Very good!
I will answer your very interesting reflections on Alicia.
Of course it´s just a fantasy. But on it, Alicia is getting obsessed with the real execution. She thinks she can back off until the very last moment.
She doesn´t want to die, but she craves to be executed with her friends.
Also she knows her husband is very excited by the idea of her execution actually happening.
When the moment arrives, after her sentencing and shameful demotion, she realizes that she really deserves her sentence. She has passed the point of no return. She has put herself where, not totally consciouslly, she wanted to be. She is somehow liberated.
She just has to follow orders.
Could this happen really? I don´t know. Most likely no.
But there is people who claims something like this has taken place in reality.
There is a character named Perro Loco, from "Cannibal Cafe" and "Dolcett Girls Forum" who claims such a people exists, and he has roasted girls who asked for it.
For me, is fantasy, but who knows?
Opinions?
Here we go then, the last part of Crotch Shot. All of this fantasy is head sex for me. It's all about the psychology of threat and dread and how offering myself to be controlled and manipulated by the erotic desires of others has me helpless with lust. It's not simple sex, it's a profound need to feel submission I can't really explain and expect never to be able to adequately.
To those of you who wanted my bones smashed, my flesh ripped and my filthy whore's tainted cunt destroyed to render me worthless even as an easy, dirty fuck, I must apologise. I think that's a tormentor's fantasy. To be subby is a much more subtle thrill.
Crotch Shot, part five
Hanging on to the slim chance that he won’t shoot me, and suffering the certainty he will, feels fantastic. I feel like a sacrifice, holding myself open makes me feel so desperately vulnerable I’m sure it’s the most beautiful fantasy moment of my whole life. Will the pain destroy it? I know it might, but knowing it could is necessary to make me feel this helpless, this offered and this earnestly submissive, at the mercy of another like never before. I force myself to believe that when, not if it comes, the agony will be worth it.
I force myself to expect it but when it happens the shock still paralyses me. Before the flood of agony overwhelms me, there’s a moment when I know I’ve been shot but the surprise bewilders me. The impact seems to knock me backwards and I stop thinking, my mind goes blank. Then I’m aware of the pain, then it’s real and I wail my heart out.
Curling up doesn’t help. I don’t know why I thought it might. Confused by how intense the agony is, I slip off the bench and end up on the ground in a heap. Jenna tries to comfort me but I can’t look at her, I can’t look up. All I want is to believe the pain will subside. I manage to struggle to my knees after a couple of minutes when the murderous brutality of it has settled to a heavy, throbbing ache. “Are you alright” she asks. “I’ve just been shot in the cunt you fuckin’ idiot!” I want to shout at her but my teeth are clenched tight, I’m trying to breathe through the pain and I can’t speak. I shake my head instead. “Is there any blood?” she wants to know, intrigued. I daren’t look but realise perhaps I should.
How can it hurt so much and feel numb at the same time? My genitals don’t feel like mine. There’s no blood on my hands so I lift my skirt to let her confirm my knickers are still pure white. She notices a little grey smudge where the pellet hit them, right on my button and bursts out laughing. “He’s bloody good isn’t he.” she observes. “Jesus Kate, you mad bitch, you’re wet!” she says, then she picks up my phone. “I’m complimenting him on his marksmanship.” she sings while answering his email. “He wants to know how you are.” I’m still not sure. “Should I tell him you weren’t right to start with?” She’s kidding of course and giggles as she helps me back onto the bench. My poor wounded rose hurts so much that clambering up off my knees doesn’t make much difference. For a moment I just want to think, what now?
I take a look around to make sure there’s no one watching our drama and ask her what time it is now. She tells me it’s 9.58am, “No, 9.59, it’s just clicked over.” She’s wondering why it matters. I have a minute left before my arbitrary deadline. Her mouth falls open as I pull my skirt up over my hips again and present myself as a target once more. Spreading my legs
does make a difference, it does hurt more. I feel puffy and swollen but there isn’t time to pull my underwear aside to check how badly I’m bruised, because I want to dread another shot. If the first was almost unbearable, another will cripple me in unimaginable distress. I want him to decide if I deserve that.
“Beg him not to Jenna, please, quickly!” “Oh my god, holy fuck,” she mumbles and I watch her fight my phone’s spell check, her trembling fingers correcting mistake after mistake as she pleads on my behalf, I pray she’ll plead desperately enough. We don’t have time for me to dictate, I don’t know how long the email will take to reach him. I can’t think straight anyway, I hope she can. She’s breathing heavily, wildly excited. I’m beyond excited. My terror is breathtaking, literally.
This time I want to be certain he knows how faithfully I’m offering myself. I can’t spread my legs wider. If he can shoot me that accurately he’ll see how frightened I am. I ask him out loud “Please, please, please don’t, please?” watching the bushes where I think he is. I’m hanging on to the bench, white knuckled, in tears and hopelessly dependent on his mercy.
“I’ve sent something.” Jenna says, “I’m not sure what but it’ll have to do.” Neither of us can read the silly little phone screen stressed by panic like this.
