Torture phone sex calls make me wet. Not much makes my Goth gash purr better than human torture. I do not torture animals. I respect animals because they help me dispose of your remains. But a man, I can torture until he dies from the pain. A quick painless death? Nope. Not with me.
Most of the men I torture do not beg for it. But this one did. And I found him so pathetic and so worthless, that I did it for free. Sometimes men find Goth girls like me hanging out in Goth or Steampunk bars. When they come into a bar filled with folks like me, they stick out like a sore thumb. And for whatever reason, they gravitate to me. Like I have a loser magnet inside my body somewhere, LOL.
Well, I could have that removed, but I love ridding this world of losers with torture sex. James found me and begged for me to kill him right there. Trust me, I considered it. But public slayings or impulse kills not my style. I stay under the radar. That’s how I avoid going to prison. However, I will slaughter a loser in my kill shack any day.
Some Men Just Scream Kill Me
Although I practice good cleanup measures, if the FBI raided my kill shack, they might get confused by all the DNA found inside. But no one knows how to find my kill shack. Thats because it is located seriously off the grid. I felt like this loser James deserved some medieval torture. Since my grandpa was a sadist, I inherited his collection of fine medieval torture devices. I put James on the rack. And I slowly turned the crank to stretch him until he tore in half.
It took hours at the pace I went, but I love prolonging agony. Watching someone die from pain slowly, I find erotic. I can smell pain. I can smell fear. When James finally tore in two, his upper body did not know he had been severed yet. While his brain caught up to his body, I sat on his face. My Goth gash was the last thing he ever saw in his final snuff sex moment. When he died, I fed him to the wildlife. Now, I am on the prowl for my next loser. Maybe it will be you.