Tag: killer phone sex

Knife Play Phone Sex Who Isn’t Afraid to Put my Life on the Line!

Knife Play Phone Sex

I love Knife Play Phone Sex with a man who isn’t afraid to put my life on the line.

A man who will hold a knife to my throat while he force fucks me, shoving that cock so far inside me.

Face fuck me until I’m choking and gagging on your fat hog!

Threat to slice my neck and fuck the wound hole.

My life is in your hands, Master.

I will suck your cock and a sharp night to your balls.

Threatening to shop your ball sack off while I drain you of all your jizz.

If you don’t cum, every drop, down my throat, you can kiss your beautiful heavy balls goodbye.

Two can play this game, Daddy! 

 

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Murder Phone Sex Fantasies We All Think About

murder phone sex fantasiesI think if we’re honest with ourselves, we all have murder phone sex fantasies in our heads. We all know somebody we want to kill. But unlike me, most folks listen to the voice in their head that says don’t do it or you will go to jail. You won’t go to jail if I’m your accomplice or your teacher. I know how to get away with murder. I’ve been doing it since my schoolgirl days.

And now I’m a woman. A Goth woman. And I know how to set a trap for my victim. Honestly, I do not discriminate. Male or female, young or old, black or white, I hate everybody. So, when somebody acts like a bitch, especially to me, I kill them without hesitation. But I never kill them in the heat of the moment. That’s what gets people caught. So, I plan it out. Sometimes I even wait months from the initial encounter to stay off the radar.

Killer sex requires patience and control. I learned how to stop impulse killing thanks to my grandpa. He nurtured the killer instinct in me. And taught me everything I know about remaining undetected. In a way my grandfather acted like Dexter‘s dead dad. Giving him a code for killing. Although I do kill my share of predators, I kill a lot of people who don’t fit any sort of moral code.

Like Trevor who I killed this weekend. I encountered him two months ago, however. But I resisted my urge to stab him in the middle of the bar. And I might have stabbed him in the middle of a bar in my younger days, but I would’ve been arrested.

No Man Insults or Harasses Me and Lives

Trevor tried to shame me for my look. He clearly dislikes Goth girls. He gave me the backhanded compliment. I’d be pretty if I didn’t look so moody. That shit doesn’t fly with me. I’m never going to look like some fashion model because I don’t want to look like some fashion model. He just made one condescending comment after another and put himself on my radar.

So, I stalked him for months planning how I would kill him. Two months after our initial account, nobody would remember him talking to a random Goth girl in a bar on a busy Friday night two months ago. And even if they did, they would not immediately assume that our encounter led to his death. I never make a scene in public. I don’t slap a man or knee him in the balls or even yell and scream at him.

But I killed him this weekend. I let my anger and rage build up for two months so that I could kill him in a frenzy. Inflict maximum amount of pain in the least amount of time. One of the reasons I’m fond of knife play phone sex. I can stab a man to death, but it will take time for him to die unless I cut a major artery or stab him in the head like he’s a zombie. I broke into his house, and made it look like a personal kill. Overkill always takes the pressure off me because they start to look at suspects much closer to home.

I Can Train You to Be a Killer Too

Plus, I know how to break into a house but make it look like someone let me in willingly. And that’s another thing that points to a personal kill. I killed him in his bed. And I took nothing to add to the personal murder narrative. But I did wake him up before I killed him. I wanted him to see my face as I plunged the knife into his body, creating a bloody phone sex mess of his bed. I let him know why I killed him. The guy didn’t even remember meeting me. And I can’t imagine he meets many Goth girls hanging out in preppy bars. What a fucking loser.

A dead loser now. His daddy apparently is a circuit court judge in town. I left no DNA at the scene, and I have no connection to him other than a five-minute exchange at a bar months ago. I think his father will push the false narrative I created about this being personal. Hell, they might even blame one of the many people who likely hate the judge. Sins of the father and all. I always kill the people I wish dead. I just don’t kill them in the heat of the moment. And I make a bad ass accomplice too.

