The following is not a fictitious depiction but an abbreviated
and edited paraphrasing of several months of email communications
between real individuals. Names and identities have been changed
to protect privacy.
K.'s Dilemma
[The following are excerpts from e-mail exchanges between Woodburn and
K., a female with extreme submissive tendencies. They took place
last year. I thought they might provide enjoyable reading for those who
are fans of my stories.
K. is the cunt; W. is yours truly.]
[By the time K. wrote to me about `Taking Down Daddy's Girl' in late May 2001
we'd already been communicating for four months. The following message is
my reply to her - using parts of her email as excerpts to which I respond. She
avoided online chat or phone conversations for the most part although I tried to
encourage both.]
K:.. the focus [of your story] was on the man and the woman, and his
total and utter destruction of what and who she was. I commend you on it.
W: Total and utter destruction is what I crave. Heartless and merciless and
unstoppable. Your destruction is ever present in my thoughts. Your need to suffer,
your willingness to take in my depraved writings, is exciting to me.
K: I am still trying to be a good girl. I express my needs through reading your
stories over and over. You have given me such a pool of images on which to draw
and to feed this side of myself. I am still ashamed of what I want, and cry almost
nightly thinking about how pathetic I am, but I am holding it together.
W: Too bad you're holding it together, cunt. But the idea of you crying nightly is
very rewarding to me. I'm glad my stories continue to corrupt your mind and fuck
with your head. You are pathetic. You are weak. You are a worthless slut in dire
need of vicious punishment. You're a sorry mess of a person, aren't you?
[A little background is in order here. This slut wrote me first and told me how my
stories had revived tendencies she'd long tried to suppress. She'd
been raped viciously and repeatedly over a long period of time as a child by a
neighbor and this had left deep physical and psychological scars. Her female
masochistic nature had been nurtured by this abusive relationship and she'd gone on
in life to seek similar violence in men she dated. For many years she'd been in a
slave/master relationship with a guy named Tony whom she described as
a leather-biker type. When he was killed in a motorcycle accident she tried
to escape her deep need for sexual violence and sought therapy. She then
married a vanilla guy who had no idea about her `secret' nature. She'd been
in this relationship for two years when she started looking on the internet
for what she was missing in real time. That's when she came across me.
Despite several attempts to have her meet me I was not succesful. She told
me that if she ever did come to me it would be for a `terminal' involvement,
one she would not want to survive. I felt she did not have the courage to carry out
her desires and I was right. In the meantime, I played with her psychologically and
tried to wreak as much destruction as I could. Apparently I was succesful because
in her final message to me she told me she was going to seek psychiatric help and
abandon the internet before she did something stupid. For those of you who think I
should have counseled her to get help and not mess with her you are obviously not
true sadists. This bitch was a toy for me. A kind of toy which one rarely gets
their hands on. To be perfectly honest, I had her on the edge of meeting me
until her husband suffered a heart attack. That event pulled her back to her
reality and away from my mental manipulation.]
K: Thank you for sending me your stories. You have no idea how much they mean
to me.
W: I'm sure they allow you to fantasize about your true desires. You should
cry. You should weep - nothing would please me more than to lick up
your tears - to take a respite from torturing your flesh to drink from
you and spit in your mouth.
You are a hollow woman. Hollow inside. A hole for me to fuck with.
An empty cum bucket waiting for the slimiest most debasing thoughts
and images I can fill you with.
You scumbag bitch.
Consider yourself lucky that I don't come looking for you.
*****************
What you want - Jun. 11 2001
The cunt wrote me about how she'd burned her tits with a candle thinking about
me and my stories. Here's my reply.
Cunt,
I have taken some time to consider your message. I read it early this morning
before the McVeigh execution.
I watched the execution reports and listened to the reading of the words
McVeigh wanted to be remembered by, the famous `Invictus' poem. I then tuned
into the internet to watch streaming video of bitches being severely bound, caned,
tortured with electricity and otherwise subjected to humiliation and degradation -
reduced basically to cunt animals before the camera. It is just simply amazing what
young pretty girls will do for money these days.
So many women live in that zone of need, don't they? They need to be
stuffed, filled, violated, savaged, used. You can see it in their body language.
There are so many women that will go to any lenghths men require of them.
They are like circus seals jumping through hoops and balancing beach-balls
on their snouts.
You, for instance.
You are just fucking amazing.
How can you think to ask me to help you stop yourself when what I
want from you is the total obliteration of your worthless soul? What I want
from you, you stupid needy whore, is for you to put those little episodes
such as the one you described in such wicked detail to me, on video - Yeah. I want
you to fuck yourself up in front of a webcam, burn yourself, cut yourself,
cry, masturbate - show me what a true worthless piece of human garbage you are.
You need not merely imagine me being there - look into the eye of the camera
and you will be showing me - I will be there watching you, enjoying your self
destruction.
