The Invisible Wife

(Halloween contest entry 2026)

Deep in the heart of a navy research lab at Norfolk, Chief Warrant Officer Lisa O'Neal presented a revolutionary top secret formula to Admiral Dennis Crow and five other top brass bigwigs.

"Brace yourself, gentlemen. You're about to see some serious shit," Lisa beamed with a devilish smirk, tossing her lustrous golden bangs and batting long lashes over big blue eyes. Dennis winced at her audacious use of profanity toward the head honcho of the U. S. Navy . . . but she was a brilliant scientist, so she earned the right to be a little theatrical. A bombshell busty blonde with attitude, rocketing to the top of the research department at the ripe young age of 32.

Lisa opened a jar full of tetrasodium dihydrophosphate zincobenzene, or "TDZ." She dipped a paintbrush into a clear creamy concoction that resembled Vaseline. Extracting three ounces and spreading it over a high-powered MK 12 SPR rifle. The same model used by Seal Team 6 on their well-publicized sniper missions. Much to the audible shock of Admiral Crow and company, the brush tip and the rifle completely disappeared!

"Lord a'mighty, girlie!" the handsome Admiral gaped in an affable "good ol' boy" Alabama accent. "You just made all those crappy Mystery Science Theater flicks come true!"

"Sci-fi movies usually have a grain of truth to them," Lisa uttered proudly. "This highly engineered phosphate solution causes light and other energy waves to curve around molecules instead of bouncing off them, giving no return signal for your brain to interpret as tangible material."

"Like the cloak of invisibility in fuckin' Harry Potter," remarked Vice Admiral Leroy Beckman.

"Those hack screenwriters were really onto something," Lisa beamed. "Our previous attempts were limited to bulky fabrics and panels that were only halfway 'invisible' and prohibitively expensive. Now we've managed to perfect the formula and stabilize it into a portable cream, making it completely effective on any surface, under any conditions. Dirt cheap and easy for any soldier or sailor to use. Just like putting on sunscreen, SPF fifty million."

For added showmanship, Lisa stepped behind a clear polycarbonate lucite panel with the invisible rifle and blasted a man-shaped target panel right off the wall with a barrage of high-caliber rounds. The weapon remained completely invisible except for strobe gunpowder flashes emerging from the barrel. Her right index finger seemingly clicked on thin air, like a little kid playing Cowboys and Indians (or whatever the politically correct name for that schoolyard game is now.) The navy leaders cheered loudly at her marvellous invention.

"A terrorist would be dead long before he could realize what those flashes were," Lisa continued, emerging around the bulletproof glass. "Frying in the deepest pits of hell, realizing that the '72 virgins' spiel from his recruiter was a load of donkey shit."

"ISIS will turn into WAS-WAS," Dennis quipped.

"This is the greatest invention in military history," Vice Admiral Jamar Jenkins proclaimed. "Even better than gunpowder and the A-bomb."

"Now the bad guys won't see any bombs coming, from A to Z," Lisa giggled. Tossing her hair, adjusting her cool blue camouflage uniform. "Russia and Iran keep launching cheap drones at Ukraine and Israel, knowing they can't keep shooting them down with American missiles that cost exponentially more. The invisibility factor also makes this potion radar-proof, providing a massive strategic advantage."

"Just like Avengers: Endgame . . . except with Wonder Woman and her invisible airplane," quipped Vice Admiral Pablo Rodriguez.

"Tony Stark didn't see anything yet," Lisa snickered. She smeared some TDZ potion over an MQ-4C Triton ballistic drone, then she grabbed a remote controller and turned on the now-invisible machine. She fiddled with the buttons and joysticks, piloting it over the heads of her giddy superiors while fellow navy scientist James Drake aimed a radar gun at it. Only the humming of the electric motor and the whirring of the copter blades revealed the drone's location to the audience.

