Category: Murder phone sex Fantasies

Human It’s What’s For Dinner

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They were herded like cattle, forced to bathe under high-pressure hoses, and watch as their family members perished. After the first couple of sawed, mutilated, and tortured bodies, most of the victims were more worried about themselves…than showing outward feelings about being disgusted as their spawn were executed. The large basement looked like a slaughterhouse, and it was.

It took four of us to carve out their bodies, remove intestines, and season. The fattier ones were grilled like stake and anointed with pineapples. One particularly attractive red-head was sliced up to be pepperoni for the pizza, which would surely be a hit among the munchkins that attended dinner.

We sampled everything, taking delight in our creations before sharing them with our next victims. Once they arrived and were seated, we presented the courses on white napkins and formal place settings. They were all curious about why some of their family members were not there, but they made the normal excuses (too busy, drunk, etc.). The adults and spawn thanked us for our creations.

Offering up a video from one of the family members who could not make it, we turned out the lights and dispersed. Pressing steel blades against their throats, we turned on the film. They agonized and moaned, watching their loved ones being hacked up. One woman looked down at what remained of her fillet minion and vomited; what a waste, I thought, because she had so enjoyed her aunt only minutes earlier!

We began torturing what remained of the family in our own special ways. Preferring knives, I sliced off the woman’s breasts and peeled back the flesh on her stomach. Her eyes were the last to go because I wanted her to see the bloody scene until she died. Then, it was time to prepare our meal from our newest kill. There’s just something about the taste of fear that seasons food like nothing else!

Silent Night, Bloody Night

torture phonesex angieOne of my all time favorite horror flicks is Silent Night, Bloody Night. One line from the movie moves me beyond my evil darkness.  “I have wandered in bitterness until all seasons have become as one. And that is a season of vengeance.”

Vengeance, a dish served cold, ice cold, straight from the freezer. It has taken me almost six months to prepare for my own special form of vengeance and the title of this film fits perfectly with my plan. I have set up a lane in my basement. At the end of it I have a created a bondage set up to hold ten of my worst enemies in the formation of bowling pins. The shackles are designed to hold each onus’s arms high in the air and will put them on their tip toes. I finally perfected my “bowling balls” . Skill saw bladed bowling balls specially designed to slice and dice. My human bowling pins will start in the standing position. Once I have hit a pin or several pins, I will lower them, gradually slicing and dicing them until they are laying on the lane completely helpless waiting for that one roll that will end the pain and madness.   

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.”

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.”

Royal Sadists Meet for Dinner

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One of my oldest friends and mentors was visiting for the weekend. He tossed his luggage into the guest room without even entering it. He said, “Let’s go eat.” I began to move toward the kitchen; but, he reprimanded me, shaking his finger in my face, “No, no. We must hunt it, first.”

His evil grin sent chills through my body. I had almost forgotten about his predilection for human flesh. As if he could read my mind, he added, “Of course, my dear, you may torture it first.”

And, nearly as soon as we sat down on a park bench nearly adjacent to my house, here she came: our dinner. She was leisurely walking, and my mentor waved her down. His idle chit-chat evaporated from my mind as I examined her tone shoulders and sleek physique. But, then, I saw what drew my mentor to her: her ass. Plump, succulent, yet still muscular. He always did love asses, and it was comforting that some things never change.

I vaguely remember hearing words like, “my daughter” and “dinner”; I don’t know why I was surprised when she followed us back to the house. After all, it would be silly that my mentor could have lost his magical touch; in fact, I looked at his aging beard and thought that the exact contrary was true.

We enjoyed a glass of wine together as our guest became foggy, tentatively grabbing her head and finally following off her chair. I wish he hadn’t done that; I like them to be awake when I play with them. But, he helped hoist her into my torture chair, I had a better idea. I dropped her body and walked briskly to get the largest metal pan that I had. Of course, I had planned to use it for something like this—but now was the perfect occasion.