I watched other worthless females being tortured and thought of your email,
your words filling me with savage energy. I let your words work me up along with
the images of pornographic violence and I waited - waited until I could no longer
keep my thoughts from the explosive expression they desperately sought.
Right now my cock is big and hard for you, my balls full of sperm that I would
love to ejaculate on your burned nipple and in your sobbing mouth.
No, bitch. There will be no help from me. If you come to me with this it is
because you want to sink lower, to accept. It is because your need overwhelms you
and you have no one to share it with - your need to be used, to be filled, to be
trashed. When you come to me with this expect only that I will want you to do
worse things to yourself, expect that I will watch your whimpering self-debasement
with amused interest - expect only that it will excite and provoke me and urge you
to slide further into the murky depths of your masochistic depravity.
You know that the next step you must take will be to photograph or video-tape
your self torture for me to watch. It will be your first step on the road that
you cannot help but follow - the road to your Master and Owner.
Maybe you're right. You should not have continued to correspond with me.
But you have.
And the fact that you have done so betrays your deep unstoppable need for
what I offer. You cannot turn away from me, K.. I embody your deepest
most shameful needs - I bring them to life and make them real - I make you
face them. I know you are strong enough to follow this thing through to its
only logical conclusion. You know you want my hands around your neck
and my cock deep in your womb. You know you want me to kiss your
dying breath after I have cut and severed you from this life. I want to torture
you with agonizing slowness and watch the controlled progress of your
destruction. I need to see your body and your flesh give what they were meant
to give - be what they were meant to be - fuckmeat and fuckblood. I need
to eat and drink from you and to drain your spirit. Literally to waste you,
break you and scorch you. Overwhelmingly, to conquer you, empty you and
destroy you.
You have not forgotten the words I taught you, have you?
Your heart - your blood - your soul.
They belong to me.
Answer when you reply to this email - Who is your GOD?
And now you have planted this image in my mind of you crying, your tits
hovering over the candle flame - the final burning orgasmic moment - the
obsessive and corrosive illusion of my presence during this act.
Oh, if I were there you can believe it would have been much worse.
I would have made of you a human candle holder, the candle held burning and
dripping in your lips, head tipped back so that the wax could trickle on to
your mouth and cheeks - your hands bound behind you - on your knees - a belt
or short dog-whip in my hand to slash your tits to welts before pushing the
flame-tipped candle wick into your nipples. And I would take you to such limits
slowly, making you accept one small increment at a time, until you'd learned to
accept all presently unacceptable pain levels.
You are coming to realize that you cannot live as a normal person, that you
have needs only a brutal sadist like me can fulfill. You are coming to accept your
true nature, K. - so don't ask for help. It is obvious you don't need it.
And if you are looking to me for moral counseling, you've come to the
wrong fucking place.
I want to reduce you to a groveling beaten female animal - if you're
searching for understanding or empathy from me you're wasting your time.
All I want from you is that you provide me with pleasure - at any cost
to yourself. Nothing would please me more than to take you away from your
husband - to destroy everything good and positive in your life - to wipe my
asshole on your tear-streaked face.
I have fond memories of reducing another slave to this almost unthinkable
level before. I taught her to accept harder and harder slaps on her face with
a loving look in her eyes. At first the spark of anger and revolt burned there but I
soon got rid of that. Soon I had her pinned to the floor, my shoe at her neck,and I
was burning her all over with a lit cigarette while she professed her love of me.
I need a woman, or women, that I can control utterly, debase completely, and
use without pity or mercy.
I also want to satisfy my need for ultimate destruction. It is a need that burns
with more intensity each passing day.
If what you told me about your little bathroom incident is the truth then it
seems you are approaching a point of no return with me.
Be real careful, pig. You might just get what you want.
Think well about the messages you send me because from now on I will
want much more from you.
I will want ALL that you are capable of giving.
And I will NOT hesitate to TAKE what is mine.
Your Master and Owner
W.
*******************
No reply from K. so I sent this.
There is an art to your gradual destruction. It must be studiously
orchestrated. I must be sensitive to every surrendered confidence and to the
smallest most imperceptible nuance of your words. Though I have known from day
one that your cunt and your soul are mine, that your blood and your pain will flow
freely for my pleasure, still it is sweet to take you to this realization step by step.
Something in you needs to give itself, to suffer and you will suffer - you will pay -
you will hurt - I guarantee it.
I look at your mischievous eyes in the photograph and dream of seeing them
well up with tears, black lines of mascara running down your cheeks.
You will wear lots of makeup when you come to me, won't you? The look of a
cheap whore suits you well, a cheap hooker trying to sell her wares. I want to kiss
you and strangle you and smell the hot stink of your cunt before I beat you. I will
feel the energy soar up my back and into my shoulders and down my arms, the
driving need to slap and punch you. I'm stronger than you and I can. Bigger than
you and I will. Besides your hands will be tied behind you. That's the way I like it
and that's the way you will take it for me.
