I love the sight of it. Delicious, pooling red richness as deep and vibrant as a liquid jewel. It gets me hot. It makes me wet . . . and it rushes me with the capricious adrenaline of a sick, heartless bitch. I want to grab your hair in the palm of my hand and twist those dark locks around my fingers. Tangling them, grasping them, holding your head in my hands. I want to crack open your skull against the wall and whisper at you to hush, shushing you maternally as your own blood is gurgling in the back of your throat, as you’re choking and sputtering as your life is dying, as you’re leaving this plane of existence and my clawing fingers are shoved up your pussy, violating you and watching you suffer with your dignity shattered at my feet. I suck your life, take your soul, laugh in absolute pleasure. I get high on your pain. I love to see you hurting, it fills me with such glee at your expense. That kind of abject control. That kind of power makes my heart beat faster, my veins pump harder, and my legs wild enough to wrap around a man three times over again. I love a good blood slut. I’m a pain whore . . . ‘cus I just love to cause it. I lean over you and absorb it into me like energy draining right from your soul. I’m a succubus of pain. And while you’re taking your last breath, I’ll shove the tubeless truck iron into your uterus that much deeper, laughing at your misery and filled to the brim with deadly elation. When you’re just about to expire, I whisper how your mother won’t miss you, she’s better off without you anyway. I tell you what I’m going to do when I sneak into your house and kill your cat tonight. The helpless agony of a million broken dreams and guilt as everything is lost at my fingertips. The utter and depressing hurt in your eyes. Yeah, baby. It’s my aphrodisiac.
Bianca
Call Bianca:
Visit Bianca's Phone Sex Profile
Read Bianca 's Phone Sex Blog
