Date: Mon, 11 Dec 2017 10:42:34 -0600 From: Jeff Moses Subject: The Animal Inside This is a work of erotic fiction, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is unintentional. This story is not intended for underage persons, or anyone living in a place where possession of such material is unlawful. All rights are retained by the author. The characters in this story are all adult males, and all sexual acts are conducted in a safe and responsible manner--you do the same! Nifty survives on your contributions. Click on the "Donate" link to do your part. THE ANIMAL INSIDE I don't understand it, feeling this way, walking up to one of these guys and just...offering myself. I don't know why I want this, why I want to be helpless somewhere I don't know, with someone I don't know, who's going to do I-don't-know-what to my naked body. Someone who maybe puts his hand on my throat and says he doesn't give a fuck what I want, that the only thing he cares about is what he wants; someone who wants to see me suffering, in pain. The cuffs, at least, are sort of soft, this time. They don't cut into my wrists and ankles like the metal ones. I can't move. It's almost like he's trying to tear me apart, but he's not. He just wants me spread out, wants to be able to get to my whole body. He just wants me not to move. Some guys do want me to move. They want me to crawl, or try to dodge a whip or struggle to pull my ass away from a dildo or my cock away from an e-stim machine. They want me to try to get away, and fail, and hang there, or lie there, exhausted. Some guys want me to scream, or beg, and some guys want me just grunting with my mouth full of dirty socks, or a leather gag, or their cock. They want to be sure I'm not liking what they're doing, that I believe I have no power because they have it all. Some guys want me on the floor, maybe licking their sneakers or their boots, or maybe just so they can walk on me. He slaps my face to humiliate me, calls me his faggot, his pussy, his asshole, his useless piece of shit. He orders me not to talk, or to admit to him that I'm his faggot, or pussy, or asshole, or that I am his useless piece of shit. He forces me to take his cock. It's not about sex, of course, not really. It's about power. It's about the powerless and the powerful, about taking power, about yielding power. It's about inequality. It's about escape, and being unable to escape, certainty and uncertainty, control and the loss of control. I can't keep his cock from my mouth, even though I'm choking, even though my eyes are watering and my stomach is turning. And I just take it. I take it because I can, I guess. Because no matter how much they take from me, there's always more. I'm inexhaustible, an endless pit of power, and I make them dig into their souls and the dark places below their souls where their animal lives. We all have animals inside, covered over with manners and good deeds and forgiveness and sympathy. We all wash our hands and brush our teeth and comb our hair to look presentable. We sit on the bus, or go to work or sit in a restaurant hiding the animal inside that wants to rip and tear and fuck until it's been ripped and torn and fucked into the open where it can be seen at last, were it can terrify and be worshiped. I'm not sure why I'm the one they want, either. Maybe it's because I look like somebody they know, or knew, or dreamed of, or because I sound like somebody or because I feel or smell like somebody. And usually they don't know either, but no matter. They just think I'm sexy. But they don't know what makes me sexier than the guy next to me, not if they're honest about it. They don't usually want to talk about it, not to me. Most likely the animal in them senses the animal in me and wants to put it in its place, to humble it, make it grovel and submit. If that's what it is, my animal must terrify them.