I woke up in my sprawling villa on the outskirts of North Gatter Lake City, that shithole of a paradise where the lake's calm waters hide more bodies than fish. It was one of those lazy days off, no fucking clients to pretend to care about, no mask to slap on for the world. Just me, my twisted little world, and a hunger that gnawed at my guts like a rabid dog. The clock said 8 a.m., but who gives a shit about time when you're the queen of your own goddamn empire?
First thing, I reached for my pack of smokes on the nightstand. Marlboros, the strong ones that burn your throat like acid. I lit one up, inhaling deep, feeling that nicotine rush hit my veins like a lover's slap. Fuck, it was good—sharp, biting, making my head spin just enough to shake off the sleep. I puffed away, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling, watching them dissipate like the worthless lives I'd ended last week. One cigarette turned into three, the ashtray filling up with butts as I savored the burn, the way it coated my lungs in that filthy haze. Goddamn, nothing starts the day like poisoning yourself slow and sweet.
After that, I dragged my ass to the bathroom. Brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, but I didn't bother hiding the smoke stench—who the fuck was around to judge? Then came the fun part: dressing up. I slipped into my favorite black JK uniform, the skirt hugging my thighs like a second skin. Pulled on those thick black pantyhose, feeling the nylon slide over my legs, sending shivers up my spine. Fuck, I love that texture—smooth, tight, making me feel like a predator in sheep's clothing. Topped it off with black knee-high boots that laced up, the kind that click menacingly on the floor. And the gloves? Oh, you bet your ass—medical latex, snapping them on with a satisfying pop, the rubber clinging to my fingers like it was made for murder. I looked in the mirror, admiring the slutty psycho staring back. Perfect for a day at home.
Breakfast time, and I was starving for something special. Down in the kitchen, I opened the freezer where I keep my "special cuts." Pulled out a slab of human thigh meat from that pathetic junkie I offed last month—fucker thought he could short me on a deal. I thawed it under hot water, watching the blood swirl down the drain like his worthless life. Sliced it thin with my sharpest knife, the blade gliding through the flesh like butter. Fuck, the smell—raw, metallic, making my mouth water. I heated up a pan with olive oil, tossed in garlic and onions for flavor, because even cannibals like a bit of seasoning. Threw the strips in, sizzling loud, the meat browning up nice and crispy on the edges. Flipped them, added salt, pepper, a dash of herbs—cooked it medium rare, blood still oozing when I poked it. Plated it with some fresh bread and cheese, because why not make it a goddamn feast? Sat at the table, fork in one gloved hand, knife in the other, cutting into the warm flesh. First bite: juicy, tender, exploding with that forbidden taste—rich, gamey, better than any steak from those overpriced markets. I chewed slow, savoring the chewiness, the way it stuck to my teeth. "You taste like shit, you dead fuck," I muttered to the empty plate, but damn if it didn't hit the spot. Washed it down with a glass of red wine, the alcohol warming my belly like fire.
With breakfast done, I felt that familiar itch between my legs. Time to indulge. I headed to my bedroom, where I keep my collection of toys—fucking arsenal of pleasure. Started simple: a basic vibrator, buzzing low as I lay back on the silk sheets, skirt hiked up, pantyhose pulled aside. Slid it in slow, feeling the vibrations pulse against my walls, building that heat. "Oh fuck, yes," I groaned, hips bucking as I ramped up the speed. But that wasn't enough—switched to a rabbit vibe, the kind with the clit stimulator. Thrust it deep, the ears flicking my nub, sending shocks through my body. I cursed under my breath, "You dirty whore, take it all," imagining it was one of my victims begging. Came hard, juices soaking the sheets, but I wasn't done. Grabbed a dildo next—big, veiny one—lubed it up and rammed it in, pounding myself like a savage. Switched to anal beads after, pulling them out one by one during climax, the pop making me scream. Then a butt plug with a tail, feeling like a filthy animal as I rocked on all fours. Hours passed like this, toy after toy—nipple clamps biting hard, making me yelp; a suction cup dildo stuck to the wall, backing onto it like a bitch in heat. Each orgasm ripped through me, sweat dripping, gloves slick with my own mess. "Fuck you, world, this is my heaven," I panted, collapsing in a heap.
