He is not the only family member I have fantasized about.

I had a fantasy of being kidnapped and held hostage by an evil serial killer. I am a little obsessed with TruTV. When I find documentaries or shows about female serial killers who raped and enslaved their victims, I record them and I think about them. I watch them, and I masturbate after. One in particular haunts my fantasies, but I can not remember his name. He kidnapped women and kept them for sex slaves, holding them captive in a makeshift dungeon in his backwoods home, and then killing them once he either had his fill, or they pissed him off somehow. I have fantasied about being one of those women.

Some sick, twisted part of me feels that a death like that would somehow be meaningful: To Die at the hands of another, for the purpose of indulging their sadistic and evil desires.

So yesterday in my fantasy, I was at this man’s house, the killer. The TruTV episode showed footage of his home, of him sitting on his couch, and even brief footage of the female he held captive. He recorded everything. You KNOW I was desperately hoping they would show more footage of the female sex slave in his home, but my desire went unfulfilled. However, they did show a brief clip of him dragging her by her hair, as she cried. That was enough, and all I need to fuel some of my most intense masturbation sessions ever.

I try not to go there too often in my fantasies. Often, it leads to powerful orgasms, but mentally and emotionally I feel heavy and exhausted for hours after.

He dragged me out of his dungeon and slapped my face repeatedly. He kicked me in my ribs and I doubled over in pain. He grabbed my hair and his cock was already out. After a few more bitch slaps he slams my face down onto his cock, forcing my head down over and over. By now I am sobbing, hungry, and frightened. He laughs at me and makes fun of me, telling me what a worthless slut I am, and how my only purpose for the rest of my short, pathetic little life will be to attach my mouth to his genitals and serve him on demand, indulging his sexual needs at the mercy of his whim.

Out comes his Knife. He holds it against my neck, gazing into my frightened eyes with cold, sadistic, unfeeling eyes. He is amused by my fear. He is turned on by the power he holds over my life. I try to scream but feel his hand grip my face as he tells me I can not be heard, I will never be heard, and I have no choice but to do as he wishes. He orders me to suck his cock, and I better do it good or he will cut my neck right then and there. Crying and shaking, I can hardly manage to properly place my mouth around his cock, let alone suck it adequately. He hits me upside my head and presses the knife down firmer. He tells me I better suck it good, because my life depends on it. He taunts me, “Your life will end because you cant properly suck dick, how pathetic is that? Fucking worthless slut.”

I use every ounce of my energy to wet my mouth and suck his dick as best as I know how. I go at it with fervor, bouncing my head up and down on his cock, praying it pleases him. I feel the knife’s pressure on my neck, he continues to taunt me. Soon I notice blood dripping and I know that my neck has been cut. I keep going, terrified of slowing or stopping. He begins screaming at me, yelling at me to suck it, suck it, suck it fucking bitch, re-iterating my new purpose in life, to service his sexual desires.

My blood is on his thigh and on the floor. He screams at me to lick it up off the floor, and off his thigh. I lick it up, crying, hoping I am not too hurt, wondering if I will stop bleeding.

He tells me I am a worthless, horrible dick-sucker, and I will be punished later. He tells me that he would kill me for being so worthless, but he has plans to use me later. He is not finished with me yet. He puts his legs up and scoots his ass to the end of the couch.

“Since you are not worthy of sucking my dick, you can bury your head in my ass for while and think about your place.”

He grabs cuffs and binds my hinds behind my back. He shoves my face into his ass and orders me to lick it and don’t stop until he tells me to. I have no choice anyway, unable to move my position, and if I did then he would surely beat me or kill me. I lick in between his hairy ass and immerse myself in the darkness and cave that I must service. I hear the sound of a can opening, and I smell beer. He pours some beer down his balls into his ass and laughs at me, telling me to have a drink. I sputter and gasp as it runs into my nose, and I gag. He lifts my head up, slaps me a few times, then inserts it back in between his ass. He is overjoyed and full of power, as he sits like a King enjoying his beer, with his sex slave buried and licking the dirtiest area of his body, in the most degrading position.He spits on me, taunts me, and enjoys his beer as I lick and worship his asshole until my tongue is numb.

