A thought sometimes crosses my mind. It is a thought that someone might one day truly understand the workings of my mind, truly "get it," that someone could someday understand how much women honestly fascinate me, and I suppose it is this fascination bordering obsession that interests not only my own self but those who may try and dissect me from outside the walls of my mind, walls I have worked many years to put up securely.

Oh, if only my angels would let me give them wings. If only they would let me show them what it is to fly. I pick them carefully, always do, with the utmost concern. Love… that is what they need, that and discipline. My women, my angels, always need that more than anything. They need me, but it takes many weeks of my training for them to realize this.

I must watch them carefully, make sure they meet all the prerequisites. At times it takes me many weeks, months, to make my decision, but the moment of capture is only sweeter for it. At first they do not understand, and it is this confusion that excites me. This confusion soon turns to panic, an emotion that can quickly be conquered… if the right methods are used. I provide them with everything they need, even love when they are still refusing to give that to me. They are all different, but there is one characteristic that always draws me to them…

Beauty… Yes, they were all beautiful ―they are always beautiful― and so too are they all beautifully broken. Their cries in the night, pointless, but ever so sweet. They cry out as I touch them, but after only a few sessions they are moaning with pleasure, stroking me, scraping their nails down my back in ecstasy. After these few sessions I no longer need to instruct them on the pleasures of the flesh, of my flesh.

Then, rebellion once again. Oh, if only my angels can see the progress they make. If only they can see that I am bettering them, teaching them. But they won't! They won't realize what good I am doing for them. I have my angel again and again, taking her over and over, loving her cries, embracing them. Oh, how I love to see them attempt to twist from me, feel them writhe beneath me.

Alas, it always ends the same. This new rebellious streak seems to be my weakness, the one thing that sets me off. The simply refuse to better themselves, to let me teach them. And how I wish I could teach them to fly…

So, I must finally let them go with much remorse. They cry and beg, professing their undying love for me, but I must let them become what they are destined to be, what they are all destined to be…

Fallen angels.