Beating a helpless weak female who can't fight back and who needs and
wants what I have to give is the way I like to start. And I mean beating you, pig, not
pretend-beating - I want to slam my fists into you just as if you were a dangling
punching bag - boxing practice - slam wham bam - and don't you fall down, you
stupid cunt. Stay on your feet and please me. I want to punch your juicy tits - your
belly - your cunt. I want you to stay on your feet until those bruises start coming
up on your skin. Then I will kiss you again, not out of love. I would never kiss a
lowdown filthy scumbag like you out of love. I will kiss you to consummate my
complete ownership of you - Because I can and I know you won't fight it. I will bite
your pretty lips and taste your miserable breath and I know your cunt will be
dripping and ready.
You will kiss my hands after I've beaten you with them, kiss each finger, lick
the knuckles, while your sad eyes look up into mine full of longing to find only a
cold predatorial interest - nothing more. Because you are nothing to me, cunt. Even
when you give me everything I want - and you will give me absolutely and
indisputably everything - you will still be nothing to me. Less than human. Dirt.
Scum. All you are and ever will be is meat for my whips and knives and a hole for
my cock.
Step by slow cunning step I will take you there. Baby step by baby step,
overcoming all your objections and fears and rationalizations. All of them. One by
one until there is no barrier between us. Until all your defenses are gone - until you
are on your knees to me where you belong.
And while you are crying there, naked and defeated, bruised from my blows I
will fuck your mouth as if it were your cunt - after all they are completely
interchangable to me, your mouth and your cunt - just holes
for me to experience. In fact, your whole worthless life is a hole for me to fill and
fuck. I will slap your face and fuck it, grip your hair and throttle you, choke you
with my dick, make your every breath a struggle.
You stupid fucking bitch.
I look at your photo and imagine it.
The way your eyes will look up at me, submissive, empty of will,
defeated.
I will have taken away everything from you. Your spirit and your reason,
your shame and your honor, your every shred of humanity. You will be
naked, vulnerable, exposed, humbled, broken - you will be owned - lock
stock and barrel - signed, sealed, delivered as the song says, cunt.
For now my words must serve as an extension of my persistent will.
Take them into your soul.
I want to nail my words into your eyes, one by one, like stinging burrs.
Feel them on your body, hot as the snap of my whip.
Feel them in your heart, robbing you of tenderness, warping your sense
of love and duty.
Feel them in your mind, like boot-spurs into the flanks of a galloping mare,
grinding, twisting your reason and your sense of self, your will - your ability to think
things through - I want to take that especially away from you - snatch it away - and
replace it with an unforgiving and self-destructive obsession that will bring you
crawling to me where you know you belong.
Can you walk the walk, pig? Tell me. Think you can handle going the
distance for your Lord and Master?
Ask yourself when you're alone with your thoughts - when you are
naked in front of the mirror - when your body thirsts for me and hungers
for the violence I can wreak upon it.
Can you walk the walk?
I have faith in you. Great faith. You are a cunt animal. I see through
you, bitch. You are transparent to me.
Your pussy throbs for me wetly, your lips tremble - the tears come.
Whore.
You are my whore, my meat, my pig.
You know it already. You know it with your flesh and your heart though
your mind fights it.
K. is Woodburn's slaughter pig.
Say it.
Repeat it.
K. is Woodburn's slaughter pig.
Savor the words - dwell on them - let them fill the silence of your pathetic
life.
Alone, there on your knees, your hand on your pussy.
K. is Woodburn's fuckwhore - his plaything - K. is a sheath for
Woodburn's cock and Woodburn's knife.
K. needs to hurt - to suffer - to burn - for Woodburn.
K. is a pathetic, will-less, piece of cunt-meat that barely deserves Woodburn's
attention and concern.
K. is not fit to kiss the ground Woodburn walks on. In fact she should lie on
the ground and be used as a piece of carpet for Woodburn's shoes.
K. is barely fit to offer herself as a toilet for Woodburn, opening her
worthless mouth as wide as possible so that Woodburn can piss right down her
stinking throat - lying on the ground so that he can shit on her face.
K. has no will and not even the courage to do Woodburn's bidding and
photograph herself in the midst of self-debasement. She actually thinks herself
better than that. She actually believes that such degradation is in her past and that
she has moved on. And yet she keeps looking for Woodburn's stories and
Woodburn's messages because they bring her to heel - they remind her of
something she would like to forget. Woodburn has put K. back in her place and
she's fighting it - weakly and stupidly.
But deep down K. knows the fucking score.
Don't you, cunt?
K. is afraid.
She cries.
She imagines pictures of herself pasted all over the internet - her debasement
complete and irreversible - and even that is not enough to
stop her from writing to Woodburn again and again and telling him of
her sick self-destructive need.
There will be no compassion and she knows it.
There will be no mercy and she knows it.
