The sad, slow and ugly death of the media, Pt. 1

Gazette was an extraordinary woman. One of those rare, brazen Amazons who was only too pleased to flout her wanton dalliances. Never a walk of shame for this lady the morning after, no sir. Many called her a whore, mostly behind her back; sometimes more directly. She would take these in stride. She knew what she liked and she knew how to get it. If that made her a whore why was that a bad thing?

Gazette carried with her all of the other virtues that actually mattered. The correct public morality for those crucial social hot buttons like LGBT equality, sustainability and income inequality. For whatever her personal failings, Gazette was without question a paragon of civic virtue. She was cool, confident, no wilting lily, yet she was always advertising. Always signaling to those prospective suitors within her orbit that she could be had, but only if you told her what she wanted to hear.

Beneath that facade of perfect nails and teeth, those bleach blonde tresses and silicon implants, there lived an insecure little girl. Gazette needed to be the center of attention. She needed to hear people tell her how pretty she was, how clever, how just perfect her little world. With every breath she drew she needed to be able to say “ oh, it’s so good to be me”. Absent this constant affirmation she would become plagued with self doubt and then find more and outrageous means of gaining attention. It had become a vicious cycle.

Over time it became widely known within her select breeding circle that everyone present had already had a good run at her. It didn’t stop them from coming back for more, when she would have them, but she became aware that over time their numbers seemed to diminish. More and more of them had wandered, finding the attentions of younger, fresher faces more appealing. Her insecurities rose, spurring her to nudge her boundaries further and further into strange new realms. Showing up in the office wearing nothing but heels and a thong below the waist. She still could carry it off well enough for everyone to look, but she was unaware that the talk around the water cooler was all hushed whispers of what none dared to tell her: she really should not be wearing that!

She became obsessed with mirrors then. When no others would flock to admire her, when no submission or depravity could longer serve to entice them to her altar, her vanity swelled to compensate her bruised ego. It was a sad spectacle. Her eyes had grown so sensitive that she could no longer bear the sight of anyone but herself. Her ears had grown so delicate that only the soft cooing of her self adulation could be tolerated. She descended into this pathetic ennui, completely incapable of extracting herself from the morass. For a time it was considered that she might just wither away there.

In Gazette’s universe all defeat is only temporary, no humiliation so horrid as to be career ending. Old whores never die. They just find a new kink. Enter the Pencilneck. He wasn’t much to look at. She never really paid much attention to him, just one of thousands of emasculated betas that populated her realm. Yet all of the sudden, when she was really down, he was there. He was everywhere! It was clear in a very short span of time that this man would do anything to gain and hold her attention. Despite his physical shortcomings his persistence won her over. Having been starved for a time of the level of adoration to which she’d grown accustomed, what had initially been creepy eventually was seductive.

The two became inseparable. Within months there was no finding one without the other being there or close behind. This was blossoming into something more than mere lust. Gazette and Pencilneck had found true love at last. For you see Gazette had found her new kink and Pencilneck was happy to indulge her. Gazette had discovered the empowering truth of pegging. The first time she saddled up it was liberating. It really was the correct physical manifestation of the underlying dynamic of their relationship. In the absence of the proper anatomy love found a way, with the aid of lubricants and injection molding.

 

420

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s