Saga's Website

Opening Up

Sex is all about vulnerability. About baring oneself to another, and allowing them to get as close as possible. About welcoming them into one’s very core, in one sense or another, and inviting them to enjoy the most sensitive parts of oneself.

This makes it an excellent tool for someone like me. It's so much easier to kill someone when they're naked and preoccupied. And don't we all want to make our jobs as easy as possible for ourselves?

Maybe it’s gotten too easy for me, though.

Sex involves some amount of trust. People trust that their partner isn't contagious or ill-intentioned in some way. They trust that the person they let in will make use of their little vulnerabilities without exploiting them to do harm. (Or, that they’ll do only an appropriate and manageable amount of harm, if that’s what they’re into.)

Naturally, I tread all over that trust with bloodstained heels. Sorry, not sorry. At least they got to see my tits before they went out. Maybe that makes up for it a little?

Of course, my employer usually wants someone garroted in their own bed for a reason.

Sometimes I find myself seducing a dead fish. Those are over the quickest. I can never pretend to have fun for very long. Why even have sex if you’re not gonna put in some effort?

Sometimes, my target is someone who’s as uninterested in trust as I am. Someone who gets their kicks from damaging their partner, who sees me as a toy. They turn the encounter into a question of who wants to walk away from it more. And until a while ago, I was capable of wanting that very badly indeed.

But sometimes I’ll get someone that’s weirdly sweet and considerate. One that somehow hasn’t let the crimes for which I am the punishment turn them into a monster. As I snap their neck I always wonder: just how does someone delude themself that much?

How the fuck do they live with themselves? How is that fair? I might be an extrajudicial assassin, but my kills are for the good of the many. At least on paper. Why do I still feel like I’m the one drowning in the bath?

I don’t even touch myself anymore. Makes me feel like I’m licking one of my knives. I get the urge to wear gloves, so I don’t leave incriminating fingerprints. I look down at wet fingers and see gun oil.

But, as a wise woman once said, “girls just want to have fun.” I can’t seem to shake that basic human need. That’s where you come in, big boy. (Not literally. Wear a condom.)

Telling you this is my ultimate expression of vulnerability. I’m trusting you with the tools to absolutely ruin me. Are you scared? Don’t be, you’ve got all the power now. That should excite you.

You’ve got at least a foot and fifty pounds on me, and I’m not short. I picked you on purpose. You’re someone I normally wouldn’t want to tangle with, which is the point.

Do you want to get off? Do you want to be a hero? I don’t mind either way.

I didn’t bring my kill bag, but if you can make me puke up the backup garrote, you can do whatever you want with it.