Cheap Phone Sex with Layla and Her Secret Raw Fuck Sessions

Cheap Phone SexI’m huddled in the corner of this damp basement, flinching every time I hear a heavy footstep on the floorboards above my head. Offering cheap phone sex is the only flickering bit of light I have left in this hellhole, and I’m using these few minutes of silence to find someone who wants to hear what it’s really like down here. My skin is cold, my wrists are raw from the rusted chains, and I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone steady against my ear.

 I don’t have the luxury of acting like a princess; I’m a woman who has been broken down to nothing, and now I’m just a piece of property waiting for the next man to decide what he wants to do with me. I’m giving you the ultimate intense fuck session of your life because, at this point, the pain is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m still breathing.

I wasn’t always this hollowed out version of a person, but life has a way of stripping everything away until you’re just a body. I remember when my husband first sold me off just to catch his next high; I fought like a wild animal at first, but you can only take so many hits to the ribs before you learn to stay down. Now, I keep my eyes glued to the concrete floor and I do exactly what I’m told without a single word of protest. 

My pussy is constantly swollen, bruised, and aching from the way these guys use me like a communal rag, but I’ve learned to find a sick kind of comfort in the weight of them. I’m the secret they keep locked away, the one they pass around until I’m covered in their filth and left to rot until the next round starts. That’s the kind of raw, unfiltered energy I’m bringing to this call. 

I want to tell you exactly how it feels when they pile on top of me, and how the only thing that keeps me going is the heavy protein I’m forced to swallow just to stay upright. I want to describe the grit of the floor against my back and the way I submit like a good little bitch because I know what happens if I don’t. I’m not looking for a hero; I’m looking for someone who wants to hear the truth about what it’s like to be owned.

I can hear them coming back now, the heavy boots getting closer to the door. I’m wide awake, I’m terrified, and I’m desperate for you to pick up before they take the phone away again. Call me now while I still have a voice.

Revenge Killer Phone Sex Fantasies Make Me Wet

killer phone sexI would not call myself a cold stone killer phone sex babe. For most of my life men treated me like nothing more than a submissive slave. It got ingrained in me at an early age that I lacked any power. But somewhere along the line, I became a switch. Maybe with age I got wiser. But I think I got a taste for inflicting pain, not necessarily on other girls, but definitely on men.

I certainly possess killer revenge fantasies. Not a day goes by that I do not fantasize about killing or castrating the men from my youth who abused me and that includes my dad. However, I think my biggest revenge fantasy remains killing my mother. What do they call that, matricide?

If my mother never left me alone with my father, likely, my life would’ve turned out differently. Maybe I would be married with a family and a normal job. Who knows. She took away a lot of my options leaving me with a man she knew would abuse me.

Revenge Kills Feel So Satisfying

Sometimes, these wicked dreams of torture sex creep into my mind while I sleep. And last night I dreamt that I ran into my mother, and after all these decades, she didn’t recognize me. She couldn’t even see the resemblance. In my dream, I encountered my mother at my local coffee shop going for a fix. I saw her there with a wedding ring on her finger, sipping her coffee like she did not have a care in the world. I saw that rock. She married well.

In my fantasy, I approached her about being her daughter, and she just laughed at me, cocked her head, and told me to fuck off. But I could tell from the nervous energy that she just lied to me. So, I apologize for mistaking her for somebody else and left. But I didn’t really leave. I hid in my car until she came out and I followed her home.

Broke into her home, grabbed the biggest knife in the kitchen I could find, went into her bedroom and stabbed her 100 times. Overkill. The type of murder that the police would focus on somebody close to her. Even though I took some jewelry and stuff to stage it like a robbery, I did not feel confident that the police would suspect a robbery. But I couldn’t help it. My rage came out with each stab and before long I overkilled her.

Sometimes, The Accomplice Wants to Kill Solo

I know better than that too. As the accomplice, I’ve honed my skills that keep me flying under the radar. A seasoned accomplice knows how to stage the scene. But I let my emotions get the better of me.

And a violent phone sex kill felt deserving for the mother who abandoned me and didn’t care that her husband would abuse his daughter in her absence. As police circled in on me, I woke up thankfully. My heart raced. Such a vivid dream that it felt real. I honestly thought I killed my mother.

