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I originally posted this a while back, I've given it a re-working and tried to make it smoother to read. I'd appreciate if you could take a look at it and suggest any improvements or offer and feedback on it because I think I'd like to offer it to thirteen magazine.
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I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female without a second thought.
This is something that began as simply a morbid curiosity for me, but grew into a deep and embedded fantasy of mine. The dark, grotesque plant inside my twisted self that needed watering. I began with asking “what if?” curiously this advanced to “when?” and “whom?” I knew my affliction was growing out of control, the buds of my wretched fetish were blossoming inside of me, and I was powerless to stop it. I went about the necessary arrangements, not on my own conscience but acting upon impulse to quieten those voices inside my head that screeched furiously at me, “Do it”, “Do it”.
I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and whilst buying the sheet, as a complete coincidence, I noticed perhaps the most beautiful instrument I had ever seen. It was a 3 foot long metal bar with a serrated and slightly curved blade protruding from the top, it’s primary use was for cutting up roots in the garden, but the voices had other plans. I sped home with my newly made purchases on the passenger seat, smiling vacantly at them whenever I could spare to take my eyes from the road. Once home I wedged the metal tool into the gap between my bed and the small bedside cabinet on the right of the bed. I placed the plastic sheet over my duvet, I didn’t want to stain anything – blood is hard to get out of white cotton. With the instruments of my violence fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the savage act with. A male. The more pathetic the better.
That night I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood provocatively at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “I like your blouse”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned imprudently, exposing a row of crooked yellowish piano keys sticking jaggedly from his gums. “Alright then” I retorted. The plump man looked shocked that his pitiful ploy had finally seen success, and quickly marched me outside to his car before I had time to change my mind.
I directed his leather-seated car to my flat, making generic small talk on the way there. I sold him a fictitious career, invented a name and upbringing for myself, and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his gibbering as I was too busy anticipating the impending carnal proceedings. Something deep inside of me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the twisted desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of both nervousness and lust.
As we vacated his car and walked up the steps to my flat he began kissing my neck and unsubtly caressing my left breast. His touch was like sandpaper an his breath stank heavily of beer and cigarettes, but I let him persist as soon I would be fulfilled. We moved into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, writhing like eels in a jar. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an excited child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated for a while before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap and his eyelids shut for the final time. With one arm I delicately stroked his soft, hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face; his eyes screwed tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft vulnerable throat exposed. I savoured the touch of the cold iron against my hand before pulling the tool back against the headboard and swinging forwards with all my might to decapitate the pitiful being and let nature take its course.
-----------------------------------
I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female without a second thought.
This is something that began as simply a morbid curiosity for me, but grew into a deep and embedded fantasy of mine. The dark, grotesque plant inside my twisted self that needed watering. I began with asking “what if?” curiously this advanced to “when?” and “whom?” I knew my affliction was growing out of control, the buds of my wretched fetish were blossoming inside of me, and I was powerless to stop it. I went about the necessary arrangements, not on my own conscience but acting upon impulse to quieten those voices inside my head that screeched furiously at me, “Do it”, “Do it”.
I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and whilst buying the sheet, as a complete coincidence, I noticed perhaps the most beautiful instrument I had ever seen. It was a 3 foot long metal bar with a serrated and slightly curved blade protruding from the top, it’s primary use was for cutting up roots in the garden, but the voices had other plans. I sped home with my newly made purchases on the passenger seat, smiling vacantly at them whenever I could spare to take my eyes from the road. Once home I wedged the metal tool into the gap between my bed and the small bedside cabinet on the right of the bed. I placed the plastic sheet over my duvet, I didn’t want to stain anything – blood is hard to get out of white cotton. With the instruments of my violence fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the savage act with. A male. The more pathetic the better.
That night I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood provocatively at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “I like your blouse”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned imprudently, exposing a row of crooked yellowish piano keys sticking jaggedly from his gums. “Alright then” I retorted. The plump man looked shocked that his pitiful ploy had finally seen success, and quickly marched me outside to his car before I had time to change my mind.
I directed his leather-seated car to my flat, making generic small talk on the way there. I sold him a fictitious career, invented a name and upbringing for myself, and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his gibbering as I was too busy anticipating the impending carnal proceedings. Something deep inside of me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the twisted desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of both nervousness and lust.
As we vacated his car and walked up the steps to my flat he began kissing my neck and unsubtly caressing my left breast. His touch was like sandpaper an his breath stank heavily of beer and cigarettes, but I let him persist as soon I would be fulfilled. We moved into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, writhing like eels in a jar. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an excited child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated for a while before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap and his eyelids shut for the final time. With one arm I delicately stroked his soft, hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face; his eyes screwed tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft vulnerable throat exposed. I savoured the touch of the cold iron against my hand before pulling the tool back against the headboard and swinging forwards with all my might to decapitate the pitiful being and let nature take its course.
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Top half.
Throwing the bottom half in would sort of defeat the point of doing it in the first place. :P
Throwing the bottom half in would sort of defeat the point of doing it in the first place. :P
"himself" being which bit, exactly?
Paradox: wrote:
>
> I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its
> head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex
> by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish
> the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female
> without a second thought.
apparently the male throws himself into the female's jaws as it allows him to copulate with her for longer.
