Pink

The window is open and it is a night of light and dark, passing clouds obscuring the moon for pitch blackness one minute, revealing it the next. We make our move during a black period. We slip in silently, just like the predators we are. Our eyes adjusted to the blackness, and we can see the silhouette of her body shrouded in a thin satin sheet. The thin straps of her gauzy nightshirt have slipped over her shoulder, exposing the rise of her breasts and one ripe pink nipple.

She sleeps peacefully through our stealthy home invasion. We’re careful not to stare at her face for fear of disturbing her before we are ready to act. We enjoy the moment, savoring that erotic, violent anticipation.

The moon emerges, casting a pale light on the room. Her skin, pale and perfect as a geisha girl’s. We close in, quiet as ghosts, our shadows falling on her sleeping form. You place one hand firmly in the center of her chest while the other covers her mouth. You smother her with your weight as her eyes fly open in disoriented terror, dragging her violently from a deep sleep into a living nightmare.

She begins to kick and thrash with her legs, you feel her writhing in your hands, your fingertips teasing her nipples, finding the “unwilling” pucker and hardness of them amusing. I lean forward and whisper “Cooperate and we won’t hurt you.” The lie she wants to believe. They always believe it. And they always get hurt.

I take hold of her legs and pull her from the bed to the floor a bit roughly, there’s a satisfying thump as her head cracks solidly against the hardwood. You put your index finger to your lips and give me a deathly silent “shhh” as you slide your other hand from her mouth. She’s trembling, shaking almost convulsively.

I am not like most women. I understand the thrill of the hunt. I’m not motivated by the warm love but by the cold, calculating, and extremely intense lust. I’m not a victim, your “sub.” I’m a co-conspirator, a partner, your enthusiastic companion in your act of possession, the consecration of control. I understand abandoning reason and succumbing to the cold, primal, non-human logic of animal lust. I love looking in their eyes and seeing terror, horror and shame chase across her face as you violate her the first time with your prick.

Where shall we go from here? How far will we take this rebellious cunt? I don’t know, but I do know that it will be you, not me, who says “Stop!” If the bitch doesn’t survive the experience, it means nothing to me, so I truly have no limits, even when it comes to some slut living or dying.

In other words, I have what you might call “depraved indifference” when it comes to the so-called “morality” most of society claims to share. I reject all their silly sexual taboos, I want complete control, even if I must extinguish some whore’s will to fight if necessary. THAT is truly ultimate power. And that kind of power is addictive – and I know I’m not the only addict. If you can relate, call me. We’ll indulge our forbidden addiction together.

Click here to learn more about me and my favorite fantasies...

The Hitchhiker Phone Sex – It’s the perfect hunting tactic. We dress up as a sexy, decent yuppie couple and hit the highway in our minivan – the perfect finishing touch to our disguise. We search for the perfect little thing, and stop. She’s so relieved! She’ll be safe with me in the car! Oh, the truly evil thrill of subduing them – just hard enough to prevent her escape, but giving her some room to fight, prolonging it to ecstatic lengths before she finally breaks and gives us what we want. Afterwards, if she’s still alive – a few our little victims do not survive our pleasure-taking – we’ll have a choice. Keep her for later pleasures, or finish her off? We certainly can’t just let her go now …

The Graveyard Shift – I actually worked at a funeral home for a time. Such an interesting job. The idea of life and death has always fascinated me. I worked in the embalming room overnight alone. I soon gained some very interesting friends and a particularly taboo notch in my lipstick case. I know necrophilia is supposed to be that ultimate frontier in terms of decadence and that many find it repulsive – that’s why it fascinates me. And I am certain there are some visitors to this site reading this who will know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

The Menagerie Phone Sex – It’s well-known that serial killers and rapists often like to take little trophies from their victims as a little something to help them relive the memory. I’m very much like a serial killer in that respect. If I have a very intense experience, I do bring something back with me. Blood and semen caked panties. Piercings – my favorite is when a bit of the body part they came from is still attached. Women with clit piercings are doomed to injury when I cross their path. Hair – scalp included at times. I have even more interesting things than that in my collection. Would you like to have a look?

The Post Woman Always Screams Twice Phone Sex – I lived in a different city not too long ago where I had this mail woman – complete ultra-femme goth whore who loved S&M action, a complete masochistic freak of nature. She would stop often for sessions on her mail route. She was a bondage and bullwhip freak who just wanted to be tight down tightly and lashed to a bone-deep pulp. And she was not one to take such torture quietly – a real “screamer” in every sense. I know the neighbors had to hear it clearly, but were too fearful to call the cops. They were all afraid of me, and I know they’re happy I’ve moved.

Night Stalker & Street Walker Phone Sex – I have a dear friend, a very wealthy pervert, who loves to go on “cunt hunts,” as he likes to call it. We find the choicest little pieces of meat – he shops only on the high end of the prostitution food chain – and we wine and dine her, party like rock stars, go back to the room and play around … right as we inform her we don’t intend to pay her a fucking penny. Naturally, she gets angry and talks shit to my friend, giving him the excuse to sucker punch her right in the middle of her pretty little face. That’s when I know that the time to play around is over, and it’s about to get very real . . .

Spring Break Smorgasborg Phone Sex – Do you know how many little coed sorority girls disappear every spring? I can tell you from delicious personal experience that you hear about only a fraction of the real number on the news. It is my favorite time of year, hands down, each year traveling to a different “party destination” – such a target-rich environment, such a feast for the senses. Drunk little rich bitches running amok, such easy targets. If you have any hunting skill at all, we can have her in the car before she can even process what’s happening to her …

Honeymoon Of Horrors Phone Sex – It’s amazing how much control my playmates give me over their lives. I have convinced a number of them to marry just so that they can bring their new brides to my playroom, taking a detour on their honeymoon drive. They’re always confused and frightened, and it seldom gets better for them once they’ve heard our evil proposition, and then realize that it isn’t a suggestion but a command, realize what a black contract they have signed …

Prom Queen, Scream Queen Phone Sex – Yes, I can say I’ve fucked a prom queen. Can you? I’ve split a prom queen bitch open, as a matter of fact, my senior year. I silently “ignored” the catty, shitty comments on my goth look in those days, I kept it all inside until the night after she was crowned. I stole a baseball bat from the boys’ locker room, still dirty from practice, and I found that fucking cunt, and I fucked her tight little cunt with that dry, dirty bat … let’s just say I opened her up to a wide new world of possibilities, and she was never the same after that. But nothing ever happened to me. They covered it up, said she “had mono” for a few weeks of school as she healed. They knew if the real story were known, the little slut would be destroyed.

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This blog written by Pink.
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