Snuff phone sex fantasies most men have. And for whatever reason men like that gravitate to me. It’s like they have a six sense and feel my vulnerability and my desperateness for coke. But last night, I walked into a lair of killer men.
I decided to go barhopping last night. I had no intention of getting into too much trouble. Maybe suck a few dicks and get some coke. Have some fun and crawl back into bed with my husband. And my plan seemed to be working. Most of the guys I blew appeared to be normal guys. Just partying because they did not need to work today. I have long found that the night before a holiday, the bars get packed with men just looking to blow off some steam.
But one of the bars I walked into had a much different vibe than the others. A darker vibe. A new bar. I should have called it quits before I came here. Apparently, this bar doubles as a snuff porn studio too. Women walk into the bar, but they rarely walk out. And I discovered the hard way what this place was really all about. Apparently for the men, it’s a membership only place that cums with a healthy price tag. Men pay half 1 million a year to visit this bar. But what they get for their money seems priceless according to the members.
Even When I Do Not Go Looking for Trouble, It Finds Me
When an unsuspecting woman like me stumbles into this mysterious new bar, she finds herself in the labyrinth of hell. Different rooms provide its own form of hell for a woman. I felt like I walked into something out of Eli Roth’s movie Hostel. I literally walked across broken glass. And that disabled me. When I fell to my knees, men dick slapped me, and skull fuck me. As my feet bled, I felt shards of glass digging into my knees.
That felt like nothing. The next room men strapped me to a slab of concrete and tortured me with electrical currents until I pissed myself. I hate being shocked. And this seemed more elaborate than anything I experienced before. Most men just use a cattle prod on me. But this contraption included little stickers they attached to the most sensitive parts of my body. They shocked me in unison. Pure torture sex. They even put stickers inside my cunt and over my asshole too. So, that explains why I pissed and shit myself in the bar.
One of These Days, I Will Run Out of Nine Lives
I didn’t make it through all the rooms in that bar. But only because I knew one of the guys in this torture den. My husband‘s brother. Never in 1 million years thought I’d see him in a place like this. So, I guess that goes to show you that you can’t always judge a book by its cover.
This guy is a money market man. He manages the wealth of a lot of people in our community. When I recognized him, I thought for sure he killed me just to keep his secret. But he thought about my boys and did not want them to lose their mother. So, he showed me the trap door that allowed me to escape.
But I smelled like piss. And burning flesh. My knees and my feet bled. And I did not have my clothes. A homeless man in an alley gave me some old dirty clothes to wear so that I could get home. Thank God, my husband takes Ambien at night. He slept through me coming home showering and crawling back into bed with him like nothing happened. But no doubt he might notice that I’m limping today. It’s hard to walk when your feet hurt from shards of glass.
I still can’t believe I saw my brother-in-law in a place like that. And I know for a fact that this likely will come back to bite me in the ass. Just like my stepson owns me. I think my brother-in-law does now too. But now I know a bar to avoid like the plague. I had no idea that something so sinister even existed in my small town. I should’ve stopped barhopping before I even got to this macabre torture chamber masking as a bar.