Half a minute later she tells me it’s 10.00am. Nothing else has happened, except my heart is hammering in my chest, my stomach’s heaving because I’m sick with adrenaline and I’ve been closer to pure erotic fantasy than I ever thought was possible. “C’mon let’s go.” I tell her. It’s not the rifle we need to escape, it’s the scene where the thrill will die if we stay. I want to be somewhere else, somewhere which isn’t wicked head sex, so I can look back at how precarious my gamble made me with the drama still intact. Walking isn’t as bad as I fear it will be and we hurry off with indecent haste. “Shouldn’t we say goodbye?” Jenna worries. Yes, we should but I tell her we’ll explain later. He must also be feeling this affected, we’ll talk when we’ve thought about what to say.
Twenty minutes later, we’re enjoying breakfast in the cafe on the edge of the park. We’d been too anxious to eat before we came out. I’ve fixed my make up now my hands aren’t shaking and I can’t believe how I feel now. My rose aches like hell but I’m soaring, I’m elated. I can’t help laughing at my own recklessness and getting away with it. I’m voraciously hungry. “Fucking hell Kate, I can’t believe you!” Jenna says, not referring to my appetite. I can’t believe me either, I can’t believe I can feel so alive. Even adventure is too small a word for what just happened.
“Will your pink bits be OK?” she asks, smiling at me while I’m wolfing sausage and chips. I don’t know. She wonders if masturbation will hurt so much the pain will stop me doing it. I don’t know that either, yet. I tell her it might temporarily, he might have ruined me sexually for a week or two. “Oh Wow!” she says, impressed because we’ve fantasised about just that. I think I’ll save how bad another shot would have been for quiet contemplation later.
My hunger sated, I think I’d better find out how my gunman is. Has he been blown away by the risk we’ve just taken? I can’t deny I feel close to him having shared such an intimate part of my inner self with him. I pick up my phone to email him but he’s beaten me to it. “I can’t make sense of my feelings. You’ve touched me deeply. Can we talk?”
I email back, warning him that I’m intoxicated and when the drama fades, I know I’ll crash from the dizzy heights of wild euphoria into the depths of aching to go back. It’s going to gnaw away at me until I have to give in but worse, more of the same won’t be enough, next time, to keep the thrill alive, we’ll need to escalate.
I send “If we talk, this won’t be over and sooner or later you
will shoot me twice, “Is that what you want?” He sends back simply “I think so.”
Over coffee, I let Jenna read the messages. She reads them three or four times before she looks up, panting. “Oh Jesus!”
Crotch Shot, aftermath
I went out the weekend after he shot me, a rare treat on the town with my friends I couldn’t turn down. We drank, stumbling happily in and out of a few bars and I pulled. I don’t very often and the attention was lovely. He'd been drinking and piled on the charm to impress whoever he thought I was through his beer goggles. Apparently I'm pretty and he could "drown in my gorgeous dark eyes". Did he say that to all the girls? Well yeah, a standing cock has no conscience!
Of course I’d been drinking too and my kinky demons were rampaging through my head as recklessly as the alcohol let them. He was quite persistent and wanted to come with us when we moved on to the next venue. My mates thought he certainly wasn't ugly and he charmed them as well. "Oh go on Kate, why not?" they joked. So I let him tag along.
By the end of the night I could tell he was sure I was his. I could tell from his body language that he was trying to prise me away from the safety of our group. It wasn't a surprise when he suggested we'd take a different taxi to my friends and go "Your place or mine?" I worried about when and how I should tell him what had happened to me.
Once we were in the taxi, he checked to make sure the driver was concentrating on the road and slipped his arm round me. He kissed me and before long he was licking my teeth. His free hand groped my breasts through my bra and he was looking for my nipples with his thumb. I felt my bruised rose ache and knew he'd be up my dress soon.
We'd chosen his place, a flat we needed to climb a couple of flights of stairs to reach. He told me he wanted me to walk up in front of him, shamelessly laughing that he fancied the view of my underwear if my dress proved to be short enough. "Oh yeah, lovely!" he cried. It was then? When we got to the top it was up under my armpits as he pinned me against the outside of his front door.
I squealed in pain as he carelessly explored me, looking for Her who would drive me nuts with desire. "What?" he said, surprised by my reaction, "Are you OK?" "Yes." I answered, although I wasn't and he would soon find out. "Go on!" I urged.
I leant back against the door, pushed my breasts out to gift them to him and moved my feet apart to let him in, offering myself in the same way I’d offered myself to the rifle. I snorted my breath through the pain between clenched teeth as he claimed me, his fingers now inside my knickers, probing me.
Did he expect romance? I couldn’t hide my agony. He let go and stepped back bewildered. “It’s OK, hurt me.” I told him. He looked horrified, shook his head and stared at me, wordlessly needing an explanation. I knew he was too drunk to understand. I hoped I could swallow him before he fucked me but still endure the ordeal my wickedness drove me to as he dragged me into his flat.
His touch felt like blades. I wanted sex taken from me, brutally and without respect. I wanted to feel ruined. I went back to the bench in the park as my reluctant lover’s lust overcame his reticence. He mauled me while I believed that I’d been forced to suffer sex as if I’d sacrificed my pleasure for the gunman’s sake. I imagined he’d pulled the trigger with sweet, exquisite malice. I imagined next time, when he’d shoot me twice, just as I deserved, to punish me for feeling this fucking filthy!
We did talk, we had talked. I knew one day I’d take that second shot at least.
I hope you enjoyed me,
Filthy Kate XX
