And before I end up looking too wholesome, something I've been thinking of for the last few days is tying someone down and opening their chest cavity. (Though this scenario crops up fairly frequently in my fantasies, and has for years.)
No gag or painkillers; I want to hear them cry, scream, beg for mercy, tell me how much it hurts, how they'll do anything to make me stop. I love love love desperate begging and sobbing so much, it's so pretty.
I want them to feel every little bit of pain as I cut through the layers of skin, muscle, fascia, until they lay open and bare, glistening organs and bloodied intestines on display.
I've always fantasized about what it would feel like to stick my hands in there. I imagine it'd be warm, wet, slick, and most organs are probably quite soft and heavy. It'd be so fun to poke and prod to see what makes them squirm in terrible discomfort and agony, getting that beautiful red smeared all the way up my elbows.
And I love the idea of wrapping someone's guts around my cock and jerking off with them as they helplessly watch me use their body for my own disgusting pleasure. Adding white to red and just tainting them in a manner they can never truly wash away. It would feel so fucking good, and if we want to be more realistic, then my current equipment would still work perfectly fine for grinding against exposed muscle, bone or organ. Thinking about it... That might even hurt them worse.
I love the inherent intimacy of it, forced or otherwise... and how deep of a violation treating someone like that would be. And of course, I adore the blood and knives and torture and the glorious, brilliant pain it would cause. I hope it robs them of dignity completely. I hope they lose all bodily control; wetting themself, vomiting in shock, shaking as adrenaline course through their veins. Acting like a pathetic little animal would only make them more adorable, until they bleed out.
Not really enjoying the second series of Criminal UK. The performances are good (love Sophie Okonedo and Sharon Horgan) but the stories not so much. Three out of four episodes so far seem to want to say women = bad. Saw someone on twitter say it was like it’s written by someone who thinks feminism has gone too far, and it is rather like that...
There was a woman in my town,
Who carried a bird in a cage,
With her wherever she went.
It was a beautiful bird,
Pure white,
With a gold crown of feathers,
But it was it's eyes,
That held me entrapped.
Eyes so pure,
Full of pleading,
To be released.
I wanted so desperately,
To release it,
But had no way,
To guarantee its safety.
So, I told myself it was better,
To leave it in it's gilded cage,
Even though every time I saw it,
I wanted to free it.
Then one day,
The bird got free,
And it came to me,
And it told me,
In tone of music,
And images of Light.
"I knew you wanted me free,
But also wanted me safe,
But I would've been safer,
Outside of my cage.
Where I could be free,
And fly up high,
And be with those like me"
The bird wasn't mad,
It seemed to understand,
And when I held out my hand,
There it chose to land.
"I understood your fear,"
It continues,
From it's new perch.
"And I felt you,
Wanting to free me.
But as you can see,
I am now free."
It showed me,
How it got it's freedom,
And I sobbed,
For what it had to see.
For it's owner was killed,
In an attempt to keep this bird,
And the ones who freed it,
Were cruel.
But it wasn't afraid,
When it flew to me,
And it stayed,
As I cried for it.
And when I calmed,
I said to it,
"I am sorry,
For my cowardice.
You are so beautiful,
And pure,
And bright.
To have been held,
For so long,
Is not what you deserved.
You deserved to fly with the stars,
And dive into water,
And live freely,
Instead of held in a cage."
The bird looked at me,
It golden crown shining,
In the sunlight glimmering through,
My window.
"It is alright,
I know your reasons,
You need not explain.
I reminded you of yourself,
Only your cage,
Is self imposed.
You told yourself it was safer for me,
The same as you tell yourself,
Because deep inside,
You're afraid of the freedom."
It chittered at my look of shock,
And nipped at my hand gently.
"Did you forget who I am?
I am Hope,
I see you for who you are,
And help you get there."
I was stunned,
For this was new,
"How are you Hope,
You are so small?"
It seemed to laugh at me,
This gold and white bird,
And it said to me,
In a voice of old.
"I may be small,
But don't underestimate my strength,
For I affect everyone in many ways."
Then it flew away,
Leaving me to think.
There are two messages in that.
1~ Once you lose Hope, you have nothing. And even if that Hope is as small as a grain of sand, you keep it, dammit. You hold it, and you keep it, and you feed it. Otherwise you will lose everything.
2~ Don't lock yourself in a cage to make one person happy. Be free. Touch the stars, dive deep into the ocean. Don't stay in one place because you 'have to'. Fuck that. You do you. You want to go murder that one person? Go do it. The only thing stopping yourself is the cage of your own creation. You want to go eat the rainbow? Go do it. It may be odd, but hey, you do you.
Kara is married to her high school sweetheart. One day, he leaves his phone at home and she sees an unfamiliar number call. And then text. And then send a photo--
Oh.
