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bittersweet is a lass that found my blog and fell under the spell of my writing. she asked that i write a story about her. however, like many of my stories, this one got away from me, and is not 100% accurate in its depiction of bittersweet as she really is. probably more like 98% accurate.
Part I: Prelude
Bittersweet was getting ready to go out for a night on the town. It was a highly ritualized and involved process.
She sat in an old kitchen chair with a tablecloth covering her torso and lap. Her sister, stunningly fetching in her own right, used a series of shears, irons, and dryers to convert Bittersweet's coiffure from one of quotidian utility to that of a lion's mane of pulchritude.
Close at hand, a drink sat frosty and inviting. It was one-third fruit juice, two-thirds 80-proof ethanol. Every so often Bittersweet cradled the glass lovingly in her delicate hands. She caressed it, as if she were a loving mother nurturing her baby. And she suckled from it as well, her pink tongue flickering hither and yon to catch any droplets left behind.
The liquid coursed through her system, leaving a fiery trail from oesophagus to stomach. With each draught, she grimaced and shuddered with pleasure. The ethanol was a very important part of her pre-game ritual; it was the catalyst that transformed Bittersweet from a mild-mannered corporate drone to a predator of the first class.
Bittersweet did not question her predatory nature. She experienced no existential angst regarding her place in the food chain. As a Bengal tiger will feast on tasty Indian villager flesh without qualm, Bittersweet saw the conquering of young male "hotties" as quite a natural activity, divorced from questions of right and wrong. She was vaguely aware that other human females did not act in this wise, but she gave it as much thought as you or I might give to the swatting of a mosquito.
So, coiffure done, ethanol consumed, makeup applied, nails painted, Bittersweet and her sister and her two friends set off on their Saturday-night hunting expedition.
Part II: Stalking
Rumor was crowded, shouted conversations merging into a dull roar as they competed with the pounding music. Alcohol flowed like water as the kids sought to relieve their inhibitions as quickly as possible.
The club was little better than a meat market, in the sense that the gaudily dressed and gilded patrons scanned and evaluated each other for mating suitability. Top of the line hotties were Prime cuts; those with slightly less perfect features were Choice; the average looking of face and body were Select; the youthful, but fat or ugly, were Standard grade; and the middle-aged coyotes or the middle-aged balding pervs were Commercial or Utility grades, not to be eaten unless you were very poor or desperate for meat.
There was an elaborate pecking order to the evaluating that could, in theory, be described mathematically, but the patrons were all quite aware of their respective positions. Beautiful women talked to beautiful men, mediocre women talked to mediocre men, and the uglies stuck close to their better-looking friends until such a time as they would need to be abandoned. Occasionally, however, breaking the unstated rules, a particularly ugly boy, fueled more by alcohol than good sense, would make the mistake of approaching a beautiful woman clearly out of his league. She would invariably look at him as if she had mistakenly stepped in a steaming pile of poo, and shoo him away in as haughty a manner as possible.
Bittersweet made her way to the bar, exhibiting classic signs of Brownian motion as she randomly collided with wildly gyrating dancers. Once there, she ordered a Kamikaze and swung around on the barstool to scan the crowd. Pickings looked pretty decent tonight.
Bittersweet liked her men young, as close to eighteen as possible. Lightly muscled, thin, close-cropped hair, and dumb and innocent. She wasn’t looking for in-depth discussions on theology or superstring theory, she wanted a dumb but beautiful male at his physical peak. She enjoyed separating him from his pack of friends, and then pouncing for the kill.
Bittersweet was in full predator mode now, the alcohol having done its work, the scent of prey in her nostrils. Her mode of attack was subtle, however. She didn't need slinky costumes to show off her charms. Apart from a huge lion's mane of dreadlock-like blonde and brunette hair, she presented a rather normal appearance: lacy white halter top, khaki Capri’s, and platform sandals to show off her delicately frenched toenails. No, Bittersweet's magic was in her eyes and her smile. Which she was about to display to the young hottie across the room.
She waited till the hottie was looking at her, then demurely half-lowered her eyelids and smiled at the boy. It was a radiant smile that highlighted her cheekbones and made the corners of her eyes crinkle. It was a smile that communicated interest and promises to come. It was a smile that made the boy feel like he was the only boy in the club. And that's all it took. He made his way over. And Bittersweet knew that she had scored her prey -- all that was left was the kill.
Part III: The Kill
The boy lay supine on the bed, and Bittersweet rode him gently. She rocked gently back and forth, occasionally reaching around behind to fondle his balls. He groaned with pleasure whenever she gave a particularly vigorous squeeze. Despite mashing her clitoris into his abdomen on every upstroke, Bittersweet felt absolutely nothing.
