Breakfast In Bed

Breakfast in Bed

Marcie hummed as she pottered around the kitchen. The day before she’d drawn two thousand pounds out of their joint account and she’d bought an antique silver tray and two matching tureens. They were a bargain, she was pleased with her purchase.

She laid the tray with an exquisite, embroidered tray cloth; she’d spent many a long hour making this to please her husband. They did so enjoy the finer things in life.

Her masterpiece was almost complete, the tray laid with the special cloth, topped with the two tureens. A tall, stem vase with some purple and green hydroponic crystals looked far classier than just a fill up of tap water.

She’d picked the single red rose with care, paying attention to its colour and form. This rose was as near perfect as she would ever find. It was fresh, cut on the bias, and vivid in its crimson colour. A young rose, it was just opened and shyly revealed the virginal beauty within its folds. It seduced the eye, drawing the gaze timidly into its velvet petals. Marcie sprayed it with water to keep it looking as fresh as it did when she snipped it from the stem.

This was a special breakfast. For fourteen years Marcie had taken Allan his breakfast in bed on a Sunday morning, but this one was extra special.

She was a good wife. She’d never once strayed, kept the house beautiful, herself trim, and was a pretty bauble for him to display on his arm at work socials.

Allan had come a long way in the last few years; the business was one of the most successful in the north sector of the city. They’d gambled when others had taken the safe option, had speculated on risky deals, and had held back, restrained, when their competitors were making grand ostentatious bids that they could never maintain long term. Business was booming, and although Allan was the figurehead of the company, Marcie was the driving force. She had an intuitive grasp of where the market was going to fluctuate; she guided and led, always remaining in the background. She played the little woman, the stunning socialite who threw the best parties in town. Marcie was the envy of the tennis set.

They’d gradually moved up the real estate ladder. Who’d have thought that fourteen years ago they’d begun married life in a two-bed flat above a newsagents shop in the high street?

These days, home was Manor-Gables, a private estate with high walls and five acres of ornamental gardens and forest.

Marcie had been lonely here at times, but this special morning she was pleased with the privacy. She hoped Allan would appreciate the effort she’d
made.

One last detail, she popped the Polaroid camera on the tray, they'd want to have the memory of this morning for all time.

Marcie whipped off the wipe clean apron that she’d been wearing and checked her appearance in the hall mirror. The ivory Silk Negligee complemented her dark skin tones beautifully and her long, auburn hair fell in soft curls over her shoulders. The low cut, matching night-gown plunged almost to her waist. The breast enhancement that she’d had the previous year had been worth every penny. She was pleased that the morning chill had caused her nipples to stand through the sheer material. The night-gown was slit to upper thigh at either side. Allan was in for a treat.

She pushed the bedroom door open with her foot and went in holding the tray out before her.

‘Good morning, my darling. I've brought your breakfast’

She smiled her most alluring smile.

Allan's eyes were wide open, no residues of sleep clinging to his good-looking face this morning. He knew it was special.

Marcie reminded herself how lucky she was to be married to this man who set so many young, female pulses throbbing. It amazed her that after fourteen years of marriage she could still command his complete attention when she walked into the
bedroom, and she certainly had it now.

His eyes were following her every move. He licked his dry lips and swallowed.

Marcie placed the tray on the bedside table and gazed down at her husband.

He was half sitting, propped against the stiff headboard wincing in discomfort as he tried to shift his position. He rotated his left wrist and Marcie mumbled a few cooing words of sympathy when she saw how hurt he was.

‘Oh now look what you've done to your poor handies. I told you it’d do no good to struggle. You are a silly boy Allan’

She pulled hard on his wrist, checking the tension of the steel handcuffs. His arms had been extended beyond his head for over nineteen hours. His ankles, similarly cuffed, splayed and attached to opposing bedposts. Loss of circulation and the elevated position meant that the pain was intense.

He shrank away her, a small whimper escaping his dry mouth. ‘Marcie please. Come on now, you've had your fun. Let me go and we'll say no more about it. Please. Marcie, dammit, she meant nothing to
me’

‘I know that sweetie,’ she smiled, ‘they never do.’

She held a bottle to her husband's penis and he relived himself, preferring it to the indignity of soiling the bed. She washed and shaved him and patted cologne into his freshly shorn cheeks. Smoothing some deodorant under his armpits, she was done.

Marcie was pleased with her efforts.

‘Now then, shall we see if Mr Eager wants to come and play with Mommy.’

He shook his head. ‘No Marcie. No. I can’t… Please don't’

‘Oh come on Allan, you're not normally shy. What's the matter? Does it only work for teenage sluts these days?’

Allan closed his eyes as his wife's fingers curled round his limp penis and went to work. It took a little while but soon his cock stiffened and
betrayed his terrified mind in the same way that it had betrayed his wife many times over the years.

Marcie smiled. ‘There, that's better,’ she crooned.

She removed the lid of the first tureen as Allen's eyes widened in horror. Her eyes, on the other hand, looked clear and serene as she held the huge knife in front of her. Was his wife still sane? Or was it just a case of insanity having no expression? The Learned gentlemen would debate this point, at length, in court.

It was more difficult than she had anticipated cutting through the engorged flesh. Not that it was engorged for long. The blood shrank back through his penile veins a lot faster than it had swelled them.

He screamed, but as the last sinew was sawn through with the serrated blade, he went quiet. He gave a small, mewling moan every few seconds but that was all. He was fascinated as he watched his blood dye the floral bedding. He stared from the
blood between his legs to the flaccid piece of meat in Marcie's hand and couldn't seem to equate the two. He felt no pain. That surprised him. He had the works, a veritable assortment of external bleeding Veinous: bright red oxygenated blood. Arterial: the big boy, the gusher, a dark red, spouting, fountain of blood rising from between his legs to fall in a crimson shower. He even had the almost insignificant Capillary bleeding. Marcie's Ivory nightgown was stained and two red hand prints smeared off in south tailing trails.

Allan's face was the colour and texture of soft putty. His gums were white, his skin clammy. He was in clinical shock but he was still conscious. A strange calm came over him and although he still
moaned every few seconds, his face broke into a small, lopsided, imbecilic smile.

Marcie picked up the lighter from the pretty tray and depressed the flywheel to ignite the flint. Allan's eyes were drawn to his wife's beautiful face, illuminated by the soft flame of the lighter.

‘Have a cigar, Allan,’ she muttered as she stuck the gory end of his penis in his mouth. He made no effort to resist. A glob of mixed blood and saliva oozed out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. A piece of limp muscle adhered wetly to his upper lip. Allan didn’t protest.

Marcie picked up a length of wick from the tray and carefully inserted it into the urethral opening of Allan's penis. She put a flame to the
wick and the hanging, wrinkled length of his organ lit up like a candle at Halloween. The smell of singed flesh permeated the air, Allan, still conscious, made no effort to move.

She hoped that he wasn't too catatonic to enjoy her creativity.

‘Second course, Allan. Are you ready for this, darling?’ she enthused, lifting the second tureen
for inspection. She was gratified to see Allen's eyes shift towards the shiny silver that reflected her face so perfectly.

She lifted the lid with a flourish. Allen gurgled on the last of his strength. He looked into the glassy eyes of Tracy Jones his latest office junior, and occasional bed partner. Her severed
head and frozen expression gawped back at him from the silver salver.

Marcie laid the tureen on his lap.

She took a few photos of her artwork and tossed them, still developing, onto the bed beside her husband.

‘I'm just going to set the washer off dear. Now you two make yourselves comfortable and call me if you need anything.’

Allen's eyes fluttered and closed.