es, and leaned his head against the window, and calmly slept better than he had in many years.

Educated individuals with intellectual conversational skills, and open minds get my attention, other writers are especially welcome. I am an educator, and that is the basis of ownership, and being the leader of a relationship, to teach, and grow the sub/slave inside you.
 
Things I also am: Bibliophile, Pervert, Intellectual, Philosopher, Writer, Educator, Student, Working Man, World Traveler, Conversationalist, Musician, Free Man, Realistic, Nerdy, Geeky, Passionate, Dedicated, and Genuine. 
 
 
Sunday Morning
 
The sun shined bright and hot through the thin slits in the blinds, cutting the pool of blood into light and dark ribbons on the old hard wood floor. The blood seeped through old cracks, and dripped to the cold concrete in the basement below, its all he could focus on, the small minute details of the world around him seemed to be all that he could see after something like this. The fan oscillated slowly, doing little more then circulate warm air around the small living room. The fresh coppery smell of blood assaulted his nostrils, he made a conscience decision to try and breath through his mouth from here till the police arrived, and they would arrive soon, because he had just called only two minutes ago, two min...it’s felt like ages, years that he had been sitting on the hot sticky leather couch, the smell of sweat and death would be overwhelming soon, but he thought it best to stay put, and not disturb the delicate scene of evidence surely to damn him in this states fine court of law, why make the good officers job harder for them, he knew a many good officers in his time, and well they sure worked hard, and on such a hot day they did not need any trouble from him, no siree not from me he thought with proud resolution, it should be a open and shut case, maybe they will even get a commendation. Gee, that would sure be swell for them he thought. He would be sure to mention how swell a job the officers did in his confession.
He could hear sirens now, a sigh of relief escaped his pursed lips, he licked them a little and could taste the salty blood that was all over his face and sweaty church clothes, the church really should invest in a air conditioner he thought, Mary and I always gave so generously, least they could do it put in a little window unit, the Jeffersons from down the road said they had one put in for only a months worth of pay, and they sure weren’t as well off as anyone else in the town, no reason the church couldn’t get one. 
 
The sound of two cars pulling up into the dirt yard coming to an abrupt stop, the sirens turned off, the doors opening and 4 pairs of police issue boots running up to the porch came through the open window. The door was open, only the screen door was shut, which was forcefully pulled open, the squeek of the hinges quick and high. The four troopers entered the small living room, revolvers drawn and aimed at poor Walt. The small hand hatchet, a common tool in these parts, lay limp in his hand, still slowly dripping with the blood and visceral of his once sweet young bride Mary Lou, now tattered and torn upon the floor, looking as if asleep in her own bloody mess, she never did stand a mess in her home Walt thought. The troopers ordered in a loud and stern voice to drop the hatchet. Poor Walt had even forgot it was still in his blood stained hands, it slowly dropped to the ground with a dull thud, like that of a final judgement of God,  forever and unchangeable. The chains were put on , and rights read, but to the Officers it seemed that Poor Walt was only half listening , a look of sadness on his clean shaven face as he gave one last longing glance at his sweet Mary Lou lying there on the floor. 
“Dammit Walt, what have you done?”</spa Click on the 'View Full Profile' button below to read the rest of this profile.