We placed her in the pan and I began prodding her. Whatever he had given her was strong. He pilfered through my spice rack and kitchen while I used a pitch fork to open up a few wounds. “I usually like different parts in different spices, cooked separately; but I think I’d like to make an exception given your beautiful set-up here, darling,” he whispered over my shoulder. I beamed with pride and returned to slicing her stomach open to put some of his spices. She yelled in pain, and I was happy that she was awake. I didn’t want her to miss the fun.

He told me which organs to remove, such as the intestines; I followed his instructions, enjoying her screams and gushing blood. I was sad to hear her cries stifle and die. He had already turned on the large oven that I had installed mainly just for him (and a few other friends). We lifted her up and slid her in. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the room and my mentor inhaled as if it were the sweetest aroma that he’d ever encountered. We took her out of the oven a few times; mainly, he was trying to help me satisfy my lust for blood. I’d slice into her, sauté her, tenderizing our dinner.

Dinner, indeed, was magnificent. We laughed, reminisced, drank more wine, and planned the evening’s agenda. “My darling, Victor Hugo’s last words were, ‘I see a dark light.’ Shall we go out and claim it for ourselves, my darling queen Jezabel?” He extended his hand and off we went into the night.

Highway 666

There’s a little place I know where the dead walk and roam . . . a place of evil that’s trapped inside the walls. Can you hear the groans? It’s sick. I want to know what’s underneath. I scratch at the antique paper coating the places I can’t go . . . slivers pierce my fingernails and rodents bite my ankles here. I want to escape. But it’s too late. Once you let it in, you have to stay inside. There’s no way out. You’re trapped here now. Look into my eyes. Do you see my soul? It’s black and aged . . . here, you should never go. I can’t stop manipulating. Every word out of my mouth is a lie belated, waiting. Waiting to sink my claws deep in you and drag you to the depths of all unholy creation. The world through a monster’s eye. There’s a cabin off the road on Highway 666. It’s a shack I go to sometimes when I’m in the mood for a little hunting and driving. Sometimes both at once–other times, I’m a patient little fuck. When it gets dark outside and the trees are swaying back and forth, I hear whispering in those hollow logs that echos through the weeping willows. The last time I was there, I could’ve sworn I saw a stupid bitch running around out there. It was about 2AM, and I decided to go see for myself. When I got out, I heard crying coming from all directions. “Come here honey,” I called out in a sweet-as-sugar voice, dripping with the kind of evil that grabs your ankles and twists around you. Squeezes the good outta you from the inside out. Takes it, destroys it, and leaves you dark and cold forever . . . I found the little twerp sitting underneath a big maple tree out in the woods around the cabin. I took her hair in my hands and looked deep into her eyes . . . She was shaking and shivering in fear–guess she didn’t like what stared back at her.

Jagged Little Pill

There’s nothing like hydrocodone ground up beneath the heel of my dirty boot. Go ahead, lean down and sniff that shit. Don’t be a pussy. Snort it up. Get that powder deep up in that nasal cavity. Smell that? Yeah baby. LOL!  You wanna get high as the fucking sky? That’s the best time to conduct a kill. Every time you take a deep breath, feel yourself riding the euphoric wave of life on its way to the end. I’m going to make you keep at it until you fucking die. That’s right you stupid asshole. I know my stash was raided last night. You left your grubby fingerprints all over the crime scene. *KICK* Right in the fucking spleen. I hope it bursts and you’re cursed with a million ways to suffer. Burn in Hell. Did I tell you to stop? No. Keep snorting. That’s right. Take it in nice and long. Haha! 🙂 Get that sniffing little nose and keep on going. No one steals Alice’s drugs. If you want to fuck with me, you’re going to have to take a whopping for it. You were snatching for my pills, so now you’re getting them. Aren’t I sweet? Yes Siree. Now keep sniffing like the little drug stealing dog you are. BITCH. My fucking drug bitch. Snort faster! Go. Go. Go. Fucking go faster. Uh oh. That can’t be right. You’ve stopped breathing . . . I leaned over, looked in your pocket, and your I.D. says Dr. Steven. Ummmm? Well, that’s weird. I guess I did a few too many pills myself last night. Looks like I got the wrong guy. Sigh. More work for me. Oh well. That was just a warm up. Think of it this way: there’s so much more time to plan my revenge fun for the real fucker outta luck 🙂 The more the merrier. Lol!

