[Warning: Disturbing content. Read at your own risk. If you think I exaggerated, then know that these people do exist. I jeopardized my mental health by reading psychological materials just to try to understand their sick minds.]
He rubbed it so hard this time that the thin skin almost got peeled off. Frustrated, he wrote to his interlocutor on the online chat:
"I rubbed it for so long it no longer stands up."
He was so desperate.
***
Countless hours had evaporated as he doggedly surveilled her every move. For months he had obsessively monitored her every move. Though he'd already scrutinized her for months, it wasn't sufficient. He was relentless in exposing everything about her evasive mark.
The more she tried to blur her tracks, the more driven he became to uncover her secrets. He would demonstrate his omniscience, leaving no facet of her existence hidden.
This was no longer professional interest - it was madness, mistakenly referred to as personal interest. He was obsessed with stripping away her layers of protection until the truth was laid bare before him. She couldn't disappear into the shadows. He would shine a light on every corner of her world.
He was determined to uncover every detail about her.
This was a game to him - figuring out how she wrote her stories, who she based her characters on, what parts reflected her real life. It was like discovering a spy's secret methods. He didn't sleep or eat, consumed by this pursuit of tricks and magic.
"This witch is attempting to vanish, clinging to anonymity." Not just for herself - she shrouded her assets in secrecy as well. Unraveling how she crafted her narratives, pinpointing her sources, decoding what was lifted from her actual experiences - this was the puzzle that consumed him.
He disregarded rest and sustenance, fixated solely on the intricate game of wits the witches ring had entangled him in. Nothing could distract him from this high-stakes match with the elusive writer at its center. He would illuminate her world of smoke and mirrors until no enigma remained.
He would prove to her that he knew everything. The deceitful witch thought she could evade him, but he would crush her like the insect she was. She claimed her inspiration wasn't who he suspected. But her denial only made him more certain of her lies.
He would scare her senseless by exposing the full extent of his intelligence. This deceitful villain deserved to be crushed under his feet.
She claimed Raul was not her source of inspiration. But her attempts to misdirect were transparent - first implying he was her source, then denying it outright. Just another twisted tale in the fabrication she called her cover story.
She predictably resisted with "no, I did not..." But he saw through it - the hallmark of a guilty operative. Whenever she denied something, he made it his mission to uncover the truth. What reason would she have to defend herself if she were innocent?
"I'll prove she's lying. This is a classic response from someone under interrogation. Exactly what I'd expect from a cornered spy."
Beneath her avoidant facade, as he psychologically assessed her, he knew how to break her. All her amateur psychology and positive thinking would crumble under targeted pressure. He dismissed her so-called "magic" - it was no match for his arsenal of weapons.
He could practically hear her repeating those inane affirmations - "I am beautiful, I am smart, I am enough." He shook his head derisively. "Beautiful? Hardly. You're no more appealing than a monkey, and the monkey has an excuse - it's just a dumb animal."
Furthermore, he would counter everything she said, keep her off-balance mentally. She thought she could withstand psychological warfare? This was the arena she chose, and he would oblige with the full onslaught she had coming.
"Do you complain, b*tch? Take what you deserve, hoe. I'll give you the accelerated psychological torment that you claimed."
He knew precisely how to break her psyche - and he would deploy every technique at his disposal. She had no idea who she was up against.
He would prove she was not the flawless professional she pretended to be. Just a lecherous fraud lacking anger management.
He had ways of chipping away at her legend. A network of informants would track her movements and gather intel, making her appear unstable.
"I'll show her who's in charge!" he scoffed. "I'm so smart!!!" Her life meant nothing to him. He and his cohorts would erase these delusional mage wannabes.
The thought of terrorizing her gave him immense gratification, almost carnal in nature. Wielding such power spiked his arousal to incredible levels, heightening his drive to a fever pitch. At minimum, he felt an urge toward self-gratification three times a day - and rising.
Behind the anonymity of a screen, he felt untouchable.
"I'll annihilate this witch," he declared, his brown eyes bulging wildly. "I'll unravel her minds completely. It's exactly what she merits." He would see her locked away in an asylum where she belonged.
His hideous cheeks puffed out in anticipation, madness reaching its apex.
He knew ceaseless surveillance would eventually break her. His power was euphoric, giving him almost physical pleasure about to take the form of ejaculation. Soon he could degrade her fully and relish her destruction.
Any individual, for all their bravado, needed to control their environment, to secure their perimeter. Losing that foothold would fracture anyone's psyche, however resolute they seemed.
And that's precisely what he would do - track her every movement, her every step.
He delighted in the game, convinced she was a willing player in the deranged fantasy unfolding in his twisted psyche.
He was determined to make her suffer, to humiliate her in unthinkable ways. "I'll grind her into the dirt where trash like her belongs." He wouldn't stop until she was driven mad.
He had the perfect plan mapped out. "You'll do exactly as I command, witch. You have no rights. You're vermin to be crushed underfoot." He scorned the fools who spoke of human rights. How ironic that a crusader like her now had none. He rubbed his hands in malicious glee.
This witch also identified as a feminist. He harbored a strong dislike for feminists. According to his distorted ideology, women should obey their men, and men in general. He opposed the idea of women having voting rights and the right to earn as much as men.
In his view, this ensured that they could not reject a powerful male who had them tamed and kept them under control. He saw nothing wrong with this perspective.
There was a surefire way to prevent her from spreading her heresy: his network of alpha males, though they could hardly be labeled alpha men, more likely alpha boys given their low level of maturity.
"I'll turn everyone against her!" he resolved, his dxck throbbing uncontrollably, like a water hose gone out of control in the garden. His cohorts would eliminate every last one of these deluded witches. Subhumans like her would be wiped off the planet, along with their absurd beliefs that so offended him.