There will be no love and she knows it.
Woodburn will crush all hope, all love and all sanity from her and rejoice
in it.
Read these words, pig. Read them again and again.
Know that there is no escape for you, no valid therapy, no mystery cure.
You need all those notions beaten out of you - savagely, impetuously,
unforgivingly.
Stop delaying the inevitable and take action.
I want to punch your cunt and then fuck it with my fist.
I'm dizzy with the need of tasting your fresh blood.
I want to put my hands around your throat and watch you choke.
I want to spit in your eyes.
Read my words and repeat them.
I want them to haunt your dreams. I want them to haunt every living
moment.
K. is Woodburn's slave - Woodburn's fuckwhore - Woodburn's meat -
Woodburn's slaughter pig.
K. is and always has been nothing - empty air - hollow - a waste -
a pathetic masochistic female that Woodburn pleases himself with.
Your destruction pleases me - bit by bit - little by little - peeling away
all that matters to you - all that holds you anchored and will not let you
come to me and please me with your blood.
Worship me, pig.
Worship your one and only God.
Give me what I want, you stinking pathetic twat.
I want the death of your soul, K. as well as the death of your body.
And I want to know that I caused it.
I want to know that knowing me has caused you only anguish and horror,
you disgusting tramp.
And nothing would please me more than driving you to the final edge of
insanity and beyond.
I can't kill you a thousand times but I can make it feel that way.
Now come back to me. Write to me again. Tell me how much you want me
and need me and worship me, you stupid stinking dirtbag whore.
Your one and only GOD
W.
***********
K. answers;
Woodburn, SIR,
Thank you for your email. While I know what you say is true, and while I can
feel myself slipping even more,
I still am not sure I can do this. Yes...I hurt myself, and I did it for you and while I
was thinking of you,
but I cannot get beyond my logical mind, which tells me to STAY AWAY from
this. I am terrified of you, but
at the same time, I get wet just thinking about you and what you want from me.
My nipple is healing and I feel pathetic that I even thought of doing that...let alone
actually doing it.
When I think of it, I start to shake, get butterflies in my stomach and tears in my
eyes. Why am I so
fucked up??? What will become of me??? I know you want me to continue
hurting myself and to photograph or
film it, but I am too ashamed to committ that act. I am not sure I will ever hurt
myself again like that. I
was caught up in the moment and just went with it. My tit was hurting for days.
I am so worthless and so stupid for doing these things, and for continuing to
correspond with you. You are
bad for me...you make me hurt inside with every email...but I am drawn to your
mind fucking of me...and drawn
to your power.
I want nothing more than to give your cock pleasure and to someday give you
my body and soul to destroy, but I
am not strong enough. You are destroying any shred of self esteem I may have
had, and reducing me to what I
know deep inside I am. Do you take pleasure in it? Does it please you to know
that I cry nightly thinking
of you and of what I am? How can you be so cruel as to enjoy it? I don't
understand it really, but for some
reason, your cruelty is justified in my mind. You know what I am, and you are
not afraid to exploit it and
pick at it, as if it were a wound that was healing, but which you take pleasure in
ripping open and making it
bleed. I hate you for that, but also cum harder than I ever have thinking about
your cruelty, power and
misogynistic attitudes.
What does that do for you? How does it make you feel? What, honestly, do you
think the outcome of this union
between us will be?
I know you won't help me. You won't guide me in how to stop myself. I
wouldn't respect you as a bitchkiller
if you did, but also, I am terrified of where this is leading. You must understand
my conflict.
I have to go now, but hope to hear from you again soon. You are my GOD
Woodburn.
K.
*****************
W. replies.
<< I am terrified of you, but at the same time, I get wet just thinking about you and
what you want from me. >>
That's exactly what I want from you. I thrive on the mixture of fear and desire.
Your obedience must be born of the desire to please me above all else. I don't
expect you to accept this burden unafraid. Otherwise, what good what it be
for me? I need to know that it cost you and cost you dearly to fulfill my desires.
<< Why am I so fucked up??? What will become of me??? I know you want me
to continue hurting myself and to photograph or film it, but I am too ashamed to
commit that act. >>
If you have continued to communicate with me then I know you are not too
ashamed to complete the task I have assigned you. Take my word for it. When
you do what I order you to do you will come to a place of acceptance. It is
inevitable. You will stop asking yourself these questions that arise out of
the conflict between your needs and your rational mind. Don't try to apply
logic or reason to this, cunt. There isn't any. I've told you that repeatedly. Go
with your inner nature. Give in to it. Yield to your Master's wishes. Yield to
me and please me. I'm not interested in the level or degree of punishment you
inflict on yourself at this time on the images you will send me. In fact, I think that
for you right now just sending me digital pictures of yourself humbled, naked on
your knees, would probably be a major accomplishment. But you need to do this
and you need to do it soon. Take the step, K.. You already moved toward it when
you burned yourself for me. Now show me. Show me your body. Set my
imagination on fire. You know you want to. You know you
need it. There is a slut inside you, K.. A slut that needs to be viciously
punished. Let her out. Don't keep her locked up and out of sight. Show her
to me. Give her to me. I know what to do with her.