But that dream made me want to do it more. So, I’m signing up for one of those DNA online things thanks to my dream. I know I can’t make it look like overkill. Even though the murder of my mother feels so personal, I will kill her. And I will kill her in such a way that will ensure that I evade suspicion. The bitch deserves to die. And thanks to my dream I’ve made it my mission to find my mother and kill her for the years of abuse I suffered in her absence.

Cannibalism Phone Sex is The Best Culinary Delicacies

Cannibalism Phone Sex is my darkest culinary art. And you could be on my Menu. I’m Morticia, Your Dark Culinary Killer
Fact is, I savor every trembling word you speak. Coincidentally, cannibalism is my darkest culinary art. First, I strip you bare in my mind and inspect my ruthless loser for tonight’s Menu.
Undeniably, your pathetic cock twitches as I describe sliding a sharp blade across your chest. Furthering the leak as I describe carving slow, deliberate lines while your blood runs hot and sweet.
Next, I tie you down and season every inch of your worthless body with oil and spices. Ultimately, rubbing them deep into your skin until you’re glistening and begging.

Cannibalism Phone Sex is Your Delicious End

Then I fire up the spit and slide you onto it slowly, turning you over the flames. All while I stroke my dripping cunt to the sound of your desperate moans.
Suddenly, the heat builds, and I tell you exactly how your flesh will crisp and crackle. Undeniable, it’s my pleasure, and I’ll slice off the juiciest parts first. The best is to eat them while they’re still warm.
However, the real ecstasy hits when I describe sinking my teeth into your cooked cock, chewing slowly as your flavor explodes across my tongue. Delectable.
Finally, I devour every last piece of you, swallowing your essence while I cum hard. Leaving my body shaking with pure killer lust.
Yet the greatest thrill is knowing you’re completely gone — reduced to nothing but a satisfied meal and a memory. I live for this. I crave the power of turning a ruthless loser into my personal feast.
Call me tonight and become my next dish. I’m already sharpening my knives and licking my lips, hungry for the taste of your total surrender. This is my passion. This is my art. And you’re the perfect main course.
Cannibalism Phone Sex

Snuff Movies Makes You Super Horny For Tight Pussy Layla

Snuff MoviesI’m strapped down so tight I can’t feel my wrists anymore, just the cold bite of the leather against my skin. He’s standing over me in this dimly lit bedroom, deciding whether I’m going to be his next victim or his favorite toy. Watching snuff movies on the cracked TV in the corner seems to be the only thing keeping him from grabbing that knife on the nightstand, and honestly, I’m begging for that instead.

 I can see his eyes darting from the screen to my chest, my breath hitching every time his gaze lingers on my busty tits spilling out of this torn dress. He told me he was going to kill me, that I was just another body to dispose of, but then he saw how much I was shaking… not just from fear, but from a sick, twisted sort of anticipation.

He didn’t expect me to be so desperate. When he saw the bulge in his pants growing, he realized I wasn’t fighting the restraints anymore; I was arching into them. I looked him dead in the eye and gave him full permission to do whatever he wanted, as long as he stayed inside me. He crawled onto the bed, looming over me like a predator, his heavy weight pinning me into the mattress. 

I felt his hands, rough and calloused, bruising my thighs as he forced them apart to get to the real prize. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating off him. The moment he entered my tight pussy, the air left my lungs in a sharp, jagged moan. It’s a different kind of survival here. I’m an innocent girl caught in a nightmare, but my body is a traitor that craves the friction.

 He’s not gentle… he doesn’t have to be. Every thrust is a reminder that I’m alive, that I’m his, and that he’s forgotten all about that knife. I’ve become his captive slut, a breathless mess of sweat and tears, pleading for him to fill me up until I can’t think about the world outside these four walls.

I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this room, or if he’ll change his mind again once he’s had his fill of me. But right now, with his hands around my throat and his cock buried deep, I’m exactly where I need to be to stay alive. I’m Layla… Your favorite busty tit slut, and I’m trapped in a house of shadows, serving a man who holds my life in his hands. Maybe if you’re like him, you’d want a turn at breaking what’s left of me.