>
> I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its
> head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex
> by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish
> the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female
> without a second thought.
apparently the male throws himself into the female's jaws as it allows him to copulate with her for longer.
I originally posted this a while back, I've given it a re-working and tried to make it smoother to read. I'd appreciate if you could take a look at it and suggest any improvements or offer and feedback on it because I think I'd like to offer it to thirteen magazine.
-----------------------------------
I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female without a second thought.
This is something that began as simply a morbid curiosity for me, but grew into a deep and embedded fantasy of mine. The dark, grotesque plant inside my twisted self that needed watering. I began with asking “what if?” curiously this advanced to “when?” and “whom?” I knew my affliction was growing out of control, the buds of my wretched fetish were blossoming inside of me, and I was powerless to stop it. I went about the necessary arrangements, not on my own conscience but acting upon impulse to quieten those voices inside my head that screeched furiously at me, “Do it”, “Do it”.
I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and whilst buying the sheet, as a complete coincidence, I noticed perhaps the most beautiful instrument I had ever seen. It was a 3 foot long metal bar with a serrated and slightly curved blade protruding from the top, it’s primary use was for cutting up roots in the garden, but the voices had other plans. I sped home with my newly made purchases on the passenger seat, smiling vacantly at them whenever I could spare to take my eyes from the road. Once home I wedged the metal tool into the gap between my bed and the small bedside cabinet on the right of the bed. I placed the plastic sheet over my duvet, I didn’t want to stain anything – blood is hard to get out of white cotton. With the instruments of my violence fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the savage act with. A male. The more pathetic the better.
That night I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood provocatively at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “I like your blouse”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned imprudently, exposing a row of crooked yellowish piano keys sticking jaggedly from his gums. “Alright then” I retorted. The plump man looked shocked that his pitiful ploy had finally seen success, and quickly marched me outside to his car before I had time to change my mind.
I directed his leather-seated car to my flat, making generic small talk on the way there. I sold him a fictitious career, invented a name and upbringing for myself, and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his gibbering as I was too busy anticipating the impending carnal proceedings. Something deep inside of me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the twisted desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of both nervousness and lust.
As we vacated his car and walked up the steps to my flat he began kissing my neck and unsubtly caressing my left breast. His touch was like sandpaper an his breath stank heavily of beer and cigarettes, but I let him persist as soon I would be fulfilled. We moved into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, writhing like eels in a jar. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an excited child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated for a while before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap and his eyelids shut for the final time. With one arm I delicately stroked his soft, hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face; his eyes screwed tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft vulnerable throat exposed. I savoured the touch of the cold iron against my hand before pulling the tool back against the headboard and swinging forwards with all my might to decapitate the pitiful being and let nature take its course.
-----------------------------------
I once read that the male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body, the female of the species initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. The male lives long enough to finish the act but dies shortly afterwards. Disposed of by the female without a second thought.
This is something that began as simply a morbid curiosity for me, but grew into a deep and embedded fantasy of mine. The dark, grotesque plant inside my twisted self that needed watering. I began with asking “what if?” curiously this advanced to “when?” and “whom?” I knew my affliction was growing out of control, the buds of my wretched fetish were blossoming inside of me, and I was powerless to stop it. I went about the necessary arrangements, not on my own conscience but acting upon impulse to quieten those voices inside my head that screeched furiously at me, “Do it”, “Do it”.
I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and whilst buying the sheet, as a complete coincidence, I noticed perhaps the most beautiful instrument I had ever seen. It was a 3 foot long metal bar with a serrated and slightly curved blade protruding from the top, it’s primary use was for cutting up roots in the garden, but the voices had other plans. I sped home with my newly made purchases on the passenger seat, smiling vacantly at them whenever I could spare to take my eyes from the road. Once home I wedged the metal tool into the gap between my bed and the small bedside cabinet on the right of the bed. I placed the plastic sheet over my duvet, I didn’t want to stain anything – blood is hard to get out of white cotton. With the instruments of my violence fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the savage act with. A male. The more pathetic the better.
That night I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood provocatively at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “I like your blouse”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned imprudently, exposing a row of crooked yellowish piano keys sticking jaggedly from his gums. “Alright then” I retorted. The plump man looked shocked that his pitiful ploy had finally seen success, and quickly marched me outside to his car before I had time to change my mind.
I directed his leather-seated car to my flat, making generic small talk on the way there. I sold him a fictitious career, invented a name and upbringing for myself, and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his gibbering as I was too busy anticipating the impending carnal proceedings. Something deep inside of me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the twisted desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of both nervousness and lust.
As we vacated his car and walked up the steps to my flat he began kissing my neck and unsubtly caressing my left breast. His touch was like sandpaper an his breath stank heavily of beer and cigarettes, but I let him persist as soon I would be fulfilled. We moved into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, writhing like eels in a jar. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an excited child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated for a while before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap and his eyelids shut for the final time. With one arm I delicately stroked his soft, hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face; his eyes screwed tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft vulnerable throat exposed. I savoured the touch of the cold iron against my hand before pulling the tool back against the headboard and swinging forwards with all my might to decapitate the pitiful being and let nature take its course.
Page: