Category: Evil phone sex

Crash: Part One

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One of my friends told me that I had to see this underground scene where people are obsessed with famous car crashes and recreate them. But, the beauty, he said, was that they recreate them with authenticity…which means that real people die in them! I was fascinated.

When we arrived, I met this guy who had scars all over his face and body; he was proud of them, letting me touch them. He seemed to get a sexual thrill out of me touching and admiring them. One especially long scar was on his chest; it was almost over an inch wide, and it must have been one gorgeous gash when it happened. I would have liked to put my finger in that bloody tissue before they’d sewn it up. I scratched my long nails against it, smiling with excitement, thinking I might get the chance to do that later.

The show was about to begin. I could see a mother and her daughter crawl into the front seat of one; and, a drunk guy crawled into the other car. The game was on: two older cars (that had no significance to me because I wasn’t born before the significant crash happened) revved up their engines. The crowd hooped and hollered. I felt like I had found kindred spirits.

When the cars collided, the sound of bent metal permeated the air; smoke, gasoline hung close. The little brat was ejected out of the car like a cannon ball. The bloody small body lay only a few feet away from us; I was compelled to walk over to it, but I was also enjoying the woman stagger out of the car. Her face was bloody and people began to clap once she slung her one leg out of the car. Apparently, she had succeeded perfectly with amputating one of her legs during the crash. She walked a pace or two and fell over, presumably dead from the gushing blood. The drunk guy emerged with blood to his head but a bottle of beer in his hand. Everyone applauded and my thirst for blood and violence was far from clenched…

Happy Bloody Father’s Day

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Since it’s Father’s Day, I visited my grandfather in the nursing home. His glazed eyes stared in the distance, but his mind was as sharp as it always had been. When I asked about the women waving to me, he said it was his girlfriend. She looked just a like a little grandma, so sweet and unassuming, as she played cards with some of the other women. He sensed my confusion and said, “Now, honey, you of all people should know that things are not always as they seem.” Granddaddy leaned down to me and whispered, “We’re in love. And, she’s one of us.” I was in disbelief; how could this Betty-Crocker-looking grandma be a suitable partner for the man that I fashioned my evil side from?

He reached into his pocket and produced a pinky; it was grey but he had carried it around for a while. My granddaddy didn’t usually keep trophies, so I was curious. He said, “See this—she did this for me when we had our first kill together.” To my delightful surprise, I found that age and blindness hadn’t withered his evil spirit. He said that they would go on outings at night in order to find little ones and girls to torture. I knew his favorite were the plump athletic ones; and, I was happy that some things hadn’t changed.

The woman had a friend who owned a pizza place, so sometimes they’d go back there and create feasts out of their victims. According to him, she had never done anything like this before, but she was a natural. “Loves the little ones,” he chuckled. “And, you know that’s just fine with me. She can steal a brat in pure daylight, take out its heart and eat it, and people just smile at her with blood dripping from her chin.” I looked over at the woman with a missing pinky. What a perfect ruse, really: an old blind man and a grandma. He leaned down and whispered, “We’re planning on going on a road-trip.” I knew that meant that he would find a way to let me know which killings were his as they traveled. I kissed his cheek and left. For the rest of the day, any time I looked at an old lady, I wondered what kind of evil lurked beneath the surface.

An aunt’s gift

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I love my niece, but her taste in toys is horrendous. I blame it on the options, though. There are all these stupid, skinny little clean-skinned dolls smiling behind their clear plastic cover. And, the stupid larger versions, don’t forget them! Really, it’s just creepy.

So that got me to thinking about creating a better toy for her, one that would remind her of Aunt Pandora. I bought a doll, painted its face zombie white and began looking around for some red hair dye. I almost splashed some of the dye on the doll…but, I had a better idea: why not use the real thing for blood? It was easy, really; I just went to the park, chose one of the lambs that had wondered off from her mom. She was easy to lure, especially with the doll that would soon be transformed. Apparently, she had never seen a doll like this. And, she never would again; I would make sure of that. I was going to honor my niece by killing this sickeningly sweet thing. My niece would not be like this, I told myself; no, she would be like me.

My evil heart sang as I carved into the little brat’s flesh. As I sprayed blood on the doll, the snotty-nosed brat cried. I shook the doll in her face and cackled as the cunt-stain cried louder. Finally, I had enough: I stabbed her in the chest, ripped open her rib cage, and there it was: her heart. I brought it to my lips and inhaled. I cut a few slivers and then soaked it in black ink before popping the doll’s head off and placing the heart in there. Now, the doll was transformed! I handcrafted a death certificate to go along with my gift. I couldn’t wait to see my niece play with her new, favorite toy!