They had come back to his tiny apartment in Dorchester, sat cross-legged on the bed, and fired up a small wooden bowl packed with some fine-grade cannabis. The weed was quite moist and aromatic, and had little red flecks mixed in with the green. Bittersweet sucked on the pipe with hollowed out cheeks, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs like a pro, without coughing. She held it for close to a minute, then leaned close to the boy, and with an open kiss expelled the smoke directly into his mouth.
As the boy took his turn with the sweet leaf, Bittersweet slowly removed her halter and bra. Her breasts were small and firm, and topped with dark nipples that crinkled as the boy gazed at them. A small spray of freckling covered the upper slopes. The boy flicked the lighter, but failed to light the bowl. He was finding it hard to concentrate on higher-motor functions. His only thought was to lick her little brown buds. Bittersweet grabbed him by the nape of his neck and drew him to her. The boy suckled greedily, trying to drink milk that never flowed.
When it became evident that the boy was sporting a huge erection, Bittersweet pushed him back on the bed and removed his clothing. She steadied his penis with one hand, and then impaled herself. She rocked gently back and forth, occasionally reaching around behind to fondle his balls. He groaned whenever she gave a particularly vigorous squeeze. Despite mashing her clitoris into his abdomen on every upstroke, Bittersweet felt absolutely nothing.
But it was not yet her time. It was important to get him to the edge, get him delirious with pleasure, on the verge of release. And the boy was nearly there. Stamina was not his long suit, but that was of little concern to Bittersweet.
She gazed into his eyes, and saw that it was now time. She leaned down, dangling her breasts in front of him. The boy panted as he tracked their random movements. Bittersweet reached into her mass of hair and pulled out a long thin silver hair stick and drove it through the boy's ear into his brainstem. He commenced to die without even realizing what had happened.
As the boy convulsed in his death throes, Bittersweet rode the wave. She was definitely feeling something now. With each jerk and flail, she converted his life into her pleasure. With a last convulsion, the boy ejaculated deep into Bittersweet in a last ditch effort to preserve his genetic material, and then expired. Bittersweet threw back her head and roared as she convulsed in her own orgasm.
The boy now disgusted her in his stillness, so she dismounted, and dressed quickly. Leaving the apartment, she gave as much thought to him lying dead in bed as you or I might think about the dinner scraps we scrape into the trash after eating.
Part IV: Reversal
Bittersweet once again sat in her favourite spot at the bar. Two weeks had passed since her last kill, and she was craving another hottie.
Tonight, however, there was someone odd staring at her. He was a middle-aged man, balding, and tending to portliness. The white Ralph Lauren oxford shirt he was wearing had pale red stains down the front. He had what looked like hiking pants for trousers and -- what were those? Yes, they were hiking boots. Bittersweet wanted to laugh at the man's fashion sense, but there was something magnetic about his eyes as they stared at her -- something deep and aware. Bittersweet was slightly afraid, but at the same time strangely attracted to this stranger.
The man got up, and circled around the bar, keeping her in view the entire time. Despite his apparent age and physique, the man's stride was measured and powerful, a coiled spring at the apex of tightness. Bittersweet attempted to shake off her unease, and reverted to her old standby of demure looks and a personalized smile.
The man approached, stopped in front of her, and stared. Bittersweet was transfixed. All her tricks and tried-and-true methods of seduction were failing her. "Who are you?" she managed to ask.
The man spoke, softly yet with a steely enunciation. "Amongst those who know me, I have no need of a name. Amongst those who do not know me, I am called Sage."
"Are you so wise, then?"
Sage just looked at her, disdaining the question.
Bittersweet was a predator, and though she hunted and acted alone, there existed a deep instinct in her makeup regarding dominance and submission. Despite years of living at the top of the food chain, she recognized that this Sage was her superior. Instinct encouraged her to submit to him straightaway, but she had been alone for a long time, and submission did not come easily.
Quicker than an eye-blink, Bittersweet lashed out, intending to blind him with her nails. Before she had closed half the distance, Sage had her arm in an iron grip. She struggled, and spit at him, but might as well have tried to move a statue. Sage moved in close, reached around her with his free hand, breathed softly into her ear, and removed her hair sticks. He held them in front of her face, and snapped them between two fingers. Despite her anger and frustration, Bittersweet felt a warm rush go through her as the sticks snapped.
"Shall we go?" Sage asked rhetorically.
They left the bar, Bittersweet manacled by Sage's strong grip, and following meekly behind. When they got into the Caddy, however, Bittersweet lashed out again for old time's sake. Sage blocked the blow without even looking.
"Let me explain something," he said to her softly. "When driving this car, I of necessity must pay less attention to you. That means that, if you try to strike me again, or try to escape, I may hurt you unintentionally. Do not make me subdue you again. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bittersweet responded meekly.
