So, little back story, dude messages me wanting to be "friends." I tell him sure, we can be friends. No online play, no long distance relationships, but friendship is a-ok.
After a few messages back and forth, he's asking for my bra and panty size, wanting to know all about my ass, etc, etc. I say no. He tries to cyber-dom me. I laugh at him and say I already told him no. He tries to cyber dom me again, and says he's gonna kidnap me. I tell him that I've choked out much stronger men than him, and that it's not gonna happen. He's a switch, and he acts like he's now indimidated, and wants to cyber with me topping him. I tell him that is also not going to happen, unless he's into blow torches and oil drums.
Dude is so thirsty he says "yeah maybe, sounds interesting."
So I send him this:
"
Uh ok guy, sure, just this once, I'll give you a little cyber role play scenario, since you wouldn't accept my "no" boundary. Have one (1) fantasy role play scene, free of charge, involving 55 gallon drums and a blowtorch.
Your hands and feet are turning purple, but it doesn't really matter. I pull out some tarp, a chainsaw, and a lot of jugs of bleach. The 55 gallon drums sit, waiting patiently to receive you. I gag you so you cannot scream, and cut you into pieces, placing your limbs in one drum, your torso in another, your hands and feet in one paint can, and your head in another, after knocking out all of your teeth. I use the blow torch to obliterate any tattoos or identifying marks you may have, as well as burning off your finger and toe prints.
The tarp goes into the drum with your torso.
The teeth, I take and pulverize, scattering the powdered remains in a river 50 miles away.
The paint can with the head in it gets buried out in the woods 100 miles away.
A different brand of paint can from another store containing your hands and feet are buried 83 miles south of the first paint can.
The oil drums have some holes in them and are loaded up with cement, then dropped into the ocean 32 miles out to sea.
A brief search happens, but after a while the case goes cold and gets shelved.
13 years later, somebody finds a paint can with the head inside, but without any teeth, it's pretty impossible for even a good forensic anthropologist to identify the remains.
The end."
He still doesn't get it and begs to be my cyber-captive/torture victim instead, so I block him.
I really enjoyed that book about forensic anthropology that I read 19 years ago, but I hadn't realized just how useful it'd turn out to be!