1. Killing Beauty


    Date: 12/5/2016, Categories: Dark Fantasy, BDSM, Young, Author: Liv Beornwulf, Rating: 22.2, Source: sexstories.com

    well…make a move on me. I am glad that he did. Our relationship did not last that much long. It wasn’t destined to. It all ended badly with Zane losing his life and I myself being contested and warred for by his friends and cousins to be their next girlfriend. I hate to admit it. But as much as I hate it, I just have to acknowledge it. I feel like I am assuredly nice-looking. Beautiful even. No, I am not stuck- up or self-seeking or self-praising. I am not. At times I do look this plain and terribly ugly in the mirrors and photos—I cringe away from giant mirrors that make me look rather irregular and foreign; and at other times, I am this lovely and adorable. I don’t get. How does beauty behave? Do we have it in one moment and then in another second it slips away just like that? That is what it seems like. ***Flashback*** “Mommy, am I beautiful?” “Yes, sweetheart, you are!” “Then why don’t you allow me to go out on dates with boys I like just like the other girls do?” My mother, with a very disappointed and frightened face, disclosed, “The curse doesn’t authorize us to date or fall in love, Corinne. You are aware of the consequences of doing so, aren’t you?” “To hell with those consequences.” “Tell me, have you been seeing any boy.” I did not reply anything. “Nevada, did you sleep or have sex with some boy?” “I’d never do that, mother. I respect myself and my future husband too.” “You are not going to have any future husband, sweetheart. You know it. You are not going to ...
    marry or even get married. That won’t ever happen.” “Don’t say that, mother. I want to marry one day; I really want to.” “You won’t, Nevada; you know very well that that is an impossibility.” “No way!” “Nevada!” ***Flashback cut out*** Mother was right. I won’t marry; and I will never get married; and for that one reason, I’d rather be a dead man. Or a dead girl if you prefer. That said and thought over, I knew what I had to do with the knife that I was clutching in my hands. Suicide is no easy thing. We all want to live; we all want to live life to our very best; we all want to have those foremost and leading things that we can possibly have in this life; and if we cannot have them and instead we are unhappy and broken-hearted and hapless, what better alternative than to put an end to our being and existence itself? I don’t know why. But in spite of wielding the knife and assuring myself that I was going to thrust it into my stomach, I just could not get the power and zeal and spirit to accomplish that. Mother. I thought about her. Yolanda Moon. What would she do without me? I was her one and only daughter. The only girl she adored more than anything in this world. Yes, even more than her own happiness and well-being. Was this how I was going to repay her for everything that she had done for me? By killing and depriving her of my companionship and intercourse. No, that was not being fair, or was it? That night, while it poured hard and showered and thundered outside, I dreamt ...
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