â Â Q U I N NÂ â
Paperâa seemingly ordinary, everyday item that we often take for granted. It's woven into the fabric of our lives, indispensable and ever-present. In books, newspapers, magazines, even money, it forms the backbone of our communication and commerce. At home, in the office, at school, or even in the trash, paper is everywhereâa silent witness to our daily routines.
Though it might seem so simple, this thin sheet carries a profound significance, one we rarely pause to consider. We rely on it every day, almost instinctively. Yet, its worth extends far beyond mere practicality. In the right hands, paper can be transformed into something powerful and meaningfulâa vessel of knowledge, a canvas for art, a letter of love. But in the wrong hands, this humble sheet can become a weaponâa means to inflict harm or cause pain.
Paper is a reflection of humanity itself, capable of capturing our greatest ideas and our darkest intentions. It may be common, but its impact is anything but ordinary.
For me, paper is far more than an everyday object. It's something I wield in a way most people wouldn't dare. This thin, unassuming sheet has become my source of "pleasure"âa pleasure I never anticipated but now find myself irrevocably addicted to. In my hands, paper transforms, taking on a new and twisted purpose. It becomes the instrument that allows me to fulfill my deepest, most forbidden desire.
You see, this ordinary object holds a secret power. I use it to draw out that warm, red, organic essence that flows within every living beingâBLOOD. It's not just any blood, but the crimson life hidden beneath soft, delicate skin. When I take this thin, sharp edge and press it to flesh, it cuts deeper than one would expect, slipping through as if the skin were made of silk. I watch, entranced, as it tears open that tender barrier, and the blood begins to seep out, warm and thick, vivid against the pale skin.
There's a rush that surges within me, a feeling that words can hardly capture. As that dark liquid flows, I'm overwhelmed by a sense of exhilaration that courses through me, igniting every nerve. The sight of blood slowly oozing forth is a symphony to my sensesâa slow, steady beat that resonates deep within, echoing in a way that feels more alive than anything else I've ever known. It's a thrill beyond reason, an inexplicable sensation that has captivated me completely, drawing me back to this delicate, dangerous dance again and again.
As twisted as it may be, I find a dark thrill in inflicting pain on others. There's something mesmerizing about watching them bleed for me, their pain like a haunting symphony that captivates me completely. It's a strange pleasure, one I would go to any lengths to experience again and again. This is the rhythm of my lifeâthe dark pulse that drives me, the craving I can't resist.
I can't seem to take my eyes off that little smudge on the ceiling as I lie on my bed in our dorm room. A tiny green stain on the otherwise pristine white paint, it's barely noticeable, yet here I am, fixating on this small imperfection, drawn into its quiet presence. It's only 7:15 AM, and my class doesn't start until 9:00 AM, so I have plenty of time to waste. Instead of heading out, I choose to linger here, letting the music from my phoneâconnected to the Bluetooth speakerâfill the space around me.
Classes have only been in session for a month now, yet I've hardly made an appearance on most of them. It's my final year at this hellish university, and I'm just trying to endure this last stretch. But it's not all bad. Sure, the classes and teachers are dull, but there are things I do enjoy. I find real enjoyment in the company of my fellow studentsâparticularly the ladies. These women, looking for attention, too desperate to flirt, to be noticed, and too eager to be touchâto be fucked.
"Apocalypse" by Cigarettes After Sex is playing from my phone, the melody filling the quiet room as I continued to stare at that little smudge on the high ceiling. "It's freaking pissing me off!" I sighed in surrender, realizing there was nothing I could do about that annoying stain. Giving in to the frustration, I decided to close my eyes for a moment and let my mind drift.. Suddenly, my phone beeped, jolting me from my thoughts.
Amanda:
"Hey Quinn! Last night was amazing. ð"
Amandaâmy little shag from last night. That desperate woman who had been itching for my attention all week. I'd call her a little freak in bed, but honestly, she wasn't all that bad. She found my fetish kinky, just like the others before her. As I tore her neck open with a papercut, she didn't hesitate; she was all in. But damn, she was loud! Thank goodness for soundproof dorm rooms, or I would have surely been kicked out on my first day.
We spent hours doing the nasty and damn her stamina is impressive as I drove her wild, making her come time and time again. All I knew was that she finally left around 4 AM, which was why I was feeling so damn lazy to get out of bed now.