Specials

Crisis Mode: Crack Whores

Sometimes I have to go on a little mission to collect. Dealing with people that are just asking for punishment is very disheartening. In the master bedroom of my Aunt Shelby’s apartment, I scanned the room and tsked to myself. On the floor, empty bottles lay smashed around a chipped plate with flies buzzing over a foul lump of meat. It did not look cooked. I saw a smelly, balled-up blanket with mysterious twigs and branches twisted within. It was stuffed underneath the corner desk. Something was moving inside . . . “Shelby,” I called, my voice echoing across the dimly lit room, “come out, come out, wherever you are.” My voice took on a singsong quality as I moved across the scratched hardwood floor. My combat boots only served to scuff it further, which made me smile. I found her shivering in the bathtub, a cigarette in one side of her mouth which had long since burned out. She was butt naked and huddled against the filthy tiles behind her. The hoops pierced through her erect nipples glistened against the light of the single ceiling bulb. I made soothing sounds and advanced on her sympathetically. My eyes flashed with the danger of a predatory she knew only too well. Reaching out, I pet the skin along her shoulder–right over the snake tattoo with a single cross on its back. “That won’t help you now,” I remarked. She shook and stared straight ahead, appearing unable to see me or acknowledge my presence. So I felt I had to help her. I reached down, took the cigarette from her mouth, and rubbed the butt in her face, scalding the skin and eliciting a piercing shriek of pain. “Hi Aunty Shelby, doll,” I beamed down at her bubbling skin. “So glad I got your attention . . . now you’re dead meat.”

Endgame

Then I grabbed my knife and used the handle to spread her plump, pale, fat ass cheeks. I whistled lowly. “Well, would you look at that,” I narrated, running a finger from her pert, tight asshole to her soft knocked-up vaghole. Then I trailed the sharp knife around her cunt so she could feel it and know what was coming to her. “It’s cold, huh?” I whispered down at her. “I like it like that.” She started bawling feebly, wiggling her ass in my face as though she expected to escape. I plunged the sharp blade into her babyhole and listened to her horrible scream as it sliced through her fragile canal. Then I smiled and began moving it in and out of her. Wiggling it back and forth and fucking her with the pocket knife. Hayley was hysterical, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and making tons of noise. Shivering and arching her back, contorting her body strangely. Blood poured out of her, all of the cuts from the sharp tool and the jerking meant that her warm, thick, red blood was pooling out at a fast rate and was already coating my entire hand. Listening to her pitiful cries, I mocked her. Feigning sympathy, I leaned in close and cooed: “Do you like the way I fuck you?” I pulled the pocket knife out of her cunt with one last stab that released a howl from her parched throat. I knew I’d nicked her cervix and it’d hurt like fuck. Then I flipped her over and took a look at my progress. She wouldn’t last much longer–Hayley was already delirious, very injured, and near dead. I stabbed her tummy with my blade and started cutting, smiling all the way. I was going to get that baby out, sever the cord, and stick the fetus down the garbage disposal where it belongs . . . but I woke up. My half-brother is a real dickhole, and made the mistake of betraying my family and sending my Mom to jail a few months ago. This dream will become a reality . . . he’s going to get what’s cumming to him–and his little wife, too . . . I guess it’s just like in the movies. Everyone has an endgame. It’s too bad for them that theirs has already been decided . . . by me.

Mr. Self Destruct

“Mr Self Destruct”

I am the voice inside your head
and I control you
I am the lover in your bed
and I control you
I am the sex that you provide
and I control you
I am the hate you try to hide
and I control you
I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct
I speak religion’s message clear
and I control you
I am denial guilt and fear
and I control you
I am the prayers of the naive
and I control you
I am the lie that you believe
and I control you
I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct
I am the needle in your vein
and I control you
I am the high you can’t sustain
and I control you
I am the pusher I’m a whore
and I control you
I am the need you have for more
and I control you
I am the bullet in the gun
and I control you
I am the truth from which you run
and I control you
I am the silencing machine
and I control you
I am the end of all your dreams
and I control you
I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct
 

The Chase

I bashed her stomach with the lamp next to her bed and I smiled brightly when I felt the blob I’d beaten within. I jumped on her like a wildcat–I couldn’t stop raking my nails into her eye sockets, kicking her, smacking her and ripping out her hair. She fell against the bed and took it like a good whore. Screams for help soon graduated to lowly and half-assed whimpers and raspy cries as her energy was drained away from her. Hayley bleeding from her mouth, her eye was swollen shut, and she sobbing hysterically. She’d lost control over her mouth, where teeth were now sparse, and so I took her maternity pajama top into my hands and ripped it open down the front, exposing her huge milk-brimming tits, swollen and achy and pregnant. Her nipples looked like little red buttons I just wanted to slice off to see what was inside. Begging pathetically, trying to cover her stomach with her arms. Trying to save the baby I wanted to kill for my own. I took out my pocket knife and slashed her pajama bottoms off. “Ever been fucked by a knife, you stupid cunt?” I asked her. She moaned and struggled weakly, flailing. I laughed. “I’m going to stick this blade up your cunt and fuck you real good with it. It’s about time we used that babyhole for what it’s good for.” She was too beaten and abused to resist much. I flipped her over like a nice piece of preggo ass and spread those breeding whore legs for what they were good for. “Bradley’s dead now,” I told her through my smile. “You’re a widow, and since I’m your next-of-kin, you’re my wife now.” This caused a horrible shaking to overtake her weak body, and tiny sounds of abject terror and fear escaped from her bruised lips. “I can’t hear you,” I told her chidingly. “You’re face down, ass up, like you belong.”

