I love knife play phone sex so much that I grab a new blade every chance I can get. Can’t have fun with knives if you don’t have a shit ton of them, that’s what I always say. I think my favorite blades to buy are gas station knives. No, they’re not of a high quality or better at cutting than other knives. In fact, they’re usually trash. That’s why I like them. They’re flashy, gaudy and dumb looking just like the dumb fuck pigs I poke, slice and cut with them.
You’ve seen them, they’re everywhere; guys who look like a walking, talking gas station knife. Trendy haircut, sharply trimmed beard, usually wearing some sort of MMA or booze branded shirt. Those are the ones, human gas station knives polluting my air with their noxious gasses and vile noises. They’re easy to hunt, you can hear their call from miles away. “Yo! Let’s go!” they bellow as they bounce around from bar to bar with their shit head buddies looking for any sexy little slit they can find to pay them an ounce of attention. I have a slit for them, right across their muscle bound throats.
They love a slutty looking chick who has a craving for cum sparkling in her eyes. I can do that really well. I am, indeed, slutty by nature and love a good blast of jizz shot deep in my cooch, but only when I like the guy. No one can like these sentient Monster energy drink cans, they’re vapid, hollow and have little goals other than getting wasted and drained. They’re some of my favorite targets, even more so than the little sluts they pursue. Cutting them up with a cheap and barely sharpened gas station knife makes for really bloody phone sex. Listen… I think I can hear one now.
Willow
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