By noon, I was parched and buzzing. Grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet—strong shit, burns going down. Poured a glass, neat, and knocked it back, the fire spreading through my chest. Lit another cigarette, inhaling while sipping the next pour, the smoke mixing with the booze in my lungs. Fuck, that combo—heady, dizzying, making everything sharper. Then the betel nut—grabbed a pack, chewed one slow, the bitter juice flooding my mouth, that peppery kick hitting my brain. Spat the red saliva into a cup, feeling the high build, euphoria washing over like waves. Another nut, another smoke, another shot. "Goddamn, this is living, you pathetic cunts out there starving on morals," I laughed, the room spinning just right. Chewed through three packs, each one intensifying the buzz, my heart racing, body tingling with that addictive rush.
Lunch called—more human meat, because why break the streak? This time, from the liver of that sniveling housewife who came for therapy last week. Thought she could whine about her marriage without paying the price. I diced it up fine, sautéed with butter and herbs, the organ meat softening quick. Added wine to deglaze, reducing it to a sauce. Fuck, the aroma—earthy, intense. Served it over rice, devouring every bite, the texture silky on my tongue. "Taste your own failure, bitch," I sneered at the plate, finishing with more wine to chase it.
Afternoon hit, and I was ready for the real fun. Down to the basement lab, my fortress of horrors. The place is kitted out—sterile tables, surgical tools, chains on the walls. Had five live ones down there, kidnapped from the docks in Sea River North District—illegal immigrants, no one misses those fucks. First, the screamer: a skinny guy, tied to the table. I injected him with adrenaline to keep him awake, then sliced into his abdomen slow with a scalpel. "Scream for me, you worthless piece of shit!" I yelled, peeling back skin, exposing guts. He howled, blood spurting, as I twisted a knife in his intestines. Pulled out loops, snipping them, watching him writhe. "Die slow, motherfucker, feel every inch of pain!" Hours of torture—burning with cigarettes, electroshocks to his balls, until he begged for death. Finally, slit his throat, blood pooling, his eyes glazing over in agony.
Next, a quiet one: the woman, drugged her with barbiturates first, easing her into sleep. "Sweet dreams, you stupid cunt," I whispered, injecting cyanide straight to the heart. She convulsed once, then still—peaceful, boring, but efficient. Two more painful: one I vivisected alive, organs pulsing as I removed them one by one, his screams echoing like music. "You like that, huh? Fucking pig!" The last, I drowned in a tub of acid, skin melting off as he thrashed. "Burn in hell, asshole!" The quiet death for the final guy: overdose on fentanyl, slipping away without a peep. Bodies piled up, but organs? Nah, too much hassle today—tossed 'em in bags.
Loaded the corpses into my SUV—blacked-out windows, no plates. Drove to the black market spot in the shadows of North Gatter Lake's docks, that cesspool where deals go down. Met my contact, a greasy fuck named Viktor—lowballed him the lot for peanuts. "Take these dead shits, make 'em into whatever," I snarled, pocketing the cash. He nodded, scared shitless, knowing I'd gut him if he crossed me.
Back home by evening, dinner awaited. Ground human flesh this time, from arms—made burgers, grilling them juicy, topped with cheese and onions. "Eat up, you cannibal queen," I toasted myself, biting in, the meat dripping grease. Paired with more booze and smokes, the day winding down.
Then, movie time. Settled in the theater room, fired up the porn—hardcore stuff, BDSM, gangbangs, the works. Started with a solo scene, hand down my pantyhose, rubbing slow as the girl on screen moaned. "Fuck yeah, slut, take it," I mirrored, syncing my strokes. Switched to group action, imagining myself in the middle, dicks everywhere. Grabbed a vibrator again, thrusting as the scenes escalated—whips, chains, screams. My mind raced: "I'd make 'em bleed, those pathetic actors—fuck 'em till they break." Came multiple times, hours blurring, body exhausted but craving more.