After an hour or so, he gets his fill. He tires of me. He throws me back into the dungeon covered in spit, my own dried blood, and tears.

*Share your most deepest fantasies with me by emailing TallulahKidd@Gmail.com.

*Warning: The following fantasy may be found Disturbing by some. Read at your own Risk*

I have a fantasy of being abducted by a group of guys and beaten and used for sex. They keep me chained up somewhere and can just come use me whenever they like. One of them is especially sadistic, and the quiet, reserved type. He comes in late at night and approaches me with a knife. Calmly he takes control of me and threatens me with the knife, terrifying me as he holds it to my neck, with a sadistic tone in his voice telling me how powerful he is, and how my life is in his hands. Overcome with that power he fucks me repeatedly and threatens me more. He makes me suck his cock as he holds the knife near my face, telling me that he will cut me if I mess up, slow down, or stop. He gets off on the power and my fear. He restrains me and finally I completely succomb to him, realizing my life is in his hands and I can not do anything about it. When I am calm and thoroughly mind-fucked, he makes a cut on my stomach and we watch as the blood rises up from my body and trickles down my stomach. He also cuts my thigh and again, we watch the blood, and he touches it, and spreads it around, and then makes me lick it off his fingers. Then, while I am all covered with blood, he fucks me brutally.

The next day the group of guys find me all bloody and used up. They laugh at me and throw me a bucket of water to clean myself up so they can use me again. But before I do so, they may as well take advantage of me cleaning up. So they take turns pissing and spitting on me, sometimes kicking me. After I clean all the blood off they continue to use me.

Yeah, that fantasy can go on forever. I could write a book if I wanted to. Just endless stories about this fantasy group of brutal, sadistic men who keep me and use me.

SO when I met my new photographer Nichole, I was very excited to find out she has a very twisted mind and wants to do dark, messy photo shoots. I happily volunteered to do a bloody shoot for fun. I only have a couple pics now, more will be available in the future.

Nichole is also now my official photographer, and I am happy to report that now I will have a lot more sexy pictures for you all!

I have an elaborate abduction fantasy to share with you all soon. In the meantime here is some things I thought about today:

For one thing, the following site turned me on so much with it’s images of bondage and degradation: http://mtruth65.tumblr.com/

Also fantasized about being:

Forced to suck dick or get face-fucked with a bag over my head, with just a hole cut out for my mouth.

Confined and chained; Made to suck dick and swallow cum most of my meals and all day long.

Spanked severely and then put facing the corner all day, except for routinely being turned around to get face fucked.

Made to worship his ass and feet while he watches TV or a sports game and drinks beer, sometimes pouring it on me and spitting on me.

____________

Isn’t it weird how I never cum when thinking about receiving pleasure? I mean,what the hell is wrong with me anyway? All I can think about is sucking dick. Rarely getting fucked, and if it is getting fucked, it is usually in a brutal non-pleasuring kind of way. Not Once in my fantasies do the men pleasure my pussy or even touch my pussy, unless it is to slap it or grab it aggressively.

I love masturbating to your fantasy of me. I want to know how you want to degrade me and use me and abuse me. I REALLY want to know. I want to hear from people as twisted or even more twisted than me. Email: Tallulahkidd@gmail.com.

Earlier at work I was so horny and had to run to the bathroom stall and rub it out real quick. I returned to work flushed and smiling, no one suspecting where I had been for the last 10 minutes, in the bathroom cumming hard after a tag-team fantasy which included me being whipped with a belt.

My pussy hurts from today’s orgasms.

I just wish I had someone to fuck me hard right now.

I now have my own Domain and site, which is much better, more attractive, and contains a lot more juicy stuff that you want to see.

HAVE FUN!

Lulasexfiles.com

Now, when a man pulls his dick out, I panic. I hope that they will shove my face down and handle it so I can avoid having to prove my skills. My lips get sore quickly, my jaw locks up, and I my gag reflex is lagging.  I feel like a failure as a slut. I had a reputation dammit!