Part V: Denouement
In the dome, Sage sat on his dais in half-lotus position. "Remove your clothing," he instructed.
Bittersweet felt shame, and blood rushed to her face. She had been naked countless times in front of boys, and thought nothing of it. This felt different, though. She was not in control; this was not the means to a pleasurable end. She turned to flee, and Sage spoke.
"Bittersweet." Softness and steel. She looked back over her shoulder.
"Do not make me get up."
She acquiesced, and shyly started to remove her clothes. Her hair cascaded out and over her shoulders, teasing the tops of her breasts. Her face and shoulders flamed red in shame. She removed her sandals and trousers, and stood thus exposed in her sheer panties.
Sage gestured at the panties, and she removed those as well, standing with legs pressed tightly together, pubes gently curling in the V thus formed. Sage beckoned her forward, and she came to stand before him. He tugged on her curls lightly; then caressed her buttocks, gently prying her legs apart. He inserted a finger into her quim, finding it quite wet within, despite Bittersweet's plaintive protestations to the contrary. As Sage stroked the upper wall of her vagina whilst playing with her clitoris, he gently licked at her nipples, forcing them to stand at attention.
Bittersweet began to moan deeply in her throat. Her thighs trembled, and knees threatened to give out, with every wave of pleasure that coursed through her. This was all so strange! She had never experienced pleasure without the concomitant pain extracted from unwilling prey. Submission was having unintended consequences. But as she remembered her past, she decided to attack one last time.
She pretended to stumble, and placed her hands on Sage's shoulders for support. As he continued to stroke and knead her private spots, she quickly put her hands around his throat and began to squeeze. She squeezed with all her might, and all her will, and all her rage and frustration. And as she squeezed, her pleasure got more intense. This was more like it! This was the old Bittersweet! She was about to deliver this Sage to his just reward, and was about to orgasm hugely in the process.
When suddenly the stroking stopped. It was like a physical blow. His hands were no longer on her, in her. Bittersweet felt empty and bereft. Her glazed eyes re-focused, and she looked into his face, expecting to see it blue with tongue protruding. Instead, Sage was staring at her calmly, completely unaffected by the pressure on his throat.
"Are you quite done?" he asked her.
"Noooo!!!" she screamed, now beating him about his head and shoulders. How could this be? How could this man take all she threw at him, and not even be affected?
Sage took the abuse for a while, letting her anger run its course, then forced her hands to her sides. She sobbed, in frustrated anger, and frustrated pleasure. She sobbed as she gave in to his dominance.
Sage got up from the dais. "Bend over," he instructed Bittersweet, and she grudgingly complied, grabbing her ankles, leaving her buttocks completely exposed.
Sage went to the kitchen, retrieved an item from a drawer, and a plastic container from the fridge. Returning to Bittersweet, he took a generous amount of lube and massaged it into her anus. He then took the item, a stainless steel anal speculum, and inserted it gently into her rectum. Bittersweet moaned from the unnatural sensation. Her anus reflexively clenched around the speculum; it felt as though she had to take a shit. Slowly opening the speculum to its full 3-inch diameter, Sage set the thumbscrew, and Bittersweet's insides were exposed to full view. She continued to moan, tears of shame leaking hotly from the corners of her eyes.
Sage then poured a quantity of pineapple juice from the plastic container into her rectum. The cold liquid settled into her bowel, and Bittersweet screamed from the icy sensation. It was as if an icicle had been shoved up her ass, and left to melt. To her credit, though, Sage noticed that she did not try to get up or escape the punishment. She was finally being tamed.
Once the liquid reached room temperature, Sage released the thumbscrew and allowed the speculum to collapse. The pineapple juice shot out of Bittersweet's rectum in a great fountain, soiling the cherry hardwood floors. That's all right, Sage thought. Bittersweet would be cleaning that up later.
But now Bittersweet was crying, prostrate on the floor before the Sage as he resumed his seat on the dais. She crawled up into Sage's lap, and rested her head on his chest, still sobbing gently. He stroked her hair, making soft cooing sounds until her trembling slowed and the sobbing devolved into sniffles.
"Bittersweet," Sage said, speaking gently into her ear. "You are a predator without any moral mediation. In the animal kingdom, your behaviour would be just and appropriate. Here in human society, however, they rightly fear you and will band together to bring you down. It was just a matter of time before you were locked in one of their cages.
"I could not allow that. Despite your previous behaviour, I believe you are redeemable. You will stay here with me, learning new ways of deriving pleasure, and new methods for staying out of humanity's way.
"Your hair will always be long and wild, but I am your master, and you will learn that there is plenty of freedom within my discipline."
And he reached down once again to her soft belly and gentle curls. And Bittersweet smiled, her canines peeking out from bared lips.