Castration phone sex is among the most fun a sick bitch like me can have. I remove junk for all sorts of reasons. My parents and grandfather did not raise me to roll over for any man who looks at me twice. Just the opposite. They raised me to be an independent woman who does not need the attention or support of any man. I have no time for the kind of men my family warned me about. As I age, I realize the group of self-entitled men who think women are just props for them has grown, not dwindled. I am evening the score. Avenging women who are not as strong and independent as me. I get wind of where predators hang out and I dupe them. I do not look like the type who attracts the shallow men looking to explore their rape phone sex fantasies, but I am a chameleon with my looks. I dress up, don a blonde wig and act dumb and unsuspecting and the predators flock to me. At this hotel bar, the predator was the bartender. He has been spiking the drinks of women staying at the hotel alone and getting their room numbers when they bill a nightcap to their room. He has a master key of some sort and comes into their room once the roofie kicks in. You cannot outsmart this sadistic bitch. I was waiting for the pervert with my big knife. When he crawled into my hotel bed, I sprayed him with mace and handcuffed him to the bed. As I suspected, a little dick no one would miss but him. Why is it that I can count on the sexual predators of the world to have shrimp dicks? I thought about the torture sex pleasure I would get if I took his stump of a cock too, but I opted for just his worthless nuggets. This way he will never get an erection again. That means his days of forcing his pathetic nub on women are gone. Another predator bites the dust.
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