"No radar signature detected, Officer," James announced, showing everyone 0.00 MPH on the display screen. Lisa pressed another button to open a munitions compartment on the underside of the drone, releasing a shower of fake snow on their white sailor uniforms. They laughed uproariously, giddy as a bunch of six year-old boys on Christmas morning.

"Excellent work, Officer O'Neal!" cheered Admiral Crow. "You just saved American taxpayers a shitload of Benjamins. This TMZ or whatever will surely put an end to 'forever wars' with third world looney tunes."

"Hopefully so, Admiral," Lisa murmured. "In the meantime, we're keeping this fairy dust under tight wraps."

"Like the fucking 'Little Green Men' at Roswell," Crow grunted.

"The Roswell aliens are also Hollywood hogwash, Admiral."

"I know, I know," he chuckled. "We need a cool-sounding code name for this top secret shindig."

"How about . . . 'Project Brooklyn?'" Lisa suggested off the top off her head.

"That has a nice ring to it, blondie," beamed Vice Admiral Aaron Kelly. "Reminds me of my favorite Nintendo game when I was a kid. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III: The Manhattan Project."

Lisa left that big reveal meeting with her head in the clouds. She was so elated, she let her entire research staff go home three hours early. They deserved a little break after working their nerdy asses off for six straight months. Creating a magic potion that would bring back the glory days of "The American Dream."

She hopped in her $150,000 Range Rover and cruised out of the largest naval base in the world. Admiring the massive steel warships in Norfolk Harbor, gleaming transcendently on a perfect spring afternoon. USS Harry Truman was a whopping 1092 feet long and 250 feet high, reminding Lisa of her rich husband's ripped quarterback muscles and big fat cock. Jake O'Neal, the CEO of Harrison Trust, was still at his downtown Norfolk office. Bossing around his pencil-pushing underlings in a custom-tailored three-piece suit, pretending to be an insurance expert until the five o'clock whistle. Jake couldn't get enough of her bitchin' Barbie doll body, and he didn't mind that she wore the pants in the family. A militaristic tomboy to tame his macho ego.

Lisa's criminally overpriced British SUV entered a long tunnel beneath the Hampton Roads harbor at the confluence of the James River and Chesapeake Bay. Her pussy throbbed with anticipation beneath her blue camo uniform. Jake always fucked her hard and fast with lots of spanking and rough stuff, just the way she liked it. He never skimped on foreplay either, bringing her to a proper boil before driving her insane with multiple orgasms. But she hadn't been spreading her legs for him as much lately, too preoccupied with "Project Brooklyn," having no energy left over when she got home.

Her right foot floored the accelerator with displaced lust, gunning the Rover to 90 MPH. Blasting out the other end of the tunnel like a cruise missile zooming toward a terrorist hideout. Soon arriving at her big farmhouse with no neighbors in sight. She hopped out of the Rover in a very good mood, singing her favorite Madison Beers song, eager to crack open an ice cold local craft pilsner . . . after chugging Jake's monster cock.

Lisa punched in the code for a state-of-the-art security system that protected their $2 million house. She pranced into a big living room, shouting "Honey, I'm home!" even though he wasn't.

She heard some muffled music coming from the upstairs bedroom. That frightened her for a moment, but then she figured it was Jake's ancient alarm clock radio malfunctioning again. She kept telling him to get one of the new models that are more reliable and smart phone compatible, but that forty-something dude was still clinging to his 90's high school/college party days.

She slowly climbed the staircase in the middle of the house, recognizing the song as "Any Time, Any Place" by Janet Jackson. Jake never listened to crappy R&B slow jams like that, preferring thrash metal anthems by METS (Metallica, Exodus, Testament, Slayer.) Lisa slowly climbed the stairs, eager to take a little power nap on their memory foam mattress. Recharging her batteries before "recharging" them a lot more when her husband got home.

