An Education in Malice

by S.T. Gibson

She was like a modern-day princess, with a face sculpted by generations of thoroughbred intermarriage and a mouth shaped for giving orders. I was desperate to know what she looked like on her knees.

She kissed me with a martyr’s agonized desperation, like I was the only sword she ever wanted to fall on. I kissed her right back like the cutting edge of a blade, trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

I wanted her to want me so badly it hurt.

I wanted to fall at her feet and worship her. I wanted to desecrate her in every filthy manner I could imagine. I wanted all of her, in every way, all at once.

I felt, acutely and miserably, that I was that wine glass dangling from her fingers, covered in marks of her ownership.