I have dark fantasies about castration. I think testicles are a privilege that not all men deserve. When I meet a tool who I think does not deserve sexual pleasure, I take his nuts. Sometimes, I take his cock too. Just depends on how much of a tool he is. Ian was a grade A douche bag. The kind of loser who spikes women’s cocktails to get into their panties. I am careful. I set guys up playing the desperate for attention woman at last call. I switched the drinks, and he was the one who ended up wobbling out the door. I took him to my cabin in the woods. When he woke up, he was tied spread eagle, naked on my bed. I had a castration band separating his balls from his cock. He started cussing me out. I told him it was a waste of energy because I was not looking for approval from some loser who just tried to drug me to get laid. I sharpened my knife right in front of him. I never spoke to him, which was driving him bonkers. I was calm, cool and collected as I cut his balls off. To add a layer of mayhem and fear to the encounter, I bit his balls. I put them in my mouth severed and bleeding and took a bite like his balls were a ripe apple. I am sure I looked like a crazed psychopath. I am a little crazy. That makes me fun. I do not follow the letter of the law. I create my own rules and I believe that men need to be taught a deadly lesson when they try to assert male dominance. I am no victim, and I am no bitch. My roofie lover, however, is a no testicle bitch for life now. I am full of sick ball torture stories.
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