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I want Coni Confetti to castrate me.
I want her to snap one of those elastic bands they use to neuter lambs around my ballsack and then cradle my head gently against her chest so that I can fall asleep listening to her heartbeat and her voice calling me a good boy while stroking my hair. All while my testicles turn pink, then red, then blue, then purple, then black and eventually die.
