the love he put into such creation? The scores and slashes were easy enough to keep her awake for, but the cuts down to the bone and those that peeled back muscle and flesh required much more finesse (and just the right amount of pain killers). Ironically, he couldn't count how many times he lost count during the planning phase of her death and ultimately had to map her body into quadrants so he could get the process just right.

It could have been the bit of vengeance exacted against Ferguson or the sense of accomplishment he felt over his English dove, but whatever the reasons were, Donald woke in a fine mood and headed out for an early morning walk that day. Constance was busy rejuvenating herself after their flight with sunrise yoga and something called an Aegean body massage when he found himself at the top of an overlook with an enchanting woman who sparkled with youth and energy like the sunrise on the isle's waters. He smiled and waved casually, and she did the same in return. He took his time on the uneven ground and wandered beyond the 'danger keep off' sign and towards her, and she clearly took her time admiring him, caught up in some naïve fantasy that this man was one of the gorgeous sun-kissed locals who would sweep her off her feet during her year abroad. Before she could so much as say hello though, he hurled her to her death below with one glorious push, the exhilaration of it like the release of a much-needed sneeze or an out-of-reach itch finally scratched.

Her scream (and her death) set just the right tone for the rest of his getaway; the sound was bright and refreshing and echoed for ages, and absolutely hit the spot the way a small piece of intensely rich, dark chocolate finished off an exquisite meal. She sang to him as if they were in an open-air amphitheatre of old and ended her aria with a satisfying crunch when her body broke on a mound of sea-washed rocks below.

Always one to relive the beauty of the moment, Don went back to the scene of their exchange and swam in the warm, crystalline blue waters at the base of the cliffs, unconcerned the girl's body had been retrieved just fifty feet of them an hour earlier. He even took Constance with him and memorably fucked her against the jutting rocks the delightful younger woman's body shattered upon. They were still faintly stained with the adventuresome blood that once ran through the girl's veins, and just as her insides exploded from the impact, Don's own liquids exploded into Constance once he had taken his fill of her.

He treated his wife to a blissful trinity of tortures on that excursion, and if Don hadn't known any better, he would have thought he actually loved her for enduring it. Constance's freshly exfoliated skin was subjected to the harsh saltiness of the sea and heavily scented air, and then was outright grated against the yellowing limestone as he thrust into her with his own rock-like hardness. When she reached her climax, he pushed into her harder than ever and she screamed in ecstasy-laden pain while blood, bodily fluids and the ocean itself swirled around them. He screamed out his own release shortly thereafter, and the music of all three of their voices rang in his ears for the rest of their trip.

They definitely needed to book another holiday.