#488) A Morality Tale

(This is NOT an example of my usual story, filled with spanking and sex. It’s an early attempt at writerly storytelling. Be forewarned, please.)
Imagine this is your story, please take it just that personally, just that seriously. You are born. You are conscious that many others are born simultaneously, your competition. Your brain doesn’t really process the concept of time, but you do realize that you get to live longer than many others around you, and that living is good. You grow, motivated to eat as much as possible. You don’t get fat; you do get big, which is an advantage. Then, one fine day a switch clicks on in your head and you have the uncontrollable urge to have sex. Maybe part of that switch-flip is the proximity of another. You can sense her, perceive for the first time the concept of gender, which comes in handy because you are besotted by this amazon of a female. All you want is to have sex, and amazingly, that’s what she wants, too. So you do, and it is beyond your capacity to fully appreciate; it’s that fucking good! It is going great, there is this fire in your belly and it is starting to move through you, warming you as it goes. It becomes clear that this fire is going to burn its way out of you and into her. You have the feeling that she is going to love this, that you have found something you are naturally good at. Just as it all starts to “come together,” darned if she doesn’t reach out and bite your neck. She’s a passionate one, this girl. It is the best fucking sex of your life, but it is the only fucking sex of your life. She bites your head off. Literally. It makes your orgasm more complete, better insures that she will get pregnant.
Such is the life of a praying mantis. Males of the human species, take to heart the lessons to be learned from these Mantidae. It’s up to you to determine what lessons apply to you.
My name is Faith. I wouldn’t label myself as a true submissive, but that’s what I tell Dominants who are making moves on me in BDS&M bars and dungeons all over New York City. I would label myself as a student of human behavior and sexuality. I’m fascinated by the dynamic between Dominants and submissives. It’s almost as if I’m a zoologist doing a field study of them in their habitat. Here’s what I’ve learned, my doctoral dissertation, if you will. At its best, the D/s relationship is the epitome of what the sexual interactions between two people should be. The quality of finely-tuned listening exceeds that of any other orientation. Watching brats brat can piss me off just as much as their Top, watching passive-aggressive behaviors can make me want to tan a deserving fanny as much as the next person. I’ve seen all of these behaviors (and so much more) first-hand in my safe introduction to this scene in a threesome (and moresome) with a great couple in a very open relationship. But all of those errant acts are within the realm of anticipated phenomenon.
What does set my teeth on edge is a small subset of Doms, men who are not truly Dominant, just uncaring assholes who are bullies. They’ve lost that ability to listen, to care, to respond accordingly, if they ever possessed it in the first place. Those are the men I target.
The funny thing is, they think that they’re targeting me, as if there was a big bull’s eye painted on my round, shapely butt. They’re attracted to me like sharks to chum. (I like that analogy. These men visualize my pretty bottom all chewed up like raw hamburger meat. I like the analogy much more than the one I thought of first, like flies to excrement. That one reflects poorly on me.) I just play coy, perch myself pertly on a barstool and let them swarm around. I try to mention that I’m an inexperienced spanko who is curious about getting into heavier play. Most often it’s rather challenging to shoehorn this fact into the conversation, the arrogant Dom is too busy bragging about all of his exploits, how studly he is. The more toxic he is, the better; I want to take these individuals out of circulation, reduce the gene pool one at a time.
I let him take me back to his place. I insist that he wear a condom, with the promise that if we play well together, that won’t be necessary in the future. I repeat that I’m inexperienced, have only been spanked in my past.
“Would you warm me up gradually before we get into deeper stuff, okay?”
Nine times out of ten, the Dom will say yes, but bear down hard right away. Like I said, I’m not a true sub, but I’ve trained myself to take it. It’s my means to an end. His. As soon as it’s believable to do so, I’ll beg him to segue from beating to fucking, again citing my tender tushy.
I keep a razor blade hidden away in my wide watchband. When the Dom is distracted by the warm grip of my pussy, I reach up and slash his jugular. Most often, I’ll reach down and do the same to his femoral artery for good measure. It’s true. In the death throes, a man who is on his way to cumming will ejaculate everything in his reservoir. I’ve seen some condoms filled-up with an amazing amount of creamy jism as they bleed-out.
So far, I’ve never gone to the same bar or dungeon a second time. There’s lots of choice in all the five boroughs of NYC. And I’m performing such a beneficial public service. So, as I said, pay attention if you need to, learn the lesson you need to know, fuckers!

2 responses to “#488) A Morality Tale”

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