<< you make me hurt inside with every email...but I am drawn to your mind
fucking of me...and drawn to your power.>>
I'm going to peel every layer away until you are mine, pig. I want you to let go
of all will and all control - complete submission is a sweet thing, bitch. Total
subservience. You know it is what you crave. No more decisions. No more
conflict. OBEDIENCE. ACCEPTANCE. It is your lot in life, cunt. You can't fight
it. You are my whore. My cunt. My slut. Your blood, your body, your cunt, your
soul - they are all mine to play with, to fuck with, to do as I please. I am the ruler of
your universe. I am the voice in your head. You WILL surrender to me.
<< You are destroying any shred of self esteem I may have had, and reducing me to
what I know deep inside I am. Do you take pleasure in it? Does it please you to
know that I cry nightly thinking of you and of what I am? How can you be so
cruel as to enjoy it?>>
Self-esteem is an illusion for you. It is a front you show the world. You know that
and I know it. You have no self-esteem. You are a broken toy. A useless thing.
You are female and as such you are already prone to defeat, submission and
pain. Despite all the feminist propaganda women continue to lower themselves
to the sexual whims of men. They do it for money or they do it for free. That
changes nothing. Whatever reason there is for it heterosexual women are always
going to find themselves in the inferior role. Men fuck. Women are fucked. They
are holes for us to fill. Without us they wither weakly and pine away to their useless
feminist slogans. Only a man can fill you with child - although now
there is in-vitro fertilization for the women that can't handle the historical
role of submission. That changes nothing. Such women can still be brutally
sodomized and raped and they will probably never report it to the authorities.
Face it, bitch. Your nature, just by being female, already puts you at a disadvantage.
In your individual case, of course, the role of subservient female was brought to
painful and punishing reality by your rather uncivilized neighbor who turned
your childhood into a hell of discoveries. But where he could have simply
killed you he chose to torture you and destroy your mind - or should I say shape it
to the form the male animal likes best - a whimpering suffering piece of
needy cuntflesh.
You ask me if I take pleasure in reducing you to what you know you are. I
can hardly take credit for what your neighbor did and what you've continued to
do for all these years can I? I'm not really reducing you, am I? No. I'm just
REMINDING you - I'm bringing you AROUND to it. You've reduced yourself,
you worthless piece of trash. You didn't have to have a secret internet account.
You didn't have to sign on to those groups. You didn't have to read my stories,
did you, whore? The answer is - `No, sir, I did not.' Of course not, you little
tramp. You reduced yourself. Don't you see, pig? That's the goddamned beauty
of it. The women that I've trashed, and that includes you, for now at least
as a parenthetical possibility - all the women that I've trashed, trashed themselves.
I did nothing but take pleasure in their little downhill rides. They reduced
themselves right in front of me and for my benefit. All I am is a catalyst. I'm
a pivotal character, K. - or maybe a scavenger, to use a less sophisticated
word - I feast on your self-destruction - I fan the flames and watch you BURN.
As to the question of my enjoyment. I must shamefully cofess to a most
primal enjoyment of your mental anguish. It is not something to be proud of is it?
On the contrary. The fact that you bring about this enjoyment, this gleeful
sadistic pleasure, this mindless hard-on brutality into my life only makes me
hate you all the more. My hatred of you rises to a boiling pitch with every
step you take down into the darkness of your own groveling submission. I
try to put you out of my mind but you are there, as I am in your mind, like
a cheap melody, obsessive and grating, but ultimately drawing one to sing
along and even mouth the lyrics.
Bitch. Scumbag. I hate you and I need you.
Yes. Your suffering is beautiful to me. If I have made it all the worse for you,
if I have made it intolerable to the point you are burning your tits with candles then
I have accomplished a great evil, haven't I? Pressed your sanity to the edge of
corruption - taken an intelligent mind and dragged it through the mud
of perversion. I have inspired nothing good in you, have I? I have sucked as much
strenghth and goodness from you as I could and spit blasphemy into your soul. That
beyond all things pleases me the most - that you have called me God. Give me
power over your life and you will have fulfilled all that such blasphemy
entails, don't you agree? Like that old Frank Sinatra song says, K. -
when somebody loves you/ its no good unless they love you/ ALL THE WAY.
Well, I don't think we can call this LOVE but it is surely as powerful an energy
as I have ever experienced - as powerful an emotion for another as any other
there can be. And my need to go ALL THE WAY is - well, let's say its
ever present. Or maybe it is some kind of perverse LOVE - maybe a predatorial
sort of love - a need - a hunger. I think my LOVE for you is about sinking
my teeth into your jugular and drinking your fucking blood, cunt, that's what
I think. Its about listening to your screams of agony. Its about watching
the effects of suffering and anguish, mental and physical. Its about finding
pleasure in this sick horror, rather than aversion and loathing.