Three steps shy of the top step, her jaw dropped open when she heard a lady who wasn't Janet Jackson shouting:

"Fuck me harder, baby! Your big dick feels so good in my tight asshole!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lisa whispered in horror, holding onto the railing for dear life. She couldn't believe her husband was cheating on her with some bimbo who spouted standard porn star dialogue like that. She managed to get to the upstairs hallway, and her ears were further assaulted by the sound of Jake spanking her ass repeatedly, growling:

"Naughty fucking ginger, cheating on your husband with a cheating husband. Redhead bitches can't get enough trouble!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Fuck yeah, Mister O'Neal. Spank me like your slutty fucking secretary!"

She got even more angry as she slowly approached the open bedroom door. So he was banging his secretary and this other random skank? Lisa was a military brat who had anger management problems to begin with, but this got her really pissed off. She was about to storm into the bedroom with biblical "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" . . . but then she figured she should get a peek at the action before breaking it up. She loved watching stupid porn during her down time, but she never got a chance to witness wild sex in real life. Too busy doing science stuff and kissing navy asses to get big promotions, never risking her reputation by sneaking out to military orgies in the sleazy Norfolk wharf district.

She crept up to the bedroom door, treading lightly on the runner carpet as Janet Jackson's annoying voice got louder and louder, clashing with the shrill erotic noises of Jake and whoever that "naughty fucking ginger" was. The door was wide open with no lights on. The flattering glow from a venetian-blinded window illuminated the back of her husband's nude chiseled ex-QB frame as he ass-fucked a buxom twenty-something redhead, doggy style. Her big milky white tits drooped like udders toward their purple satin sheets, swinging with every hard booty-shaking thrust. Lisa's rage soon shifted to vicarious arousal. Her pussy buzzed intensely beneath the blue camouflage uniform that disguised her presence against the navy blue walls of the hallway.

"Don't fucking stop, boy! Make me cum all over your big corporate cock!"

"You better squirt a fucking gallon, Sally!"

Lisa gazed steadily at their adulterous romp with her blonde head craning around the indented door molding as the stereo system shifted to "Pony" by Ginuwine. Another prefab R&B "classic," obviously beaming from Sally's phone to Jake's bluetooth speaker. A gorgeous redhead who loved "retro jams" which her parents probably listened to while "doing the nasty" around Y2K.

Lisa quietly loosened her belt and reached underneath her navy-issued blue camo pants and black lacy Victoria's Secret panties. Rubbing her cunt nice and slow while Jake slammed his mistress' asshole senseless, just like he always did to his wife. Feeling so good and yet so bad, trying like hell not to moan on top of Sally's theatrical noises.

"Oh fuck, I'm gonna cuuuuWAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Sally and Lisa climaxed in perfect harmony. His mistress squirted a gallon indeed, but his wife's "fireworks" stayed inside the cannon, so to speak. Sally groaned triumphantly as Jake kept jackhammering and spanking her from behind, while Lisa swooned ecstatically but silently in the hall. Still flicking her bean at a rapid clip, knowing how damn good her husband's ramrod anal dominator routine felt. She loved a good hard ass-fucking, like most navy girls (and guys.)

"I'm gonna payload my missile all over your face, ginger!"

"Yes sir, Admiral O'Neal," Sally giggled playfully, making Lisa scowl at her wifey roleplaying. Sally hopped off their king size bed and knelt down on the purple shag carpeting, opening her mouth wide and tilting her head way back, gazing up at Jake's snarling face with ravenous hunger. He roared with his usual orgasmic fury, blasting Sally right between the eyes with a heavy jet of jizz. Lisa's head flinched simultaneously with Sally's, wishing she could taste the bitter creamy treat that kept raining down on Sally's outstretched tongue. By the time he was done, her pale white face and big perky tits were completely plastered.

"God damn, Jakey," Sally giggled, wiping the sticky mess away from her big green eyes. "You must not be fucking your wife much lately."

"Fuck that bitchy mad scientist," he grunted while huffing and puffing. "She's too busy cooking up an invisibility potion down at the base."