Light And Dark

torture phonesex angieMy favorite saying is by Laurence Sterne: “Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other” How true this is, Especially in my world. I will lure you in with the promise of pleasure beyond you wildest imagination. I will tempt you with my sweet voice and invite you in with my soft tender kisses. The curves of my hips and the rise and fall of my breasts will mesmerize you and render you helpless to my will. Then just when you think you are about to experience heaven, I will take you to hell. I will take what I want from you, sucking the life and will from the depths of your being and making you like it, want it, even beg for it. As you go from the heights of sensual pleasure to the depths of intense pain you will feel the power of my black heart and my evil desires, Your need to please me over rides your sensibilities and the pain becomes and aphrodisiac that you beg me to give. If you’re lucky you will live to see the fruits of your sacrifice and see the juices flowing from my cunt as you bring me pleasure. But likely, you will only feel the hot, wet cum on your lifeless body. Light and dark, pleasure and pain…welcome to the dark side! 

The Hunter

“In my mind’s eye my thoughts light fires in your cities.”
― Charles Manson

My half-brother is having a baby. Well, his slut fuck wife anyway. Wanna know a secret? Last night I closed my eyes and I dreamed about it . . . the creaky halls, warped floor boards, and silent groans of their Hollywood Hills home. As I climbed in through the kitchen window, echoing sounds ricocheted across the shadowy darkness. Passing the garbage disposal, and taking special note of where is was . . . I climbed upstairs, twisting around the banister, and opening the bedroom door, casting light from the hall across the room. While Bradley rubbed Hayley’s fat bloated preggo stomach, I leaned on my baseball bat for support. And when the lights started flickered on and off in the hall, where my hand was playing with the switches, my halfling got up to go check it out like the “good man.” I reached in my waistband, retrieved the shotgun I’d hidden down the leg of my sweatpants, and blew his fucking brains out. Cocked the piston, aimed it at his third eye, and, he didn’t have time to react with anything more than utter disbelief before I pulled the trigger. “Bye bye Bradley,” I whispered to him. His head snapped backward as it simultaneously splattered against the wall in a mass of bone, blood, brains, and dripping flesh. The sound of the gunpowder blowing back and the shell taking off his head sent shivers up and down my spine. I needed that. I was getting high. Without taking a breath or a pause, I dropped the gun where his head used to be. His body collapsed to the floor, nothing left of him except the shoulders-down. The scream from his fat breeding slut meant I charged in there with a Cheshire grin on my happy fucking face without even a pause or a breath. She was trying to get up from bed, so I whacked that bitch’s kneecaps out with the bat. CRACK! I didn’t want her getting away. She let out an ear-piercing scream. Such a worthless used-up pussy she is. Like a warbling, fluid fantasy, she fell to the floor groaning in horrible utter agony and I grabbed the slut by her hair. “Tell me what scum you are,” I seethed down at her. She obliged, begging for her baby’s life. “No,” I smirked, “I don’t think so.”

Evil Beginnings

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One of my favorite poets named Anthony Hecht said, “It doesn’t seem to me strange that little ones should like the macabre, the sensational, and the forbidden.” I wish my parents would have felt the same way. But, they didn’t. Instead, they pushed me around different mental wards, physically reprimanded me, and whatever they thought was best. The irony is that those experiences only helped intensify the darkness inside of me and gave me ingenious ideas about how to torture my victims.

For instance, in the ward, I met this young girl who was about my age. She was crazy, but I still found ways that I could learn from her. She would slash her wrists and write messages on the wall. But what I remember most is this one time that she had to go to a funeral. She was able to choose one “friend,” and she chose me, probably because most young people and grown-ups were scared of me.

So, we got to the funeral; instead of sitting with her family members, she walked directly to the front and examined the body with curiosity. With determination, she lifted her small body above the coffin and to the corpse. She opened the dead old woman’s mouth, grabbed her tongue between her little fingers, and produced a pair of scissors. I don’t know where she was able to get the scissors, but it seemed that she had a plan: she cut off the purple tongue and without blinking put it in her pocket. She closed the old woman’s mouth and turned around.

I don’t know if anyone saw what she did; but no one did anything except rip the scissors away from her hand. Maybe all the grown-ups were too busy morning, or whatever they do; or maybe they knew that they couldn’t do anything about the crazy girl and just pretended that it didn’t happen. Regardless, at that moment, I felt a sisterly bond with the girl. She was one of the first to give me the courage to embrace the dark side inside of me, and to help it grow. From time to time, she’d take out the tongue at the ward and we’d both look at it, poke at it, smell it. I was the first to lick it; and she giggled. I still wonder if anyone took the tongue away from her; why would they, what could they do with it? After all, how could they appreciate such a thing of beauty, this mutilated tongue?