Am I so cruel as to enjoy your suffering? Is that the question? Am I so
cruel that I can think of you there in your world at night, your husband sleeping
beside you, you wide awake and wondering what it would be like to be
suffering under me, to be satisfying my destructive lusts? Yes. I am that cruel. And
it is not an easy thing to deal with. Not at all. Sometimes I wonder what
terrible karma I am focusing on you. Sometimes I wonder about my own
damnation in this process. I wonder what brutal forces have made me what
I am and why it must be so. I am not stupid or blind. For years I have
fantasized about the destruction of women and have indulged my appetites
for it. Don't think that I have done so without a single thought as to the outcome
of my actions. I have written stories that some would consider nothing but
simple smut and put them on the Internet. But I often wonder what my words
and stories are inspiring others to do, what sick demented pleasures I have
unleashed that may have otherwise remained dormant. I have been driven to
do this. As if the evil power inside me can't be contained. As if it must be
spilled out into the world. For many of those people toying with S&M as
a superficial costume drama or as some kind of politically incorrect sexual theater I
don't have any worries. With such people things remain on the surface. But with
those like you that have stumbled into the savage power that feeds these
demons my words are poison - addictive poison that can bring about some
devastating results.
So what is the extent of my cruelty, K.? Do you want to find out?
Can either one of us not face this dark abyss? Can we walk away from these
questions? I believe we tried to but we did not succeed did we? You want
me more than ever. And now I know that I must talk to you and meet you.
I know I must make you mine, for better or for worse. Mine in the absolute.
Mine where you will not question but only obey. Mine. Mine. Mine. Your
blood, your flesh, your body, your soul, your cunt. MINE, K.. MINE so that
I can use you - fuck you - beat you - bleed you - destroy you. MINE like you
will never be for anyone.
And you, K. - what is the extent of your submission?
Do you think you are capable of going ALL THE WAY for me?
Will you be true and faithful to me? - after all you have made me your GOD.
I am a merciless God, cunt.
Merciless and unrelenting.
You will obey me.
Say it.
Mean it.
Redeem me with your blood.
Grant me the pleasure I seek.
I will give you nothing back but my cruelty.
<<What does that do for you? How does it make you feel? What, honestly, do you
think the outcome of this union between us will be?>>
You say you hate me because of what I cause you to feel.
You must learn to love me K.. I want your love.
Unconditionally.
You make me feel powerful. You make me feel whole.
My destruction of you is incredibly rewarding. You serve me well.
Maybe your love will overcome my cruelty.
Maybe what I seek is to rip the love from your heart forever for myself.
All your love.
I need your love.
I don't know what the outcome of our union will be, K.. I don't have
any answers.
You can choose to walk away any time.
You can choose to call this complete insanity.
That's your prerogative.
Am I a bitchkiller? There is only one way to find out, isn't there?
The other day two of the prettiest little girls came by and knocked on my
door. They wanted to wash my car. Can you imagine that? I thought about it
for a moment. Maybe let them wash the car and then I can entice them inside...
but then - well that would have been way too dangerous. It wouldn't have taken
the cops too much time to figure out where they were last seen etc.. They couldn't
have been more than nine or ten. Imagine how stupid their parents are to let them
go around like that knocking on doors. They were simply beautiful in their little
skimpy shorts and K-Mart blouses and bare-footed. One was dark-haired, kind of
latino looking and the other one was blonde and freckled. God. The hours of
pleasure I could have drawn from those sweet little bodies. Instead, I said `No,
thanks.' and they went on their way down the street. So beautiful. They would
have drawn my deepest cruelty. I would have bathed in their blood -
cut them to shreds - fucked the life out of them - strangled them - burned them -
sliced their little cunts out of them...but I didn't.
I've seen this other little bitch riding around here on her bike. A
little redhead. She's thirteen or fourteen but she's a little slut - I've seen her
going off into the woods with her boyfriend.
I'm tempted, as you know, as I've told you...very tempted. More than
ever before. But I have not taken any action.
I want to focus on you and hope that while I do I can keep the Beast at
bay.
I look forward to talking with you tomorrow.
Your Master,
Woodburn
******
[After failing to meet her online appointment with me the cunt wrote the following
message telling me that her husband had had a heart attack. A likely story I think
but still possible.]
<< I know it is late for you. Checking to see if you are online. It is 2:40am
Monday morning, so I doubt that you are, but I always check to see.
I got your email regarding what your plan would be should my husband die. I
came reading it over and over. No one gets to the core of my orgasms like
you do. You always say just the right things to get my clit to swell.
Woodburn, now that I am past the terror and uncertainty of the last few days,
[here she means dealing with hubby's heart attack]
i have gone back and reread your emails. A thought has occurred to me and I
need to share it with you.
