I think if we’re honest with ourselves, we all have murder phone sex fantasies in our heads. We all know somebody we want to kill. But unlike me, most folks listen to the voice in their head that says don’t do it or you will go to jail. You won’t go to jail if I’m your accomplice or your teacher. I know how to get away with murder. I’ve been doing it since my schoolgirl days.
And now I’m a woman. A Goth woman. And I know how to set a trap for my victim. Honestly, I do not discriminate. Male or female, young or old, black or white, I hate everybody. So, when somebody acts like a bitch, especially to me, I kill them without hesitation. But I never kill them in the heat of the moment. That’s what gets people caught. So, I plan it out. Sometimes I even wait months from the initial encounter to stay off the radar.
Killer sex requires patience and control. I learned how to stop impulse killing thanks to my grandpa. He nurtured the killer instinct in me. And taught me everything I know about remaining undetected. In a way my grandfather acted like Dexter‘s dead dad. Giving him a code for killing. Although I do kill my share of predators, I kill a lot of people who don’t fit any sort of moral code.
Like Trevor who I killed this weekend. I encountered him two months ago, however. But I resisted my urge to stab him in the middle of the bar. And I might have stabbed him in the middle of a bar in my younger days, but I would’ve been arrested.
No Man Insults or Harasses Me and Lives
Trevor tried to shame me for my look. He clearly dislikes Goth girls. He gave me the backhanded compliment. I’d be pretty if I didn’t look so moody. That shit doesn’t fly with me. I’m never going to look like some fashion model because I don’t want to look like some fashion model. He just made one condescending comment after another and put himself on my radar.
So, I stalked him for months planning how I would kill him. Two months after our initial account, nobody would remember him talking to a random Goth girl in a bar on a busy Friday night two months ago. And even if they did, they would not immediately assume that our encounter led to his death. I never make a scene in public. I don’t slap a man or knee him in the balls or even yell and scream at him.
But I killed him this weekend. I let my anger and rage build up for two months so that I could kill him in a frenzy. Inflict maximum amount of pain in the least amount of time. One of the reasons I’m fond of knife play phone sex. I can stab a man to death, but it will take time for him to die unless I cut a major artery or stab him in the head like he’s a zombie. I broke into his house, and made it look like a personal kill. Overkill always takes the pressure off me because they start to look at suspects much closer to home.
I Can Train You to Be a Killer Too
Plus, I know how to break into a house but make it look like someone let me in willingly. And that’s another thing that points to a personal kill. I killed him in his bed. And I took nothing to add to the personal murder narrative. But I did wake him up before I killed him. I wanted him to see my face as I plunged the knife into his body, creating a bloody phone sex mess of his bed. I let him know why I killed him. The guy didn’t even remember meeting me. And I can’t imagine he meets many Goth girls hanging out in preppy bars. What a fucking loser.
A dead loser now. His daddy apparently is a circuit court judge in town. I left no DNA at the scene, and I have no connection to him other than a five-minute exchange at a bar months ago. I think his father will push the false narrative I created about this being personal. Hell, they might even blame one of the many people who likely hate the judge. Sins of the father and all. I always kill the people I wish dead. I just don’t kill them in the heat of the moment. And I make a bad ass accomplice too.
Venus
Call Venus: (855) 733-5746 ext 4631
Visit Venus's Phone Sex Profile
Read Venus 's Phone Sex Blog