"If she's not careful, she'll make her husband disappear," she giggled louder. Lisa's rage started creeping back up from her subconscious, but she decided not to storm in there and perform a standard Hollywood "psycho jilted wife" routine. She turned around instead and tiptoed into the guest bedroom, hiding behind a tall wooden dresser, waiting for Sally to get dressed and leave.

"I can't wait for our next playdate, honey-muffin," that ginger cooed with creepy baby-talk.

"Me neither. My back door is always open . . . and so is yours," Jake grunted, smacking her ass cheeks yet again to emphasize the anal double entendre.

"Naughty macho CEO, playing rough with your 'woke hires,'" Sally snickered.

"The future is female, bitch. Get your hot sneaky ass outta here!"

He spanked her again, sending her scampering down the hallway and stairs like a giddy Catholic schoolgirl. Pissing Lisa off royally with her thorough enjoyment of their adulterous escapade. She heard the front door open and shut, followed by a sports car engine roaring to life. She peered out the guest bedroom window and saw a blood red Lamborghini zooming down the long country lane toward Hampton Roads. So she obviously wasn't his secretary or some desperate unpaid intern. Probably an overpaid and underqualified executive that he ogled during board meetings. Claiming to be out "conferring with major investors" to cover their blatantly HR-violating tracks.

Rage took complete control of Officer Lisa O'Neal. She wanted to kill that smirking bastard, shooting him right there on that cum-soaked bed with the gun they kept in a drawer on the nightstand to ward off rural prowlers. But that would make her too obviously guilty. She had to use her keen wits to devise a more devious way of offing him. Some way to get off scot-free and claim Jake's $600 million fortune all to herself, with a bonus "parlay" payout from his sizable life insurance policy.

She put on a false calm facade and walked nonchalantly toward the master bedroom, as if she hadn't just seen what she'd seen. Grinning devilishly in role-playing mode, like a jilted rich trophy wife on her favorite 2010's prime time soap opera, Revenge.

Lisa peeked around the corner and saw him putting his pants back on. She waited for him to get fully dressed, then she pranced right in.

"Hey baby-doll, I'm home early," she cooed just as sweetly as Sally, skillfully concealing her true hellish fury.

"So am I," replied her surprised husband. He hastily pulled the female ejaculate-soaked sheets off the mattress.

"What happened to the bedsheets? Why are they all wet?"

"Uh . . . I was cleaning up in here, and I spilled a bucket of water."

"Butterfingers," Lisa snickered deviously. "You fumbled too often at Wake Forest, and that's why you're not in the NFL."

"Yeah, whatever," he grunted indignantly. "How was the big reveal for your Harry Potter invisible sailor thingy?"

"It went great, baby," Lisa beamed. A light bulb of evil genius flashed in her head. Of course! She had to use that invisibility potion in her murder plot, to conceal her presence and make it look like a hunting accident. She spent the rest of the evening pretending to watch NCIS reruns while formulating a good plan. It would certainly fool those smug sunglassed navy detectives who usually couldn't catch a cold, unlike their fictional plastic surgery-enhanced CBS counterparts.

Lisa drove back to the Norfolk research department the next morning; her Harvard-educated mind brimming with childish naughtiness. Looking forward to enacting her homicidal plan while perfecting her invisibility formula. She never should have married that Tom Brady-esque bozo in the first place. Now he was screwing some one-percenter tomato who never should have given him the time of day.

She gathered her scientific associates in a high-tech lab room with a big grin on her pretty face.

"Today's another big day, comrades. We've proven the efficacy of TDZ on inanimate objects and guinea pigs, so now it's time to test this 'vanishing cream' on a human being. That human being me."

"Wow, Officer O'Neal. You're really brave," replied Officer Bruce Puglia.

"Hell yeah. I got bigger balls than most of these macho navy douchebags," she snickered.

Lisa rolled up her blue camouflaged right sleeve, revealing impressively toned biceps from frequent workouts at the navy gym. More like Popeye than Olive Oyl. She unscrewed a bottle of a top secret formula that will surely usher in a second "Pax Americana" era throughout the world, then she grabbed the same paintbrush as yesterday with a still-invisible brush head. Dipping it in the creamy concoction while humming her favorite heavy metal Villain of The Story tune. She held the brush with her left hand while applying TDZ to her right arm. Her partners gasped in delightful shock as her arm seemed to completely disappear.