I know you sometimes feel guilt or think that you might be doing something
bad, or putting bad karma out into the universe, and all I have to say to
that is "FUCK IT!" You are simply a man who knows how the world is supposed
to work. Men fuck and women are used for the man's pleasure. Whether or not
there is a God is irrelevant. You didn't design yourself...and you should never feel
guilt for being who and what you are. I wish I could learn to accept this for myself
as well. If anything, your stories provide a release for men, who, like you, have
these feelings, and unlike you, have no outlet for them. You are an EXCELLENT
writer and story teller and your stories actually provide such a release for anyone
who has these feelings and cannot express them for themselves. I think you should
be proud of the stories and of the way you think. Like I said before, you are a
REAL man. You operate under nature's rules, not the rules and laws set up by our
once puritanical society, and our now overly politically correct society. The feminist
movement cut the dicks off most men, and luckily there are some, like you,
who refuse to accept it. You are a misogynist and a sadist, as are most men,
unless they are gay, and you have chosen to embrace yourself as opposed to
allowing your true self to be buried under pointless rhetoric and inane
political correctness. You are cruel. You are sadistic. You are a
misogynist. But...you are the only type of man in the world that cunts like
me can respect.
I read your email to me after I told you about my husband, and in your reply,
you showed me a man who has many doubts about his feelings. You showed me
compassion and a tender side. I know this is all part of you, but I don't
ever want you to feel you have to show me compassion or pity. There was one
paragraph you wrote me:
` My second thought, very much less than kind but typical for me, is
too bad your husband didn't go because you would have been so vulnerable to
me in your loss - but that's just the inner demon in me that won't be
silenced.'
This is the you I know. This is the you who you will have to be should he
die, or should I get up the courage to come to you. I know you think I am
just playing a game, but I truly believe that I am nothing but a worthless
cunt, and you are the ONLY one in the world who knows this truth about me.
You have spent months slowly getting into my mind, making me vulnerable to
you, making me understand that I deserve NOTHING but to die on your cock.
You fucked my mind to the point that I burned myself thinking of you. I am
learning who and what I really am through my emails and messages with you.
The last thing I ever need from you is your pity, no matter what happens. No
matter how devastated I am. BE WHO YOU ARE INSIDE WITH ME. Don't
let guilt destroy the part of you that is a REAL MAN. Don't let what society tells
you is an appropriate response apply in your dealings with me. I am a cunt. Pure
and simple. And someday, should my husband die, I will need a man like you to
swoop into my life and take everything you can get from me. My body, my
mind, my spirit, my blood and my soul.
I do not deserve your pity or compassion. I am a worthless animal, a pig,
and I need you to remember that...ALWAYS...no matter what. I hope to hear
from you soon. You are still my GOD.
Your slaughter cunt,
K.
*****
Pig,
Your late night letters are always the best. Have no fear that there is any hesitation
or spiritual turmoil as far as concerns the need to destroy bitchflesh. Each story I
write is an exploration into the dark needs that posess me and that need to find
not just an outlet but complete fulfillment, satiety. These are my appetites, I
hunger for the destruction of the female body and spirit, the willing slut that
attracts and seduces. Filth like you, a woman who beyond all reason continues to
explore the shadow worlds where your stinking cunt leads you, has no rights and
no voice and no will and no purpose other than to satisfy the bloodlust of my
animal side.
I am not playing games either.
Last time a woman got me riled up this way I went out and bought killing tools.
I had a nice hand axe, several hunting knives, a bullwhip...I had a large suitcase
full of goodies. A heavy one. I was still married then and had to keep my tools in
the basement hidden. I'd never used an axe and I would practice on scrap wood
when no one was in the house, getting the feel and balance of the weight of the
weapon, smacking it into two-by-fours with different levels of intensity. I had
the knives sharpened at a cutlery place until the blades were sharp enough to cut
paper.
I got to use the knives on her and the bullwhip - got some real nice hands-on
training with the cunt. But as I've told you I never felt fully confident that she
would leave no traceable evidence-trail and because of that - plus the fact that she
was not physically very attractive- well, I never did get to use the axe.
I have very fond memories of tying her by her neck to the soap-shelf in a shower
stall in a cheap motel, her hands roped behind her and slowly pushing my
knife-blades into her tits and across her chest, her belly and her back until she bled
all over that fucking stall. That made me dizzy with pleasure, especially being
nude and rubbing my cock in her dripping blood.
Later, when she got herself snuffed by some fool in North Carolina and the police
found her body on his property nearly two months later she still had my knife
cuts scarred in her: a big `W' on her chest - for Woodburn.
More fond memories of another time at that hotel include slow burning of her
cunt and tits with a lit cigarette and vicious whippings with electrical cords.
After each severe session she would upon my command take my cock in her
mouth and I would fuck her throat until I came.
