Snuff sex fantasies are one thing, but he wanted me dead. I owed him money. I owed him coke too. A few months ago, I stole a bag of coke. It was a small bag. He didn’t need it. It wouldn’t have made him much money. When he found me, he made it clear that what he was doing to me was a matter or principal. He couldn’t have people thinking he was soft. His posse was with him as he tied me up. I was bound and gagged and scared, very scared. They took turns kicking me. It didn’t matter that I was a woman. I stole; I had to be punished. They fucked my ass raw until it prolapsed, then the leader of the pack, the one I stole from, put a zip tie on my prolapsed ass. I screamed out in pain, but that was nothing compared to being branded. He spelled out the letters Thief on my ass. Thief, forever branded on me, so no one would ever trust me. Him and his posse sodomized me. They beat me up. They tortured me for hours and they burned my flesh. All so one drug dealer could save face. My body will never be the same because I stole an itty bitty bit of coke.
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