So it’s about to be Fall, and I get ravenous in Fall. Spring is the worst, with me dry humping everything in sight, but summer is slow, my libido drops. However when the Fall rolls around, I get all excited. Something about the crispiness in the air just makes my panties wet. My birthday is coming up and I feel extra special, like I deserve more attention. The smell of pumpkin is like an aphrodisiac to me. My force powers are extra strong due to having endured a year of learning and growth, which makes my not only uber stealthy, but much more capable of seducing a man with my eyes. I fuckin feel frisky.

But I can’t just go out there and start blowing people. I need to get my skills back up. I refuse to practice on inanimate objects or phallic shaped items.

Last night I did have the chance to measure where I am at on the blow-job effectiveness scale.

I am pretty sure I did alright at first. I was doing well with the deep throating, and after realizing he was not going to shove my head down just yet, began actually trying. Then a problem arises. I was Thirsty as hell. My throat was all itchy and I kept coughing. At first I coyly tried to play it off like I was gagging on his huge cock, but soon I was just coughing and trying to use my saliva to moisturize my throat enough to do it properly. I apologized profusely and excused myself to go to my car and grab some water. Yes, this was a car type of deal. The job is much more difficult to do right, and look sexy at it, while attempting to maneuver one’s body over a middle console and obnoxious break handle thing. Then, when one tries to do a sexy hair flip to get the saliva infused strands glued to one’s face, one very unsexily hits their head on the steering wheel, which is awkward, in addition to all the other factors I have mentioned.

But I digress.

Once I was hydrated and once again ready to give some head, I went at it pretty well with some deep throating and head action.  I was feeling pretty confident, until my lips began to get sore. My lips were burning! The sensation was distracting and keeping me from focusing on the sucking movement, which began to hinder the quality of my Blow-Job! NOO! So my next decision was to go ALL out and suck and deep throat as best as possible so I could get it over with, and with my tail between my legs, go nurse my lips with some chapstick.

He the chose that moment to take control of my head. I was powerless against his clutch on my hair, as he forced my head up and down on his cock, showing no mercy as my lips became numb and gagging ensued. I could not control the drool and saliva that gathered as he fucked his dick with my head. I gasped and breathed and gagged, but there was nothing I could do but surrender and wait for him to unload. Finally I felt him throb and I tasted the cum, and swallowed every drop.  It was all I had left to hang on. I felt my skills had not been justified, I felt betrayed by my burning lips, and I felt disappointed that I did not do better. Swallowing every drop is a sacred rule among us proud and practiced sluts. It is a duty we must fulfill. It is the bare minimum to secure your status as a good quality slut. If you can’t swallow, go home and play with your boyfriend, because I guarantee you he will be finding someone who will, and if you live in my town, it is very likely it will be me.

I am sure I may be too hard on myself. After all I do maintain many of the key points when it comes to good quality blowjobs. While my gag reflex may be lacking, I am at least eager and willing to try and take it all down, and I do not mind gagging. Most guys are cool with just that alone. Also if I don’t succeed in taking it all down, I will certainly not give up trying. In fact, it just makes me more intrigued and pissed off, with a need to prove to myself that I can take it all down.

Also, while my endurance may be down and my lips need to regain their strength, at least I am a masochist and a pleaser, so I will keep going even if I begin to lag with the skills.

Also I love licking balls and would have totally stopped and taken a break to do so, if the position in the car had not been so awkward.

So I was a trooper, took it all, swallowed every drop, and at least I made him cum.

Final Assessment: I STILL GOT IT!

As a child I remember watching Peter Pan for the first time. When the Pirates kidnapped and tied up Tiger Lily, the image was ingrained in my mind. I anticipated that short scene the entire movie, anytime I watched it. I loved drawing as a child, but while I gave the angel and mermaid pictures to my mom for the fridge, I had my own stash of secret drawings. My favorite picture to draw was of me being tied to trees. I used to feel ashamed of these drawings.