Snuff Movies With Daddy

Snuff moviesSnuff movies make my foster daddy get really horny and aggressive, last night we watched a hardcore snuff flick, and he got so fucking worked up, we did something really bad together. We hurt my little sister. 

Daddy was fucking her little, tiny cunt with bid fat dildos, ripping her little pussy, I helped him do it, holding her little butt cheeks open as he thrust those huge cocks inside her tight hole, my pussy got super wet as I watched. 

What really made me want to explode was when Daddy let my shove big butt plugs up her shitter, she cried and squirmed, that only made me hit her in the face to shut her up, I love when Daddy lets me abuse her small frame. 

We really bond when we molest and torture the younger girls together, I used to feel guilty when I beat the little ones. That was short lived, no one felt bad when they abused me. 

Now I enjoy violating the little bitches, pulling their pig tails and stretching those tint splits, getting them all ready for Daddy, sometimes I climax when I strangle them as daddy fucks them. 

My all-time favorite is when Daddy lets me hold their lil teeny pussy lips open for him, he stuffs big dildos and butt plugs inside them, and calls me his good lil helper, sometimes he will reward me and let me cum on his big cock, I look forward to that now, I used to hate it but I just love to cum on Daddy’s fat dick now. 

 

Necrophilia Phone Sex Layla Lays Down with Her Big Tits Out

Necrophilia Phone SexThe house is deathly silent, but my skin is buzzing. I’m sprawled across my silk sheets, my robe hanging open to let the cool air hit my skin, leaving my heavy, busty tits completely exposed. Necrophilia Phone Sex was how this night started, whispering filth into the receiver until I couldn’t handle the tension anymore. I heard the faint scrape of a window being jimmied open downstairs, and instead of calling the police, I felt a surge of pure, illicit adrenaline. 

I decided to stay right here, posing like a masterpiece, waiting to see who was brave enough to step into my sanctuary. I hear the floorboard creak outside my bedroom door. I close my eyes, slowing my breathing, pretending to be lost in a deep sleep while my heart hammers against my ribs. The door swings open, and I can feel a presence hovering over me. 

I don’t move, even as I feel his heavy gaze traveling over my curves desperately waiting for him to suffocate me with my pillow, lingering on the dark circles of my nipples peeking out from the sheets. He thinks he’s found a helpless victim, a sleeping beauty he can just take. He has no idea he’s stepped into a trap set by a woman who’s been craving a thrill this dangerous all night.

Just as he reaches out a rough, calloused hand to touch me, I snap my eyes open. I don’t scream. I don’t pull away. I grab his wrist with a strength that surprises him and pull him down until his face is inches from mine. “You picked the wrong house if you wanted an easy target, baby,” I say with my voice dripping with a dark, slutty confidence. “But you picked the right one if you’re looking for the ride of your life.”

He’s frozen, caught between the urge to run and the undeniable magnetism of my body pressed against his. I can see the raw desire in his eyes, and I know I’ve already won. I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling his hard, panicked body onto the bed. 

“Don’t stop now,” I whisper against his lips, my hands already fumbling with his belt. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you to break in and show me exactly what a real man can do.” The night is just beginning, and by the time I’m through with him, he’ll realize that I’m the one who’s truly in control of this “robbery.”

Mutilation Phone Sex Left Me Carved Up Like a Holiday Ham

mutilation phone sexMutilation phone sex left me butchered. I don’t tend to think things through completely. I see ads on the dark net all the time looking for models for various snuff type photo shoots or films. But I only focus on the amount of money they plan to pay me. I never read the fine print about the possibility of bodily harm or even death.

So, when I saw the pay for a day’s work, I skipped reading the rest. I wrongly assumed I signed up for another snuff movie of some sort. But what I honestly signed up for turned out to be more of a butchering photo shoot. They wanted to carve me up like a Thanksgiving ham. However, they assumed I understood the risks. But I did not truly understand until a man came out of another room with a bunch of knives and an executioner’s mask on. I almost pissed myself.