In truth, he believed that all humans should be kept under control, obedient to the rulers and their rules, unquestioningly accepting their ideologies.
The strategy was designed to silence her, undermining her confidence and persuading her to willingly abandon the spread of her heresies. If his associates derided the concepts she believed in and practiced, she would likely lose the courage to show her face in public.
The laughter would compel her to cease performing the pagan magic works, deemed only fit for those deemed foolish like her. Confronting a facade of disapproval from a wall of poker-faced opponents would undoubtedly disrupt her momentum. The most potent weapon at their disposal was attacking her appearance. The services undoubtedly knew how to undermine one's confidence using this method.
Their ranks were filled with frustrated individuals ready to launch against others—people brimming with hate because they were unable to respond to life in a proper manner. Unsightly individuals, harboring resentment because they didn't receive enough attention from their peers. Those who had not succeeded in life, unsatisfied, resenting those who had, along with the skills that propelled them to success. Evil individuals who reacted to life negatively, disdaining civility and offending everyone just to feel superior to others.
He also believed in his own superiority, considering the institution he represented to possess superior knowledge. It was a respected org that produced noteworthy studies and work to support its own ideology, all of a scientific and irreproachable nature. Far surpassing the witches in wisdom and quality.
Contemplating the perceived inferiority of the witches in comparison to them, his mouth started to bubble with rage foam. One might have the impression that his fury was trickling out of his mouth in wet streaks down his chin.
The thought of preventing these individuals from speaking and defending their ideas consumed him in his hatred. According to his disturbed ideas, he believed they should be scattered like sheep without a shepherd. He thought that achieving this goal involved subjecting them to terror by publicly shaming and belittling their intelligence and appearance.
"Don't you dare speak, trash," he inwardly threatened, incensed by her words. Though she kept her true skills veiled, he would pry out her secrets.
These damn witches must be practicing some lurid magical rituals to maintain their youthful appearance. They likely consumed babies' blood and utilized the internal organs of virgins to cast their bloody spells.
Furthermore, they may be involved in stealing unborn children or newborns to carry out their magical practices. What if she took the life of her own son, hoping to appeal to a deity capable of granting miracles, offering it as a sacrifice to that heathen god?
Expressing his discontent, his eyes, as big as onions, bulged, threatening to leave their sockets. He was so disturbed that his mental state appeared altered, as if under the influence of extremely toxic drugs, ready to bang his head against the desk as seen with victims of bath salt narcotics.
She had to be muzzled. Were it legal, he'd have her "corrected".
On his screen, a text appeared—reflecting one of the phrases she was currently uttering in her house. He correlated it with the ongoing online search she was conducting.
When her words appeared onscreen, he sprang into action. He immediately grabbed the phone to announce her presence at the library.
"You'll go mad, witch!"
Calling his operatives, he dispatched them to discreetly pry into her personal affairs. They would extract the intel he sought about her past.
This was for his eyes only - she had no official records he could access. He needed to find out who fathered her child.
Not that anyone would want her, as grotesque as she was. Nothing but a body used by men and discarded. He detested her kind - flaunting their desirability, fixated on appearance and lust. She drove men like him to lose control.
So far all they had was one tape of her online liaisons. And her disturbed fictional ramblings, found on her devices. Clearly she was a danger and needed to be institutionalized. He would have his people warn everyone nearby about her instability.
His expression fell the moment he saw another text appearing on his screen:"If the secret services have a wooden head, at least they should keep it fit with Pronto!" That was the name of a wood care product.
"How did she know?" he wondered.
"We also like bad jokes that are done well!" she just said. Unbeknownst to him, she was just singing some hip-hop verses.
When it appeared as if she mocked his team's incompetence, he saw red. This meant war. "We'll teach you manners, witch." She would regret provoking him.
Excitement caused his dxck to twitch. Her defiance thrilled him - she would finally become the adversary he'd envisioned. And he had intimate footage of her as well, obtained through surveillance. Fabricated allegations granted him access to her private world. And he would use that power to deprive her of any intimacy or joy.
Especially with that feckless youth she was infatuated with. He seethed imagining her with the golden boy. She was his, his org's, to control. But while he monitored her, he turned away when viewing their intimacy last night. It sickened him to witness.
Most of all, he wanted to impede her from having intimacy with that immature young man. Above all, he aimed to prevent her from having a child with that blonde, as he overheard them planning. This thought disturbed him the most. He couldn't bear the idea of her being involved with that individual.
"I don't care what you want." he mumbled. "You'll have kids with whom I want you to, with whom I tell you."
She was denied the right to privacy with the charming young man. He will subject her to a life of servitude, becoming his captive. He aimed to impose his will, forcing her to accept his plan. Oppressive as it might be.
Nonetheless he felt justified in recording her and keeping an eye on her activities. However, witnessing them together caused a sudden reluctance in him; the desire was extinguished by the sight. Overwhelmed by the distaste he experienced, he chose to refrain from observing their intimate moments.
So what if people were making comments on the streets about them? Everyone was making out. What was the fuss about? Why the moral outcry? They desired intimacy? What for? When everyone was doing it openly on the streets.
What did privacy matter anymore? Base behavior was rampant. But the thought of her experiencing passion and pleasure enraged him. His mind wandered back to the illicit tapes...
"I'll show her who's got the power!"
"I'll trail you everywhere," he started, before trailing off, lost in demented fantasies of control. Just thinking about dominating her made him feel omnipotent.
He struggled to complete his thoughts, overwhelmed by the sense of power that came from stalking her, causing his precious liquid to erupt with formidable intensity. With minimal effort, he spewed a viscous wad of spunk, so intense was his vitriol.