Torture phone sex is fun, but it doesn’t really compare to the hunt. I thrive, needle in hand, prowling the night clubs for my prey. I’m wet in anticipation, ready to dig my knife deep between their thighs; I intend to show my catch a real good time. I’m talking week long sessions of screaming, blood streaming from wounds. I want to cut something pretty apart at the seams.
I saw her, dancing up on the pole. I wound my way up, dancing beside her. My hands slid down her body, catching a nipple in my claws. I sunk my teeth into her neck deep in the underbelly of Chinatown, slipping my needle into her belly button. I beckoned her, and she followed; her cunt was starting to drip from the drugs. I grinned the whole taxi ride back to my place. In my basement, I tied her to the table, and flicked open my knife.
I cut away her shirt, her tiny micro skirt, that lacy little thong. I licked along her body, tasting the sweat on her skin. The second needle slid silently into her tongue, and she was limp. Trapped, but awake, my pretty kitten stared me down with wide eyes. She was terrified as I started the sawzall, taking each arm and then each leg, until she was nothing but a bloody stump for fucking.
Needle three kissed my amputee in her sweet, tight pussy. She started to feel it, the overwhelming pleasure. Her cunt dripped, all drugged up and bound down. She was begging for release, from her ties or to cum I wasn’t sure. But it gave me an idea. I picked up her detached arm, manipulating her still-warm fingers to coax her into cumming, stroking her clit with her own dead fingers, and fucking her in my sickened mutilation masturbation.
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