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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 straight 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?” but this advanced to “when?” and “who?” I knew my affliction was growing out of hand, 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, yelling, shouting and not giving me a moments rest. I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and it was whilst buying the sheet 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 I had other ideas.
I wedged the 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 cotton. With the instruments of my fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the act with. A male of the species; the more pathetic the better.
I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood sultrily at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink, and he would be mine. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “Nice top”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned a stupid grin exposing his crooked yellowish teeth. “Alright then” I retorted. The 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 him to my flat, making small talk on the way there. I told him a fictitious career and invented a name and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his rabble I was too busy anticipating the events to come. A feeling deep inside me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the sick desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of nervousness and lust. As we got out of his big-shot 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 like feet, 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 bathtub. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an exciting child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated briefly before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap. With one arm I stroked his soft hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face, eyes screwed up tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft precious throat exposed. I savoured the feel of the cold iron in my hands 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.
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?” but this advanced to “when?” and “who?” I knew my affliction was growing out of hand, 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, yelling, shouting and not giving me a moments rest. I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and it was whilst buying the sheet 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 I had other ideas.
I wedged the 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 cotton. With the instruments of my fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the act with. A male of the species; the more pathetic the better.
I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood sultrily at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink, and he would be mine. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “Nice top”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned a stupid grin exposing his crooked yellowish teeth. “Alright then” I retorted. The 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 him to my flat, making small talk on the way there. I told him a fictitious career and invented a name and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his rabble I was too busy anticipating the events to come. A feeling deep inside me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the sick desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of nervousness and lust. As we got out of his big-shot 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 like feet, 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 bathtub. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an exciting child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated briefly before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap. With one arm I stroked his soft hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face, eyes screwed up tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft precious throat exposed. I savoured the feel of the cold iron in my hands 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.
Yesyesyesyes!
That's all I can muster. Goodun.
That's all I can muster. Goodun.
Excellent!
.. but it ended too soon for me, I wanted to know what happened next. Did it work? Should I go out and discover this for myself?
.. but it ended too soon for me, I wanted to know what happened next. Did it work? Should I go out and discover this for myself?
gyrated?
Dear God, that's a new one.
Brilliantly psychotic, as usual.
Dear God, that's a new one.
Brilliantly psychotic, as usual.
Yes...originality heh;)
Albino-Man wrote:
> Weird, yet it takes a new and different course compared to your other
> work. I liked it.
My originality, being praised? There's a new one.
Thanks for the comments chaps and chapettes.
> Weird, yet it takes a new and different course compared to your other
> work. I liked it.
My originality, being praised? There's a new one.
Thanks for the comments chaps and chapettes.
Ooh, reminded me of Species.. The first paragraph, I had this image of you frantically typing away at a typewriter.. screenwriter typer person. Interesting, no? Yay!
Weird, yet it takes a new and different course compared to your other work. I liked it.
Weird.
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 straight 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?” but this advanced to “when?” and “who?” I knew my affliction was growing out of hand, 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, yelling, shouting and not giving me a moments rest. I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and it was whilst buying the sheet 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 I had other ideas.
I wedged the 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 cotton. With the instruments of my fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the act with. A male of the species; the more pathetic the better.
I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood sultrily at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink, and he would be mine. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “Nice top”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned a stupid grin exposing his crooked yellowish teeth. “Alright then” I retorted. The 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 him to my flat, making small talk on the way there. I told him a fictitious career and invented a name and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his rabble I was too busy anticipating the events to come. A feeling deep inside me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the sick desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of nervousness and lust. As we got out of his big-shot 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 like feet, 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 bathtub. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an exciting child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated briefly before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap. With one arm I stroked his soft hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face, eyes screwed up tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft precious throat exposed. I savoured the feel of the cold iron in my hands 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.
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?” but this advanced to “when?” and “who?” I knew my affliction was growing out of hand, 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, yelling, shouting and not giving me a moments rest. I purchased a plastic sheet to cover my bed from a D.I.Y store, and it was whilst buying the sheet 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 I had other ideas.
I wedged the 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 cotton. With the instruments of my fetish in place all I needed was an entity to perform the act with. A male of the species; the more pathetic the better.
I trawled a few bars in town, dressed as sluttily as I could afford without contracting frostbite from the bitter night air. I stood sultrily at a bar, pouting and waiting for a pathetic creature to slither up and offer to buy me a drink, and he would be mine. It wasn’t long before a plump rosy cheeked man with a small beard and ‘fashionably’ spiked up hair approached me and recited, “Nice top”, I blinked, “It’d look better on my bedroom floor though”. He grinned a stupid grin exposing his crooked yellowish teeth. “Alright then” I retorted. The 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 him to my flat, making small talk on the way there. I told him a fictitious career and invented a name and so forth. He boasted about being head of some law firm in town, I didn’t really listen to his rabble I was too busy anticipating the events to come. A feeling deep inside me stirred, the knowledge that I was about to satisfy the sick desire burned uncontrollably in the pit of my stomach, a mix of nervousness and lust. As we got out of his big-shot 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 like feet, 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 bathtub. He began to undress me and I did the same in return, my hands shaking slightly, like those of an exciting child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morn. We nakedly gyrated briefly before I asked him to close his eyes. Like the natural victim he was, he blindly walked into my trap. With one arm I stroked his soft hairy thigh and with the other I grasped my strategically placed instrument. I glanced at his face, eyes screwed up tightly shut and his head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His soft precious throat exposed. I savoured the feel of the cold iron in my hands 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.