I often get asked why I do what I do. Why am I a Mistress? Why do most call me “evil”? (though granted, sometimes it is meant as a compliment and is taken as such regardless of if it was meant to be) Why do I enjoy inflicting pain, corruption and suffering? Why does my mind automatically turn to kink whenever a vanilla subject is being talked about? Why do I then have the urge to corrupt said vanilla individuals? The list goes on and is by no means limited to these few. Whenever directly asked any of these questions, my answer is simple: I am a scorpion (Granted. A slightly demonic, relatively twisted, highly intelligent (comparatively speaking) and completely sadistic scorpion. But a scorpion nonetheless).
I can imagine many of you are now reading this post with a rather befuddled look on your face. Just as many have had that same look when I have given them that answer.
I have graced a few menials ears with this story in the past. It is an old story (possibly dating back to as early as the 12th century, but nobody can really pinpoint its date) and both the origin of it and author of it are unknown. It was told to me as a child and now I will tell it to you.
The idea of “story time with Mistress” must now be driving all those out there with an ageplay fetish to the edge of their seats (or cute and fluffy floor cushions with sewn in motifs of various fuzzy animals as the case may be).
I hope you are all sitting comfortably.
The Scorpion and the frog:
One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where she lived and decided that she wanted a change. So she set out on a journey through the forests and hills. She climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until she reached a river.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. She could not see any way across. So she checked upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that she may need to turn back.
Suddenly, she saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river and she decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.
“Greetings Mr. Frog!” called the scorpion across the water, “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?”
“Well now, Miss Scorpion, How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?” asked the frog hesitantly.
“Because,” the scorpion replied, “If I try to kill you, then I too would die, for you see I cannot swim.”
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. “What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!”
“This is true,” agreed the scorpion, “But then I would not be able to get to the other side of the river.”
“Alright then. How do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?” said the frog.
“Ahh,” crooned the scorpion, “Because you see, once you have taken me to the other side of this river, I would be so grateful that you had helped me, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?”
So, after some hard thinking on the matter, the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog’s back, her sharp claws prickling into the frog’s soft hide, and the frog then slid back into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove her stinger from the frog’s back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
“Oh no!” croaked the frog, “Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?”
“I could not help myself” said the scorpion, “It is my nature.”