Kiss of Death

There are men in my life who think I am normal. They see the tattoos, the piercings, and the “rocker chick” haircut, and they call me alternative .  . . They say that I’m scene. Most of these people are men–and they tell me how fucking sexy I am. It gets their dick nice and hard thinking about fucking such a tough girl like me. Well lemme tell you something, baby. I’m no benign bitch. I have some special lipstick on my dresser right now . . . would you like a kiss? I’ve got a friend who’s a real sick fuck, and she makes make-up . . . Wouldn’t you know it, I’ve got some black mamba spiders in my basement and I trapped them in a cage. I like to watch them climb the walls and try to escape. Makes me giddy with pleasure at the control I have over everyone I know . . . I can be what I want to be, do what I want to do. If it was up to me, the entirety of the human race would become my playthings. I’ve got venom laced inside my kiss. Lean in close, ‘cus you’re gonna taste this . . . I’ve built up a tolerance because of my twistedness, been smearing this shit on since before I can remember it. But when your lips touch mine, they’ll get a little flavor on ’em. I’m gonna show my affection while I watch you fucking die.

Frankly, I’m A Fucking Monster

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Everyone has a method–everyone. I don’t care if you’re a white collar professional, a bus boy at Denny’s, or a rich bitch with a trust fund stocked to the brim . . . everyone has a method. There’s just way too much stress in this world to take it like a fucking idiot. I don’t let anyone fuck with me. I’m the fucker. I’m the bitch. I’M the one who ruins and destroys people’s lives at the drop of a hat . . . and I’m the one enamored with Franklin Evan’s methods. Never heard of him? Haha. Boy, are you missing out. That stupid piece of shit is a goddamn genius.

“In the summer of 1872, 64-year-old Franklin Evans – aka the Northwood Monster – lured his adolescent grandniece, Georgianna Lovering, into the woods near her home, strangled her to death, then raped and sexually mutilated her corpse.

Following his arrest, he confessed to a string of unsolved atrocities, among them the random mutilation-murder of a physically deformed five-year-old girl he snatched from her New Hampshire home, the rape-murder of a 14-year-old schoolgirl in Maine, and the butchering of a 15-year-year-old Massachusetts girl, along with her 12-year-old brother who had witnessed the crime. He was eventually caught for his “unnamable and incredible crimes,” and “swung like a dog” in his execution.”

I get so pissing drunk, my ankles are bleeding from my heels and I don’t even fucking feel it. I’m feeling gleeful–feeling giddy. I’m going to squeeze a tramp’s throat til she ceases to breath. You wanna taste? Haha. Just you wait . . .

Wickedly Sadistic Fantasies With Deviant Natasha

You’re both intrigued and a bit frightened of me because you know exactly who I am and what I am capable of. And that makes your cock throb and ache for me, you’re completely mesmerized and there’s nothing that you wouldn’t give for a chance to put my wicked, wicked ways into action.

You’ve tried to stop, but it’s impossible to get me out of your head, it’s like you’re under my spell. Well, if you think about it, you are….admit it. I could see it in your eyes, you’ve fantasized about something like this happening but never once thought it could really happen.

The opportunity is here and now, so are you man enough to follow through and clean out all that useless baggage in your life? You need not worry about all the details, I’ll take care of everything, it’s what I do remember?

You have the most deviant, evil Accomplice at your service and I can safely say I enjoy and savor every second of what I do. The last few years have been a nightmare, your pathetic excuse for a wife is like having dead weight around your neck and you can’t free yourself, hmmm until now.

And, just because you have been through hell with that worthless troll, I’m gonna let you have a front row seat for delicious torture session I have planned out for her. In fact, I’m going to insist that you participate, she needs to look into your eyes and know that you are responsible for this!

You are going to save her, rescue her, comfort her, oh no….you’re going to tell her what a useless cunt she is and how every moment with her the past few years have been sheer torture for you and now it’s her turn. Mmmm, nothing is too graphic or gory for me, let’s push the limits and see how far we can prolong her suffering and agony…are you game?