"I'll be damned. Scientific progress just went 'boink,'" James Kent uttered in awe, quoting Calvin and Hobbes.

"The Invisible Woman, right before my very eyes," Pete Crenshaw grunted. "H. G. Wells must be rolling over in his grave."

"H. G. who?" asked Roger Thompson.

"Damn, boy. You should read some actual books instead of Facebook," Lisa snickered while shadowboxing with her invisible right arm, casting no shadow under the lab lights. "Art imitates life, and truth is stranger than fiction."

She picked up a baseball with her invisible hand, tossing it eerily up and down while picturing her husband screwing the shit out of that airhead ginger.

"This really is the 'endgame,'" murmured Jane Brickowski.

"In more ways than one, honey," Lisa beamed, bursting out in evil supervillain-ish laughter. Everyone else laughed softly and awkwardly, liking their crazy boss but not wanting to encourage her craziness any more than necessary.

Lisa removed the invisibility potion from her arm with soap and water, sighing pleasantly at the comforting return of her five digits with one diamond wedding ring attached. She always wore that ring at work to ward off horny seamen . . . but not for much longer.

She left the base early once again, using her tall pile of paid leave time for a nefarious purpose. Admiring the battleships in the harbor once again, psyching herself up for a one-woman domestic "stealth strike." Justifying the major felonies she was about to commit in the name of American freedom. She couldn't be happy and focused if she didn't get revenge on her cheating "lover." If she wasn't happy and focused, her important military science projects would suffer, and the enemies of democracy would commit much worse crimes.

Lisa enacted the first phase of her plan by pulling the Range Rover off the country road at the service driveway instead of the main driveway a quarter mile farther down, so her closest neighbors and potential witnesses couldn't see her coming home. That luxurious four wheel drive British SUV handled the bumpy horse trail quite well, but she could still hear her invisible hunting rifle bouncing around in the back cargo bay. Breathing a sigh of relief at not getting pulled over by any cops or Virginia State Troopers on the way home. It was a legal registered firearm, but those legal protections were voided when she made it vanish.

She parked a thousand feet away from the house, shielded from view by a copse of evergreen trees. Peering through a small gap in the branches, she saw Jake's swanky Mercedes S 500 and Sally's kick-ass Lamborghini Huracán. Not compensating for any shortcomings, just flaunting their success like the white-collar sleazeballs they were. Lisa stripped bare in a shady nook and smeared soothing TDZ cream all over her perfect ten body. Getting her Brazilian-shaved pussy nice and wet while making it invisible.

The wind shifted toward her direction, carrying the sound of Sally's loud theatrical moaning and groaning all the way from the master bedroom. Lisa growled with renewed rage, balling her fists and feeling that $18,000 24-karat ring pressing between two fingers on her right hand. That sleazy motherfucker probably banged lots of other hot mommas behind her back . . . but he picked the wrong wife to scorn.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jake couldn't believe his luck with women. They always fell right in his lap, figuratively and literally. He looked down at Sally's bobbing red hair as she sucked his big manly cock, then he tilted his head back and growled toward a crystal chandelier. He still loved everything about that blonde bombshell . . . but she wasn't putting out much anymore, so she was "asking for trouble," as his old Wake Forest teammates often said in the showers.

"God damn, ginger. You're a hot rich bitch, giving the best blowjobs south of Richmond," he growled ecstatically. Sally giggled with a mouthful. Twisting her head all the way up and down his long thick shaft, with spit oozing between her lips every time they expanded against his fat mushroom tip. Her big milky white tits swayed gently with the rocking motion of her torso. He loved how her pointy perk pink nipples kept bumping against his beefy quads. Thanking god for letting him live the Fortune 500 high life with all the playboy trimmings, even in the paranoid #MeToo era.