A nude. A beautiful, breathtaking nude of pale skin from neck to belly button. She can see just a hint of red lips in the corner of the photograph, the bottom one trapped between teeth.
Kara’s so flustered she almost forgets to angry at what the picture means for her marriage. When she remembers, she snatches up the phone and calls that number back.
The voice on the other end of the line answers without a greeting. “Liked it that much, huh?”
Knees knocking, Kara clears her throat. “Who is this?”
A beat of silence follows. “Who is this?”
“My name is Kara Michaels. You take a lovely picture, but I’d like to know why you’re sending it to my husband.”
Another beat passes, before Kara hears the intake of a deep breath.
“I think this is a conversation to have in person,” the woman replies. “Do you care for coffee Mrs. Michaels?”
They meet. Kara learns the woman’s name is Lena, and that she is every inch as beautiful with her clothes on as without.
She learns that Derek has been lying to both of them. For years.
But try as she might, she can’t bring herself to blame Lena. Not with the attractive glint of fury deep in her eyes. Not with the red smile that makes Kara’s stomach jump flips in her belly.
In the end, they decide to confront Derek. Together.
They do it at Lena’s apartment. Kara tries not to see the gaps in decor, where signs of Derek’s presence have been erased. For a moment she thinks it might have been for her benefit, but then she sees Lena’s face when she thinks Kara’s not looking, and Kara’s reminded that she isn’t the only injured party.
When Derek lets himself in, he takes one look at the two of them standing together before he lets himself right back out.
“Coward,” Lena mutters.
“Through and through,” Kara agrees.
She expects Derek went to a hotel rather than risk running into her at the house. So she goes home alone, with a mind to pack her own bags, grab the bank account details, and the dog before find accommodations of her own.
Instead, Derek is waiting for her in the living room, full of rage and panic that manifests in hard hands grabbing her by the arms and slamming her against the wall. If only she’d just listen, he demands, fevered and desperate. It’s her fault he went looking for someone else, because she was too self-absorbed to care about what he was going through. It’s Lena’s fault too-- she seduced him.
“Save it, Derek,” Kara snaps. “The only thing that surprises me at this point is why a woman as amazing as Lena fell for your sorry ass--”
The blow, when it comes, fills Kara’s vision with stars.
Derek immediately apologizes, looming over where she’s fallen to her knees. But when Kara doesn’t respond, pressing her hand to her cheek, Derek gets bolder.
They’re going to work it out, he tells her. And they are going to move past it, like good partners do. If Kara refuses, he’ll make sure she never sees their friends or family again.
Kara doesn’t know what Derek means, and she doesn’t dare ask. She nods, and spends a sleepless night in bed beside him.
The next morning, Kara makes a call to the last person she ever thought she’d see again.
“Lena? I need help.”
Lena has a plan for everything. Easily believed, when Kara learns she’s as smart as she is beautiful. When they meet for lunch the next day, Lena takes one look at Kara’s swollen cheek and murder fills her eyes.
The swelling fades.
The murder doesn’t.
They don’t meet again in person. They speak on the phone, and Lena tells her to expect a delivery. A small vial arrives, unmarked but containing death. Kara almost balks. But Derek comes home angry that night-- as he has most nights since the truth came out. He moves too sharply towards Kara and their dog Krypto lunges between them to protect her.
When he kicks Krypto and sends the big dog sliding across the floor with an yelp of agony, Kara’s hesitation disappears.
It’s only a matter of time before one of them ends up dead, and Kara’s determined that it won’t be her.
She slips the contents of the vial into his stew. She doesn’t watch him eat it, instead gathering Krypto into the car for an emergency visit to the vet. She comes home with clean doggy scans to find Derek’s bowl empty in the sink. She climbs the stairs quietly, and peeks into a dark bedroom afraid of what she’ll find.
She finds him dead asleep, breathing deeply. Kara doesn’t sleep that night, or the night after. She’s about to call Lena when she receives a call instead-- from the county general hospital.
Derek suffered a heart attack at work.
He didn’t make it.
They ride in separate cars to the funeral.
Kara stares in shock as person after person climbs the podium to declare how good a man Derek was, taken too soon. How he loved his wife and his dog. Who’d wanted kids, to spread love and create a happy family. How he was a man of devotion and fidelity, who’d never harmed another soul.
All the while, she’s aware of a presence at the back of the church-- a single woman dressed in black who knew exactly what kind of man he was.
Their eyes don’t meet until the cemetery.
Lena sprinkles a handful of dirt into the grave, and those crimson lips lift into a smile-- of condolence to anyone else, but to Kara it was silent promise.
When they part ways, Kara doesn’t expect to see Lena again.
A week later, Kara receives a call from an unlabeled number that was now familiar.
“I wished to offer my condolences again,” comes a familiar purr. “And to ask if I could take you to dinner.”