Fast forward to 2005, at Passive Arts Dungeon in LA, my first ever experience in a BDSM setting. I was smitten with the leashes and collars, and was so excited to be made to kneel. I witnessed a flesh hook suspension that made me fascinated and full of energy. But it was not until I saw the rope suspension that I knew I had approached the rabbit hole, and was about to jump headfirst in. That rope suspension changed everything for me. I was intrigued by the rope, and wanted so badly to touch it. When her feet left the ground I felt something deep inside me come to the surface, in the form of tears. I watched in a trance as her body soared and danced through their air above, her beautiful body wrapped in intricate rope bondage, a look of serenity gracing her visage. The image never left my mind, and for 5 years I have dreamed of doing my own rope dance.

About a month ago I experienced my first rope bondage experience. I wrote in great detail of how deeply it affected me and what an incredible experience it was. I reached deep meditations and felt at one with the rope. The rope protected me and kept me safe, yet forced me out of my comfort zone, liberating me from my insecurities and fears. I felt the rope on my skin for days, I breathed it, I craved it, and I yearned for it.

I was fortunate enough to encounter another soul like mine, a woman who felt the same connection and relationship with rope that I feel. Our connection quickly grew stronger as we expressed our passion for the rope, and as I heard her stories and experiences I knew that I was meant to live a life like hers, a life with rope. She saw my potential and my fire, and without wasting anytime, she took me to my dream.

I knew when I saw him that a connection was made. I could almost taste the passion he had for his art, just as I assumed he could feel my ardor and lust for the rope. I felt fear, as I had only one experience. I was not sure if I was ready to be suspended. She who brought me assured me that he would know when I was ready, and so I went forward.

I felt so humble and calm. I had already given my power over to the rope, I was ready to feel it on my skin. He came to me close, and I breathed in the warm energy and feeling of comfort he brought to me. I tried to connect with his energy as we prepared for this experience. I was ready for the rope.

The rope kissed my skin and I shuddered. I felt I had waited a lifetime for this. It rubbed across my skin and I moaned with gratitude. Within minutes I was off in another space, feeling every lick of the rope across my flesh, feeling as my body became more and more immobile. I vaguely noticed the people around me, enthralled by their own intimate experiences, sexual pleasure and sadomasochism creating the backdrop. Then, the rope would command my attention and I would go right back to my world, right back to the connection I felt with the One who governed the rope. I had little desire to look down and examine the work, as its art and beauty was felt by my flesh. I was in a trance, and I felt amazing.

Then the unexpected happened, and I was told to straighten my leg. Confusion went over me as I tried to remove myself from my world temporarily and figure out what was meant. I heard his voice in my ear again and I felt such trust and security. I felt that I was in the right moment and place, at the right time. I was exactly where I should be. I was in a place where nothing can harm me, where I was free to trust and love and feel. I adjusted my leg, and as my body left the ground I felt a release more powerful than any orgasm or climax I can ever imagine. Surprise and shock quickly turned to joy and wonder, as I soared in the air, the rope enveloping me and reassuring me. The images in the room faded away, and all I saw was color and light. Resistance died, and I settled into the experience, allowing it to overtake me and do what it will with me. Finally, my head was thrown back, my hair falling into the air, and I felt a true, genuine, Smile of pure joy and ecstasy crawl across my face. My eyes closed and I laughed. If I did not laugh physically, I was laughing on the inside. I was laughing at the bliss and pleasure I felt, at the freedom and liberation I achieved while flying there in the air, the rope bounding me. I was laughing at my childhood and my past, and all the pain I ever felt. I was laughing because I felt Victory. I felt none of it mattered, it had all faded away. I felt I was being reborn into a new body, one that has had the pleasure of feeling such ecstasy and Triumph. I was laughing at myself as a child, and all the times I had thought of being tied with rope, and how incredible it was that I was experiencing it in such a meaningful way.

Finally, even the laughing faded. Even the smile faded. All that was left was My World. I never felt so true to myself as I did then. I never felt such utter affection and intimacy with myself before. I felt I had reached a space that was pure and innocent, void of pain and judgments. There were no rules or limitations in this place.

I felt his touch and I felt his presence with me on the rope. I knew he was dancing with me in the air, and I knew that the energy in the room had intensified exponentially. I felt his warm energy and cherished the moment that we all three became one. He, I, and the Rope became one entity, one warm bubble of color and beauty, alone in the air, bound by the force of the rope, comforted by its almighty strength and power. Around us energies danced and delighted with sensuality, as we embraced the entity that held us, soaring through the air. It was euphoria like no other.

