Sausagey Santa by Iii Carlton Mellick Page B

me. My punishment will probably be pretty severe this time. If I’m lucky she won’t let me have any of my piercings for Christmas. Or maybe she’ll make me go to my room during Jesus’ birthday party.
     
     
    Nora sits down on a chair in front of the tree, guarding the presents.
    “Suck in your gut,” she tells me.
    I do as she commands but let it slack when I turn away from her, calling her a fucking witch under my breath. “Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer” is now playing on the stereo. It is a funky disco mix version. I pour myself some more eggnog and groove across the horsehair carpet into the kitchen.
    Decapitron is putting the finishing touches on Jesus’ birthday cake. The twins are strapped to her back gurgling at each other. Both boys were born with full heads of hair that now look like large globs of cotton candy. My wife decided to dye each of their heads a different fruity color. Matt Jr. has neon green hair. Decapitron Jr. has turquoise blue hair. Matt Jr. goes by Greeny or Matty. Decapitron Jr. goes by Bluey or Tron or Voltron. We are considering changing his name to Voltron. Matty will probably go by Matt when he’s older. My wife never calls me Matt anyway so there wouldn’t be much confusion.
    When I was younger I went by Sly Guy Matthew Fry, or Sly Fry for short. That’s what I like to be called. But Decapitron and my kids just address me by my surname, Fry. My wife didn’t take my last name when we got married, she doesn’t have a last name at all, so it’s not that strange when she calls me Fry. But it’s weird when the kids do it. They don’t call me Dad or Matthew or Sly Guy. I’m just Fry to them.
    The twins are about two years old but they still look like they are infants. I’m not sure if they are ever going to grow up. Decapitron still breastfeeds them. She has them holstered on her back so she can whip them out like shotguns or samurai swords whenever it’s time for them to feed. She wears a breakaway top designed for strippers so that she can rip it open and fling them towards her breasts in the blink of an eye.
    I think she has been breastfeeding them for so long because it turns her on. I’m not positive about this, but she’s a weird fucking woman so I wouldn’t put it past her. She has pierced nipples and likes to have them sucked, especially while she’s lactating. I know because she usually forces me to drink from her nipples while we have sex. I’m pretty sure the doctor told her she shouldn’t keep her piercings in, but there’s no arguing with Decapitron. I used to tell her that the kids would turn out funny if she breastfeeds them for too long, but she just tells me to shut up or she will annihilate me.
     
     
    Decapitron is always threatening to annihilate me. And she could do it, too. Easily. She annihilates people for a living. By day, her j ob is housewife. But by night, she earns a living as a death sport street fighter.
    She only fights about two or three times a year and usually makes a few hundred grand a match. It is all illegal, of course. Her sponsors are a French mafia family that sends her all over the world to fight in private tournaments. Most of the matches are not officially bouts to the death, but whenever my wife fights the match is always to the death. She never allows any of her opponents to survive, because her finishing maneuver is a powerful roundhouse kick that causes decapitation. After all, she has to live up to her name. The audience always loves her. They are there to see fatalities and she never fails to give them some.
     
     
    Our relationship was pretty much built on fear. It started out as just a crazy sexual escapade. Me with my irresistible hairdo and super slick dance moves. Decapitron with her black makeup and tight leather outfits. She was instantly attracted to me, as most of the ladies were, and aggressively came on to me at a nightclub. I never slept with a dominatrix type before, so I decided to give her a try. One