"Slutty little Sally, playing footsie with your boss under the board table. You asked for trouble, and now you're gonna get it!"

He grabbed her head with both hands and face-fucked her at full-speed, gagging that redhead like a machine gun. She jacked her clit just as fast with her dainty right hand, racing toward a mutual perverted climax. But Jake pulled out before either of them could cum.

"I ain't done with you yet, bitch. We're gonna make this little 'corporate field trip' last."

"Yes sir, Mister O'Neal," she giggled naughtily. "Your naughty CFO needs an 'oral audit,'" she added slyly, pointing at her red-haired pussy.

"God, I love your dirty mouth."

"Me too."

Sally lay down at the edge of his king-size marriage bed, spreading her sexy legs as wide as she could. Jake dropped down on his knees on the plush purple carpet that Lisa picked out, burying his face in his mistress' fire crotch. Slurping and sucking her sweet pink folds, slobbering disgustingly, driving her insane. Feeling no guilt about cheating on his wife because he was raised by a "whatever" suburban family, unlike Lisa who was raised by a rural "get down on your sinful knees and repent!" family.

"Fuck yeah, big boss man! You eat my twat so fucking good. Like a real man!"

That insult to his well-honed masculinity revved him up even more, spanking her ass nice and hard with both hands. He was addicted to kinky sex, needing to dominate as many women as possible to compensate for the lack of discipline from his parents.

"That's right, spank your little corporate whore. 'Risk management' for an insurance tycoon."

He laughed and growled at the same time, smacking her heart-shaped rump over and over while tongue-fucking her throbbing twat.

"Oh shit, that's so fucking good! I'm gonna squirt all over your fucking face! Shit, shit, shiiiit, HOOOOOWAAAAAAAH!"

Sally blasted Jake's face like a ghetto fire hydrant, making him groan indignantly as she moaned ecstatically.

"Naughty fucking ginger, soaking my wife's fancy silk sheets again. I'm gonna punish your ass real good with my big executive rod."

"Fuck yeah, boss. Tie me up and beat me down!"

"Yes ma'am, Miss Sloane. I haven't bound my brainy blonde bimbo wife since New Year's Eve."

"You better 'Auld Lang Syne' my ass, nice and hard," Sally giggled delightfully. Jake opened a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out several lengths of rope. He used them to bind her wrists and ankles to the brass bars of the headboard, wishboning her supermodel body in a wide diagonal V-shape that he often put Lisa in.

"You need more pain than my hands can give, baby-doll. You need my wife's favorite paddle."

He reached into the same drawer and pulled out a huge slab of black leather and metal rivets, attached to a wooden handle wrapped with more black leather and rivets.

"Holy shit," Sally gasped meekly.

"Holy shit indeed. This is the same kind of paddle that Lisa's daddy spanked her with when she was a naughty catholic schoolgirl. She got one of her own when she joined the navy, and it really helped her out with 'basic training.'"

THWACK!

"Ooooh fuuuck," Sally groaned delightfully, savoring the sting of genuine cowhide on every square inch of her ass.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

"Oh shit! That hurts so good, daddy! Don't fucking stop!"

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

"Oooh yeah! Punish me so good, daddy! Oooooh yeah, ooooooWAAAAAA-HA-HAAAAAA!"

She squirted all over the paddle, making the black genuine leather gleam amazingly. Thrashing her body violently in climactic bliss, rattling the metal headboard like hell. Completely unaware that Lisa was watching them this whole time from the open doorway, masturbating just as eagerly as yesterday afternoon. Working her clit with her right hand while clutching the invisible hunting rifle with the left.

"Screw my brains out, daddy!" Sally groaned desperately, panting and squirming in tight yogic bondage. "You know I need that big rod so deep in my bod."

"You need to shut the fuck up, you ditzy woke-hired whore."