What did I get myself into once again, ran through my head. He held a variety of knives, and they all looked very sharp. Oh boy, here we go again, I thought to myself. I might not survive this one or I might be permanently scarred from knife play phone sex. Luckily, I can photoshop a lot of my scars away. The executioner guy kept telling me not to tremble because he could slice an artery. But that did not do anything to relax my mind. It just sent me into a spiral of fear.

I Consider Myself More of a Druggy Whore Than a Pain Slut

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate extremely hard on anything, but what he would do to me. So, I could feel the knives slicing my flesh. And I just tried to stay focused on my happy place. Luckily, I did my last bit of blow before he strapped me to this cold slab. Minutes felt like hours. I could feel my crimson blood flowing down my mutilated flesh. But I stayed focused in my mind. Telling myself I can get through anything.

I’ve been through a lot in my life. Perhaps most people look at me as a pain slut. I see it a bit differently. I’m a drug addicted whore, who puts herself in dangerous situations for a fix. I don’t sign up for this shit because I like pain. Pain just helps me earn money to buy cocaine. So, I view myself more as a druggie whore than a pain slut. However, my threshold for pain gets better every time.

This felt like pure torture sex. And I suppose the director aimed for that. No doubt the world contains plenty of men who love to see a mother butchered like that. By the time the session concluded, I looked like I walked off a horror movie set. But the blood on my body was not make up. Tiny cuts covered my flesh. Luckily, they never touched my face. And with winter, I can get away with long sleeves and pants until my wounds heal. When will I ever learn?

Knife Play Phone Sex is The Number One Way I Like to Kill

knife play phone sexKnife play phone sex remains my favorite. I believe a knife requires more skill than a gun. Plus, a knife kills someone slower than a gun. With a knife wound, somebody bleeds out slowly and death is not instant like a bullet through the brain. Knives rule my world.

I took a girl under my wing. A few months ago, I worked with a guy who wanted her dead. But he turned out to be quite shady and when I found out that he wanted to kill me too, I made her my accomplice instead. And she helped me kill her own uncle. I made her my trainee. I saw a lot of me in her. So, I am teaching her about knives and turning her into a taboo phone sex princess.

Although I don’t enjoy the company of very many people, occasionally I meet a young girl with potential. And I foster that evil inside of her. Some girls exist to clean house like me. In a way I’m like Dexter. I kill with a purpose. And I rarely kill anybody who doesn’t deserve to die. Now my moral compass seems less rigid than the average person, I still primarily kill those who deserve to die.

A person can enjoy killing and adhere to a moral hierarchy for killing. Top of my killing list are predators. Men and women who prey on others. Perhaps they drug their drinks or try to force them into slavery. Maybe they just attack unaccompanied women. I’ve even killed a few people for just looking at me wrong because I could tell that they wanted to force themselves on me, but I stopped them before they could.

Sometimes, I Turn a Young Girl into My Trainee and Accomplice

Predators come in all shapes and sizes like my young accomplice’s uncle. He started fucking her as a schoolgirl and when she became a young teen girl, he feared she would tell somebody. Hence why he hired me to kill her. Normally, I don’t care why somebody wants another person dead. I take the money and I do the job. However, this fucking predator tried to make me his victim too because.

So, he needed to die. And I let her use one of my knives to do it for me. And I saw that expression in her eyes when that knife penetrated him in the gut, and he started to bleed out on the floor. She smiled. And she did not show any fear or hesitation. She liked killing him. And I suspect she long wanted him dead.

Now I’m teaching her my code. And I’m instilling in her a love of knives and sharp objects. She even picked out her next victim. The schoolboy bully who forces himself on other schoolgirls after he drugs them, and films himself fucking them.

That loser fits my moral code for murder. And together, we will set a trap for him and kill him on Friday night. She’s ready and eager. I love a young killer phone sex accomplice. In my life I’ve experienced a few girls just like her. The way I see it, I’m helping to shape the future teaching young girls that they can become a killer with a moral code just like me.