He knew what she was like when he married her. The late nights and nonstop partying, her sex-positive demeanor and overindulgence with booze and pills. He thought that marriage might change her, but, if anything, she seemed to get worse. He barely ever eyed her at all anymore, so when he finds her passed out on the bed, still in her taut, red dress and expensive high high-heeled shoes, his manstick commences to get rock hard. It had been so long since they had been personal, that he was less than concerned by her tipsy state.
Removing her clothes, piece by piece, he kneads and eats and plays with her body, until his aching dick can't take it anymore. Opening up her handsome legs, he stuffs her fuller than a Christmas goose and ravages her rock-hard enough to void the warranty on their cage spring and sofa frame. Even she gets into it, sensitized screams of gusto escaping her lips, as her hubby submerges himself deep inside her. But when she calls out another person's name, her unmasked unfaithfulness causes him to fly into a fury.
Wrapping both palms around her neck, he squeezes, choking the life from her. He doesn't stop poking her, though; this boy can multitask, violently killing her, while still pumping his beef whistle in and out of that taut, humid vulva. As she commences to grimace and twitch, her assets shutting down from prolonged anoxia, the spastic action of her cunny strokes the wad from the man's testicles and he fills her with warm goo. After he's done, he leaves her naked corpse splayed on the sofa. He'll need to dispose of the assets, but right now, he needs a cigarette. To tell you the truth, so do I.