Yes, I love tearing into the delicate skin of these pathetic womenâinflicting wounds with nothing more than a papercut. It's my unspoken rule before we dive into the wild, dirty escapade that follow. Unsurprisingly, these bitches are all too willing to be hurt in exchange for a taste of pleasure. Who am I to complain?
The sight of blood slowly oozing from their torn necks, the way their faces contort in painâit sends a thrill through me that I can't quite explain. Each gasp and shiver only fuels my desire, and in those moments, I feel completely alive. You could say it's a win-win situation: they get their thrill, and I get mine, wrapped up in this sick and twisted dance of pleasure and pain.
Quinn:
"Right back at you, Amanda ð"
A smirk twisted on my lipsâa sarcastic, almost mocking expression. "Pathetic!" I whispered to myself as I tapped out a reply to Amanda's message. They all areâpathetic, desperate, sluts. My phone beeped again almost instantly, pulling me from my thoughts.
Amanda:
"So, are you free again tonight? ð¥°"
Quinn:
"You know the rules, babe. ð"
Amanda:
"I know. You can make as many cuts on my neck as you want, for all I care. Just let me feel your tongue and fingers inside me again. ð"
Like I said, damn stamina. And damn desperation. I couldn't help but let out a sarcastic chuckle at her eager response. But honestly, as long as I get to see her neck torn open, my desires ignite like a match to kindling.
Quinn:
"Alright! I'll see you at the party tonight, then."
I slowly pushed myself up from the bed, the clock reading 8:30 AM. "I better head out to the Computer Science Building now," I sighed, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
"Good morning, Quinn!" Elise chirped as I stepped out of my room. She's my roommateâcute, innocent, and a straight-A student. Honestly, this woman could be the next president with her unwavering dedication to her studies.
"Hey, Elise," I replied, watching as she finished off her coffee behind the kitchen counter. Don't get me wrong; despite Elise's appealing features and sweet demeanor, I feel no desire to hook up with herâor to inflict pain, for that matter. She's one of the few people I genuinely respect at this university. Unlike the bitches I've tangled with, who are always eager to lie down and get fucked, Elise is one of the sweetest souls I knowâlike the sister I never had.
I walked alongside Elise as we left the dormitory, our conversation flowing comfortably between us. As we approached our respective buildings, I couldn't help but notice the curious glances from other women, some whispering snide comments about Elise. "She looks like a nun," a girl sitting on a bench remarked, her gaze fixed on my roommate.
Elise, however, brushed off their remarks with practiced ease. She was confident in her styleâa white shirt paired with a long pink pleated skirt, a light brown cardigan, and white Converse shoes. Not in a fashionable sense, but that's what comfort is for her which is in stark contrast to many students at the university who dressed like whores, Elise remained true to herself.
Once I settled into my desk, I leaned back and waited with my classmates for the professor to arrive. The room buzzed with idle chatter until my good buddy Warren plopped down next to me, a look of uncontainable excitement on his face. "Hey, Quinn! I heard some Pre-Med students are going to Ryan's party tonight!" His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and he rubbed his palms together like a child waiting for a surprise.
"And so?" I raised an eyebrow, shifting my gaze from the computer screen to him. Warren always wore that slightly unsettling, almost maniacal expression whenever he got excited about something.
"Uhm, hello? They don't usually attend parties like the rest of us! That means we might see some new faces and some pretty ladies tonight, bruh!" His grin widened, and his eyebrows bounced up and down with glee. I responded with a sarcastic chuckle and a smirk, then turned my attention back to the computer in front of me.
As I briefly glanced around the room, it was clear that everyone was buzzing about the same topicâthose Pre-Med students attending the party tonight. The chatter filled the air, a mix of speculation and anticipation. Just then, the door swung open, Professor Philips, our A.I., Machine Learning, and the Built Environment teacher, strode in, his presence commanding immediate attention.
"Okay, everyone, listen up!" he called, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Today, I need you to develop a coding program for the A.I. system you've decided to build. For this semester, I'll dedicate an hour of lecture time, and the remaining three hours will be for you to continue working on your projects. Take note that this will be your ticket to graduating from this university, so you better work hard, listen, and focus on your work." He leaned back against the board, his arms crossed as he laid down the law.
A collective groan erupted from the room, a chorus of exasperated sighs as the weight of his words sank in.
"This is gonna be a long day," Warren muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Nope, this is gonna be a long semester," I replied, rubbing my forehead with my thumb and index finger, feeling the tension settle in a the reality of the workload loomed ahead of us like a dark cloud.