Yesterday flashed in my mind—that work day at 8 a.m., vibrator egg shoved deep in my pussy, buzzing on low during sessions. Listened to clients spill guts: one guy confessed debts, address slipped—marked him for robbery next week. Another bitch annoyed me with her whining; she's got a week tops before I end her sorry ass. "Stupid fucks, handing me their deaths on a platter," I chuckled.
Bedtime neared. Popped some ecstasy and weed, the high hitting like a truck. One last self-session: fingers, toys, cursing the night away. "Fuck everything, this is my world!" Slept like the dead, dreams of more chaos.
But wait, that was just the start—my life spirals deeper. Woke up craving more, but that's another day in this hellhole city.
Let me dive deeper into that morning smoke session. After the first drag, I felt it coil in my chest, that warm embrace of tar and toxins. Lit another immediately, chain-smoking like a fiend, the room filling with haze. Each puff was a fuck-you to health, to society— "Suck on this, you prissy bastards," I'd think, exhaling long streams. The nicotine made my fingers tingle, head light, a rush better than sex sometimes. By the fifth cigarette, I was floating, ready for the day.
Dressing: the JK skirt was short, teasing, black fabric swishing as I moved. Pantyhose—thick, opaque black, rolling them up my legs inch by inch, savoring the constriction. Boots laced tight, heels high enough to stab someone. Gloves snapped on, latex creaking—fuck, that sound alone gets me wet.
Breakfast prep: the thigh meat was marbled with fat, perfect for frying. I seasoned it liberally, herbs masking the human tang just enough. Sizzle in the pan was music, flips with a spatula splattering oil. Eating: each bite chewed thirty times, juices bursting, a profane communion.
Self-pleasure marathon: after the vibrator, I used a glass dildo—cold at first, warming inside me. Then a strap-on harness with a fake cock, thrusting into a pillow like it was a victim. "Take it, you whore!" I'd yell. Clit sucker next, vacuum pulling waves of ecstasy. Anal play with plugs of varying sizes, stretching, filling. Nipples twisted with clamps, pain blending pleasure. Orgasms piled up—ten, fifteen?—each one cursing louder: "Fuck me harder, you imaginary dickhead!"
Booze and betel: whiskey neat, then on rocks, savoring oak notes mixed with smoke. Betel nuts chewed vigorously, juice staining my lips red like blood. The alkaloid high made colors brighter, senses sharper— "This shit's better than your mom's pussy," I'd laugh.
Lunch: liver pâté style, blended smooth after cooking, spread on crackers. Rich, irony taste lingering.
Lab torture details: the first guy's incision was precise, but I jagged it on purpose for pain. Pulled ribs apart with retractors, heart beating visible. "Look at your own worthless pump, asshole!" Shocked it with paddles, convulsions wild. Woman: cyanide foam from mouth, eyes rolling back peacefully. Vivisection: kidney out first, him pissing blood. "Drink your own filth!" Acid bath: flesh sloughing off in chunks, screams bubbling.
Transport: bodies heavy, dragged to car, blood trails mopped. Drive careful, avoiding cops—bribed anyway.
Dinner burgers: patties formed by hand, grilled to char. Buns toasted, toppings piled.
Porn: specific films—torture porn, real edge stuff. Masturbated synced to climaxes on screen, fantasizing additions: "I'd add knives, make 'em bleed for real, those fake-ass actors."
Yesterday: egg vibe on during therapy, buzzing discreetly as clients talked. One revealed bank info—jackpot. Annoying one? Her sob story about abuse—ironic, she'll get real abuse soon.
Drug finale: ecstasy melted on tongue, weed smoked in joint. Final orgasm intense, body arching, mind blanking in bliss.
