Emily Malone snuck into my life, slipped under my skin, and
right into my heart. Little did I know that danger and death tagged along with
her, following in her innocent wake.
I’m always in control – but not with her. Emily makes me
doubt myself, because she’s so important to me. Emily knows nothing of the
lifestyle. I know she’s submissive, but I must take it slow.
Gradually, step-by-step, I’ll teach her to enjoy my
particular brand of kink, my unique darker needs. She’ll learn to love what I
love. What I need.
That is if both of us live long enough to complete her
training.
Nikki Sex writes sexy contemporary romance, often involving
a bit of kink. She's a sucker for Happy Ever After endings, so no matter how
dark my stories get, fear not! It always all works out in the end.
I can’t move. I’m dying.
For an instant, I imagine someone finding my body. Will
birds gather to peck at me? Is that how I’ll be discovered? By someone
attracted by unusual animal activity?
For a moment I consider who might find me. Will it be
someone I know? I can almost hear them yell, “Holy shit, that’s Paul Jarman!”
An excruciating spasm assaults me. My lungs seize. My body
convulses. Internally, every part of me screams. My mouth falls open – but
instead of shrieking, only a soft hiss issues from my throat, heralding my
agony and despair.
The sound is pathetic. Is that tiny utterance the last noise
I’m capable of making before I die?
There’s no one nearby to hear me, even if I’d been able to
scream.
I’ve never been so alone.
I’ve also never felt such unbearable pain. Time stops.
There’s only this one eternal moment, the agony of now.
I’m twenty-six years old. I’m too young to die. I’ve been an
idiot most of my life. I’ve been an asshole… but just recently, I’ve learned so
much. Everything has been coming together. If I live, I really think that I can
make something of myself.
But I’m not going to live.
Inexorable pressure, like the invisible hand of some cruel
giant, pushes down hard on my chest. No air! Each breath I take becomes more
and more difficult. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be starved for oxygen?
As a Dom I like breath play. It’s kind of karmic to be on the other side.
But I sure as fuck don’t get an erotic thrill from this.
I’m dizzy. My vision tunnels. The physical pain fades, but
sadness stabs at me. This agony of heart and soul is intense. It’s worse than
any bodily torment.
I have so many regrets.
My biggest sorrow comes from the thought of losing Emily.
Not only losing her, but leaving her. Not being there for her. My one pure and
perfect joy has come from Emily. I’m so grateful that I’ve had her in my life.
She’s taught me so much.
If only we had more time together.
My sweet girl will be distraught. I can’t imagine how she
will deal with my death. With all that I’m enduring, the thought of her pain is
more than I can take. I forcefully shove the reflection away. I wish I could
protect her from this.
Blood continues to pump from me. I feel its warmth flowing
onto my chest. I’m floating in a mental haze. As I near death, I enter a
strangely comfortable state of philosophical delirium.
Is it better to kill…or to be killed?
What if you took another person’s life by accident… say
perhaps, through a moment of incompetent or distracted driving? That would
create a burden of guilt that you’d have to live with for the rest of your
life. It might even drive a person to suicide.
Premeditated murder assumes that one’s conscience is
reconciled to committing such a sin. Once reaching that point, guilt and regret
wouldn’t be an issue.
What about an impulsive murder of passion? Can one honestly
justify killing another by pleading temporary insanity? Would a temporary loss
of control lessen the burden of guilt afterwards? Even if someone still died by
your hands?
But I’m not crazy. My actions didn’t result from temporary
insanity. For me, it was pure animal instinct.
I killed on purpose.
As my life drains away, I smile because I know that if I had
the chance, I’d do it again. Committing murder is one thing that I don’t
regret.
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