You were so easy. All I had to do is flash a smile, show my tits, touch that disgusting piece of meat between your legs and you promised to do what ever I wanted to make me happy. I have to tell you, it would take a shit load more than what you have to make me happy, but that is besides the point. Now you are worried. You phoned me out of breath, your voice shaking. I laughed and hung up on you. You are fucked.
I wasn’t the one who went out and did what you did. I just talked about the fantasy of it, you are the one who actually did the deed. Although it was what I wanted, I would never admit I put the idea into your head. You yourself said you would do anything, perhaps you should be more careful with your words. Most people who took the action that you have have these things, they are called balls, maybe you have heard of them? Did you piss yourself while you were carving her up, or did your cock explode in her tight, bloody, widened out asshole? I am thinking it was the second thing mentioned.
There you are, running away from the mess you made, and you call me to clean it up for you? Not in a million years. As far as I am concerned it was all fantasy, you were the one who took it into the world and did those brutal things to that weak, unsuspecting girl. I will not help you. As a matter of fact, now that you have accomplished what I whispered into your ear, I no longer even know you. Clean up your own mess boy, deal with it, and move on. Send me a post card from Death Row, and I’ll frame it and put it on my desk.
Raven
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