Snuff Movies and Chill is My Idea of a Date

snuff moviesI enjoy watching snuff movies with men. Especially men who I would like to make a snuff flick with. And I’m not necessarily talking about as my accomplice. I like to watch the expression on men’s faces as they watch extreme cock and ball torture in an underground film. Because when they react strongly to such a film, I know it’s going to be enjoyable to inflict that sort of pain on them.

I dupe a lot of men into thinking I want to fuck them. But that’s easy to do. You can be a Goth chick or a big, beautiful woman, men don’t care. They’ll put their dick inside anything for the most part. I don’t need men. Men like to think that women depend on their cocks.

But we do not need men. If we want to birth brats, we can go to some sperm bank for that. If we want an orgasm, they make a variety of sex toys geared for women’s sexual pleasure. And a lot of those battery operated boyfriends bring women a lot more pleasure than a breathing man.

So, any time a man treats me like I should be grateful that he’s giving me any attention, I decide that man needs my brand of extreme cock and ball torture sex. Alex picked me up at a bar. He seemed different from most predators. He did not attempt to spike my drink with a roofie or anything. But I still found him annoying. And not simply because he walked and talked. The shit he spewed out of his mouth made me think that he believes the world needs more “trad wives.” A Goth bar is the wrong venue to spew that caveman shit.

Men We Do Not Exist for You

I will never be somebody’s wife. And if I ever get married, I would never be a traditional wife who stays at home, makes bread from scratch and makes arts and crafts with the little ones while I homeschool them. I am not Laura fucking Ingels on the Prairie.

This man, I needed to torture for shits and giggles. And to let him know women do not exist to take care of him. So, once we were at my place, I spiked his drink. I put on some torture porn, and I watched as he looked horrified at what he saw. And then I whispered in his ear that’s just a little taste of what’s to come later, darling.

I think he shit himself right then. That’s an exaggeration. However, he did piss his pants. But I planned on ripping them off him anyway, so I could mutilate his junk. I started with a castration band around his worthless balls. And then I carved up his dick with my name on every side. He let out blood cuddling screams, which makes my pussy wet. I get off on fear and pain. Folks call me a wicked butcher for a reason.

For hours, I mutilated Alex‘s junk. And eventually, I chopped his balls off killing his chances of ever marrying or procreating. He’s entitled to his thoughts and opinions on where women belong. But he must face the backlash and the consequences of such antiquated beliefs. And one of the consequences of such archaic thinking is castration phone sex. Repeat after me men. Women do not exist to be your caretaker and your fuck dolls. We no longer live in a caveman society. So, wake up and get with the program and maybe I’ll let you keep your balls.

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