Still, my empire grows. That black gang I run—thousands of thugs, all under my thumb. Killed the old boss with poison, threatened the rest. "Bow down, you cock-sucking minions, or join him in the lake!" They obey, running drugs, organs, all hidden. Mayor's in my pocket—bribes keep him fat and silent. "One word, and your family's next, you corrupt pig."
Daughter? That innocent brat abroad with grandma. Calls me "mommy dearest," clueless. "Love you, sweetie," I lie, while plotting more kills.
Villa's a fortress—cameras everywhere, bulletproof glass, bunkers stocked. No one touches me.
More days like this: tomorrow, maybe hit the streets for fresh meat. Scout clients, find weak ones. "Come to therapy, you dumb fucks—I'll fix you permanent."
Let me recall that betel chewing in detail. First pack: tore it open, popped a nut wrapped in leaf, slaked lime adding bite. Chewed slow, saliva turning red, spitting into a spittoon. The arecoline hit—euphoric, stimulating, mouth numb but alive. Second pack: faster chews, juice dripping, high peaking with heart pounding. Third: overdid it, dizziness sweet, body buzzing like after a kill.
Self sessions interspersed: between meals, quick rubs with gloved fingers, latex on skin electric. "Rub that clit, you nasty bitch," self-talk fueling.
Lab: after kills, cleaned tools meticulously, blood down drains. Bodies bagged, labeled like groceries.
Black market deal: Viktor haggled, but I slapped him down. "Low price or I feed you to the fish, you greedy fuck!" He paid up quick.
Porn marathon: started with lesbian BDSM, straps and whips. Then male domination, rough anal. Group orgies, creampies galore. Each scene, I paused, replayed, matching rhythms with toys. Psychology: "This is power, controlling my pleasure while they fake it—I'd make it real, tear 'em apart."
Work insight: clients are goldmines. Yesterday, one admitted affair—blackmail material. Another, rich but depressed—robbery target. The annoying? Her face twisted in tears; I'll twist her neck soon. "One week, bitch—count your days."
Snacking on betel throughout, smokes constant, wine flowing.
Nightcap drugs: ecstasy pill chased with weed hit from bong. High synergistic, colors pulsing. Final masturbation: double penetration with dildos, ass and pussy filled, screaming obscenities. "Fuck yes, cum hard, you insane slut!"
Sleep came deep, dreams of dissections and dollars.
But my backstory haunts: husband, that devil—jumped in the lake to escape cops, body never claimed per his words. "Stay hidden, babe—divorce fake, meet rare." We met in college, both psycho, bonded over thefts. Rich quick on robberies. Daughter born post-mortem, my little secret angel in a demon's world.
Black gang ops: second-in-command handles daily—loyal dog. Crimes underground: drug ships via lake, organs harvested fresh, hits for hire. "No evidence, you idiots— or I'll skin you alive!"
City's duality: shiny surface, rotten core. Sea River North: smuggling hub, my playground. Immigrants easy prey— "Come to paradise, get hell instead, you border-jumping scum!"
More indulgences: afternoon, after lab, soaked in tub with wine, smoking in water, bubbles hiding tattoos—skulls, knives on thighs, back.
Evening porn extended: watched taboo stuff, incest roleplay, violence mixed. Masturbated thinking of daughter? No, too pure—but victims as substitutes. "Imagine breaking them like dolls, you sick fuck."
Daily, I balance masks: family calls, voice sweet, "Business good, miss you." Lie.
Work pay: 3500 euros monthly, chump change next to black money.
Hobbies: makeup thick—black lips, eyeshadow dark as my soul. Outfits vary, but home's free.
Addictions deep: smoke packs daily, booze bottles, betel constant. Weed for extra kick.
Kills tally: hundreds, bodies lake-fed or sold.
Tomorrow: perhaps new victim from therapy. "Come cry, I'll dry your tears with death."
This life? Pure bliss in filth.