Jake grabbed Lisa's favorite pink rubber ball gag and jammed it between Sally's full red lips and pearly white teeth, fastening it firmly against her flaming copper hair. Then he grabbed a pair of metal crab-shaped clamps and clipped them onto her pink nipples, making her groan awkwardly through the gag.

"You like those little crabs, ginger?"

"Phuph yaa, daphee!"

"Lisa loves 'em too. She's a really selfish shellfish fan," he remarked, making Sally giggle through the gag.

"The quickest way to a woman's heart is through her nipples," he uttered wryly. "Once you've conquered her heart, you better screw her senseless."

He slammed his massive manhood through her anal sphincter, slamming her balled-up body against the metal bars, making her scream more muffled profanities. Jake had grown to prefer redheads over blondes, liking Sally's spritely feminine antics better than Lisa's gruff boyishness. More obedient and fun for a control freak CEO.

"Fuck yeah, you kinky ginger freak!" Jake growled while jackhammering away. "I'll fuck your dirty ass so hard, so you'll be limping into the board meeting tomorrow."

He wrapped his strong hands around Sally's pale slender neck, whipping her lean Pilates body back and forth like a basketball on the king size bed. The loud rattling sound of the metal headboard drove Lisa just as wild with voyeuristic lust. She leaned the rifle against the door frame and finger-fucked herself as fast as she could with her left hand while pummeling her clit without being able to see her right hand doing it. It obviously wouldn't take long for all three of them to reach an earth-shattering conclusion. Sally squirted first, making a hideous rubber-muffled racket. Jake wasn't far behind.

"I'm gonna cum right on that pink ball, girly-girl!"

He pulled that long dong out of her bum and blasted another huge wad right on the gag, raining hot cream down on her tits, abs and pussy.

"Fuck yeaaaaah, biiiiiiiiitch!" he roared with white-collar machismo, jerking out every last drop. "You're such a good ginger whore. Better than that blonde navy brat I married."

"Ya phu, Miphhu O'Pheee!" she cackled delightfully through the white-splattered pink Barbie gag.

Lisa regathered her wits and tiptoed over to the guest bedroom, waiting for Sally to get dressed and retreat from her latest tryst. Clutching that invisible rifle with surging endorphins and blinding rage, turning off her strong mind and focusing on primal revenge. The same madness that led her to create such a risky potion now led her to the very depths of insanity.

Sally soon raced down the driveway in her ridiculous Italian sports car, kicking up a big cloud of dust over the horse pasture. Her car turned right and disappeared into a forest that concealed the house from the main road. Lisa took a deep breath to steel her resolve, then she marched forward like a Seal Team Sixer into a lion's den full of suicide bombers.

Jake was sprawled out naked on the king size bed with his big dick pointing up to a big mirror. Admiring his big sweaty muscles, savoring the afterglow from his wild cheating romp.

"I'm hooome, Jakey," Lisa uttered mockingly from the other end of the bedroom. Jake turned his head in that direction, but couldn't see her.

"Huh? Where are you hiding, babe?"

"I'm not hiding . . . babe," she uttered mockingly, implying her knowledge of his secret affair.

"What the hell, Lisa?"

She tiptoed her invisible naked body across the room and replied sternly: "You're the one who's going to hell, Jake. I just saw your kinky freak show with that corporate whore. You really seem to like her."

"Oh shit, this has to be a dream," Jake groaned. He hopped out of bed and rushed toward Lisa, but she ran to the opposite corner long before he got there.

"It's no dream, Mister O'Neal. It's a nightmare . . . of your own making."

"I'm sick and tired of your crazy games!" he growled, pouncing toward her but grabbing only thin air. "Stop hiding behind that goddamn sci-fi invisibility shit, and let's talk this over like adults. You know I still love you, Lisa."

"Bullshit! You only love your posh job and your playboy lifestyle. Well . . . guess what, darling? I know you've been embezzling insurance funds from Harrison Trust, using them to buy fancy presents for your airhead bimbos."

"How do you know that?" Jake uttered fearfully, with his whole house of cards crashing down around him.