Needless to say I beat her and pissed on her and did all sorts of other filthy
and depraved things that I have just flickering memories of.
She was a worthless cunt animal who wanted and needed to die.
I came very close to finishing her once out in the woods. I had her hanging by her
wrists on a tree and my knife was ready to plunge through her guts but the sound
of a passing car nearby stopped me. I knew her screams would have drawn
whoever was on that dirt road. My car was out on the edge of the woods and it
would not have taken long for witnesses to put it together - so I opted out of that
moment. If the car had not gone by the bitch would have died on that tree.I'm
sure of it. I had all my tools with me. I was ready to butcher her and cut her to
pieces and bury her fat blonde gutted ass in the mud.
So, while I have not gone the full distance on this, I know I can. And especially
with some one like you who continues to flirt endlessly - to lead me on with
words of enticement to destruction.
Still, you have not showed me a real serious intent - as S. did by putting her life
right on the line with me and giving me the deepest sadistic pleasures I could
enjoy. She came to me at her own expense, six times, driving five hours
to meet with me in roadside hotels - once even flying into _____ so that
we could spend two days in the mountains.
Mmm - what a bitchin' honeymoon that was.
The pig left there with a black eye and her body covered with bruises.
While we were there in our little honeymoon cottage I also shot her with
a bb gun and beat her with a two by four.
And I'm not even going to talk about all the other cunts that have served me
over the last ten years, with less terminal intent, but with a need to give me their
suffering, their pain, their humiliation - knowing that there would often be no limits
and no turning back.
Many of them informed my stories with more accuracy and detail - I think of
them as stepping stones, research for my artistic endeavors - and certainly
good memory material for jerking off in the shower every morning.
You, on the other hand, have still not provided me with pictures of yourself to
prove that you are for real - that you are not just following some extreme fantasy
in cyber space.
You have managed to weasel out of the serious demands I have made of you
and until recently not even planned ahead for online chat.
So as much as I enjoy your verbal `pep talks' about discarding all human feelings
for you etc. etc. I just have to wonder how much you mean anything you
say.
Its time to put your cunt on the line, pig.
Enough talk.
Show me.
I know what you are underneath the surface. Let it out.
Be what you want to be for me - all the way.
If all the shit going on with your husband is for real than certainly this is the time
that you can afford to have some privacy, while he is in bed recuperating.
There is nothing to stop you from renting a room in a cheap hotel, buying
a digital camera, and shooting several pics of yourself in whatever servile
and submissive pose you feel will be most revealing and humiliating for me.
If you wish to repeat your candle performance even better.
Otherwise, we're just spinning our wheels here, aren't we K.?
You say you are my slaughter pig.
Prove it to me.
Come on, pig. I'm in the mood for a nice thrill.
Show me what a lowdown worthless pig animal cunt you can be.
I know you can do it. I know you're fucking dying to do it.
You know you'd be shivering with pleasure to satisfy me.
I've had many slave-bitches. Show me how you are special and unique. Prove
to me that you are the one, cunt...the one that will give me the most, that will
take me where you know I need to go.
Is it time for me to buy some tools again, K.?
Will I need to revisit my physical killing skills? I must confess I'm a bit rusty
lately but it won't take long to work back into them.
I gotta tell you, holding that axe and those big knives is a wonderful sensation.
I've been exercising daily. Getting myself back in shape. Whether its you or
another victim, my stamina needs to stay at an optimum performance level -
especially if I need to go non-consentual and have to handle an unwilling
partner. Like I said, I have my eye out for small prey - easy to subvert and
terrify - easy to handle and dispose of... also exceedingly pleasurable to a
heartless sadist. The stifling of a young life has long been an obsession with me and
one that would be very life-changing. I will find myself straying in that direction
if you don't keep me focused, cunt. And then you will be as much to blame
as me for what happens. You've stirred up my worst sadistic demons.
Now it is your duty to feed them.
Your body is mine, your blood is mine, your soul is mine, your cunt is mine.
Give, K..
Give me everything that is yours to give.
Its all your good for, you stinking piece of shit.
All you'll ever be good for.
Give yourself to me. Don't think and don't look back.
You're mine.
I have no pity for you and I will have no mercy.
I am a cruel and heartless God, K., and I want your cuntblood on my hands.
Your Killer
[The end of the story is that K. finally went to online chat with me and got herself
into therapy deciding to leave her darker obsessions behind. Its not
the first time a female slave has gone that route after being with me. Seems
like I make them worse or straighten them out altogehter....K. if you're out
there reading this, I don't apologize for revealing your private obsessions to
public scrutiny. Public humiliation is, after all, a well-known treat for the
true sadist. I don't think anyone will be able to figure out who you are from
this anyway - not unless they know you as well as I do. And, remember, if
you want more of what I have to offer, you don't have to feel shy about calling on
me. I'm here for you, sweetheart. Always and forever.
W.]