Knife play phone sex anyone. I do not even own a gun. Honestly, I find a knife to be a better instrument of human destruction. Every victim of mine gets the knife. Maybe I just torture them with castration, or I kill them by evisceration. Either way, I am using a knife. I have thousands of knives. Many I inherited from my grandpa, my mentor. He taught me how to hunt my prey. He told me there is no valor or honor in killing with a gun. A gun requires no skill. It is mostly luck. I was a young teen girl when I helped him castrate a man. That was my first castration, and it filled me with a love for castration phone sex and knives. My grandpa did not kill this man. At the time, I wondered why. But I grew to appreciate his methods. Castrating a man is leaving him with a daily reminder of his sins. It is forcing him to live a celibate life. It takes the wind from his sails and leaves him unable to fuck or procreate. My grandpa’s victim was a P man. He was diddling little girls in the community. My grandpa caught him red handed too when he fucked my first cousin when she was itty bitty. He was a family friend, a pillar of our community. He would be a disgrace if it ever came out what he was doing behind closed doors. My grandpa could have killed him. Should have killed him for his crime was grave and personal. But grandpa told me you do not shit where you sleep. Torture sex, however, when you have something over your victim, is the next best thing. That was an important lesson for a future killer to learn. This man would not say anything about his forced castration because my grandpa had film of him fucking his young granddaughter. Leverage, my grandpa told me, is a powerful motivator for silence. That man never diddled another girl again and he never told the police that my grandpa and me castrated him. Be careful who knows your dirty secrets.
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