I don’t remember coming down, or feeling the ropes removed. The rope’s warmth and presence stay on my flesh all through the night. I drifted off into a deep, blissful slumber. I woke up several times thinking I was still bound, and unable to move from my curled up fetal position. Finally I awoke and stretched my body, becoming aware that the rope was gone from me. Emptiness, as if I had lost a cherished friend. Then, I drifted off again into a blissful slumber. I walked on air the whole next day, feeling so tranquil and at peace. I felt healed in some way, and greatly relieved. I felt gratitude to the One who governed the rope, and the One who had recognized my passion and brought me to this experience. I felt gratitude to my Mentor who had helped create this experience. I felt love and respect for the free-spirited, beautiful souls that surrounded me, in all of their naked glory, inspiring me and teaching me. I witnessed incredible climaxes and amazing connections, sensual intimacy and liberated spirits. I was told how beautiful the rope was, and how our dance intensified the energy in the room.

All the while I felt it was a Dream, and when I would realize it happened I would almost burst with love and happiness.

Since that experience I have had more vivid dreams, deeper insights, and more affection for myself and who I am. I believe it helped me reach a higher level of consciousness, and put much into perspective for me. Most of all it was a Dream come true, and something I could not imagine while drawing those pictures as a child, or from watching the beautiful rope dancer that first night. I hope to have many more experiences like these, and I will cherish each and every one with the same respect and passion that I did my first.

Even now, I can feel it’s presence on my skin.

I felt yucky, yet so turned on at the same time.

I felt yucky because I was in that spot, I was in an abusive relationship. But I cant say I didn’t love getting slapped around. I totally did. However it was emotionally abusive and he did hurt me often out of spite, anger, or rage. That is NOT fun. I felt like total crap most of the time.

The “abusive husband or boyfriend” thing has always turned me on. I had always wanted one of my own. Then I got one, and it was horrible. The bastard caused damage that I am still in the process of repairing and healing from.

Yet I still want one. I still want that abusive boyfriend type.  I still watch Lifetime movies and anticipate the domestic violence scenes. The whole, “Bitch you burned my dinner, SLAP SLAP” type of deal.

Of all my twisted desires and fetishes, this is the only one I am actually ashamed about. I just do not understand it.

I understand the difference between a healthy power exchange/sado-masochistic relationship, and a simply abusive domestic violence Unhealthy relationship. I know that I can get abused and still leave walking on air, feeling amazing. But sometimes I dont want that.

Sometimes I want to be that girl cowering in the corner, fearing the fist, begging for mercy. I want to be treated like total crap and degraded, and left to cry myself to sleep, No aftercare or cuddling. I Miss That.This is the first time I ever have truly acknowledged and expressed this desire.

Recently my close friend left an abusive relationship because she had no choice, he went to jail for beating her close to death with a chain. She lives with me now and I have heard many stories about their relationship and what he did to her.

My shameful, twisted secret, is that while she cried to me, I was wetting my panties. I was turned on. I want a cholo gangster boyfriend who will throw me around and give me bruises and make me clean up my own blood as he whips me with a chain.

I feel this is why it is so hard to heal from my abusive relationship. A part of me did like the abuse. A part of me felt so satisfied when he used me and discarded me. This has caused me so much confusion.

This has caused me confusion especially while on my journey as a submissive in the BDSM Lifestyle.It also causes me shame, to think about all the women and females who have had to endure abuse and how it has fucked up their lives. Yet I sit here and share with you all about how much it turns me on, and how much I want that. I just Google Imaged “Domestic Violence” and I see so much pain and sadness. I have dreamed of helping these women one day when I am stronger, and helping them to heal and reach their full potential.

I will never be able to do that as long as I am wetting my panties when they are crying to me.

I do crave it. I just want to be that girl again, the weak and powerless sex toy and punching bag, whimpering and cowering and begging. I don’t want aftercare. I don’t want cuddling. Just leave me there crying and naked and used.