"A little navy stealth, combined with your own stupidity. Never deleting the browsing history on your incriminating computer," Lisa snickered, stroking her invisible rifle eagerly. "This is the end, buster. I'm gonna stop your crazy games once and for all."

"Please, baby. Give me one more chance. I promise I'll stop stealing and cheating."

Lisa knew that was a complete baldfaced lie, but she continued her clever plan by uttering her own baldfaced lie.

"Ohhh . . . all right, Jakey. You sound really remorseful, so I'll give you one more chance."

"Thanks, Lisa," he groaned in relief. "I'll dump that ginger CFO as soon as I get to the office tomorrow. It never would have worked going public with our relationship. The HR gestapo would have rode our asses about a 'conflict of interest' with 'unbalanced power dynamics.'"

"Yeah, whatever," Lisa grumbled, sensing the insincerity in his suave 'selling ice to Eskimos' tone. "Shut up and kiss me, boss."

"Yes ma'am, you sexy mad scientist," Jake chuckled. He strolled toward the sound of her voice, but Lisa hustled to the other side of the room, and he embraced only air.

"I'm over here by the window, Jakey. Naked as hell, basking in the sweet sunshine."

"Yeah, I know you love feeling those UV rays all over your hot body," he remarked while slowly moving in that sunny direction. "Good thing you're invisible right now. But there's no neighbors around to see our shame way out here in the boondocks."

Lisa scowled viciously while crouching down and aiming her invisible rifle up toward his forehead.

"The shame is on you, Mister O'Neal . . . so I'm gonna make you disappear."

Lisa growled fiercely and pulled the trigger, blowing the entire top half of his head off and splattering his brains against a mahogany dresser. His lifeless body slumped down on the purple shag carpeting, leaving only deathly silence throughout their big $2 million house. Symbolically destroying her unhappy past and starting a new, much better chapter. She remembered that she had to make it look like a hunting accident, so she turned around and broke the window with the butt end of her rifle, knowing that deerslaying bullets can travel well over a mile. She whistled a happy tune while strolling out of the bedroom, avoiding the blood and gore, entering a spacious bathroom.

It took a long hot shower to completely remove all the tetrasodium dihydrophosphate zincobenzene from her pale white flesh, but it was thoroughly invigorating. Washing away the bad vibes that accumulated over the years, admiring her naked sexy body as it returned to full visible glory. Navy girls have to love water, and she was definitely a raving aquaphile.

She dried off with her favorite pink towel, then she hustled back out to her Range Rover and drove it back out to the main road. Going a quarter mile down and turning onto the main driveway that she always entered after driving home, in sight of their nearest neighbor's house across a huge corn field. If the Jepsons were home and they happened to be looking out their front windows, it would seem like Lisa was returning from the base at her usual time, after a long workout at the navy gym. Setting a solid alibi for the police detectives and NCIS shitheads.

She entered the house nonchalantly and went back upstairs to the master bedroom with her dead husband. Picking up the phone and dialing 911, getting into the false character of a shocked panicky pussy-ass trophy wife.

Lisa's entire plan went off without a hitch. She bawled her eyes out for the detectives, angrily blaming the unlicensed hunters who frequented the woods around her estate. Using the acting skills she'd honed in high school plays before focusing on her true calling of science in service of Truth, Justice, and The American Way. The York County cops were quite convinced by her well-rehearsed lies, falling for them hook line and sinker. It took a long time for a forensic crew to clean up the crime scene and get Jake's brain-oozing corpse ready for transport to a morgue, but then she was finally alone again in that big quiet house.

Her false grief melted into maniacal laughter while watching the last police car disappear around a distant bend in the driveway. Feeling so free, looking forward to banging better men and putting an end to "forever wars" with her "magic" vanishing cream. She deserved much better than that lousy CEO of a greedy insurance company with an uber-annoying CGI mascot.

She stripped bare and sank down on a plush red velvet sofa, masturbating eagerly once again. Fantasizing about getting ass-fucked by Admiral Crow.