Author: Cory

naughty stepmom

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

My stepson Johnny is a charming young man with a captivating smile and a hint of innocence in his eyes. We hit it off immediately. I could tell he was inexperienced in many areas of life, but there was a raw, untamed desire in him that I found irresistible. So, when his father went away on a business trip, I decided to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed as I lead him to the bedroom. I could see the nervousness in his eyes, but I also saw the hunger. “Don’t worry, Johnny,” I purred, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” I turned to face him, my eyes never leaving his. “First rule,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt, “always undress your partner slowly.”

Continue reading “Johnny’s Dad Is Away On Business” →

cheater blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

The bathroom floor wasn’t exactly my usual five-star accommodation, but with Mark, you took what you could get. We were mid-whatever-it-was when the silence shattered. Not with a shout, but with the soft, deliberate click of a key in the front door, followed by an equally soft, yet ominous, closing. “Honey?” I whispered, because honestly, who else has an extra key to his ‘villa’? Mark froze. He panicked.

Then she was there, framed in the doorway, clutching a grocery bag. Honey, sweet Honey. Her eyes, usually warm and crinkly from years of smiling politely at my questionable garden gnome collection, were now like laser pointers, fixed squarely on me. Not him. Me. It was as if I was the primary exhibit in a very unscheduled, very nude art installation titled ‘Caught Red-Handed: A Neighborly Disaster.’

Continue reading “Caught Bangin’ On The Bathroom Floor” →

giantess

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’m what they call an Amazon, a Giantess, towering over most men, especially my own father. Dad? He’s a ‘Little.’ Not just short, mind you, but actually, genuinely small. His head barely reaches my knee, his hands are so tiny they fit perfectly in the palm of my own. In our society, women like me aren’t just leaders; we’re the bedrock, the backbone. We build, we manage, we protect. Men, the Littles, often need assistance. So, when I got my acceptance to the Grand Citadel University, Dad went into a panic.

“Who will help me reach the top shelf, Cory? How will I get to work? Who will even get me into bed at night?” He looked so vulnerable, my tiny dad, perched on the edge of the sofa, his little feet dangling. He offered me the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. “Stay, my dear. You can control the house, the finances. I’ll keep working, of course, but you’ll be the woman of the house.” It was a tempting offer. A sizable allowance sealed the deal. College could wait. Power, and a fat bank account, were right here.

Continue reading “towering over most men” →

abdl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 et 407

It all started innocently enough. My friend, Gary – a man whose beard had a beard and whose idea of a challenging morning was deciding between two different artisanal coffee blends – casually asked if I could “help out” for a few weeks. He’d apparently aggravated an old sports injury, which sounded legitimate at the time. My visions were of fetching him an extra-large pizza and maybe a few remote controls. Never did I envision myself becoming, for lack of a better term, his “Mama.”

The first clue was the distinct odor of Johnson’s Baby Powder mixed with something vaguely earthy. Then came the sights. A crib, oversized bottles, a mountainous pile of what I initially mistook for industrial-grade pillow stuffing, but which quickly resolved into absurdly large, plastic-backed diapers. And there, nestled amidst a sea of plush toys and a particularly garish cartoon blanket, was Gary. Not the beard-having, coffee-snob Gary I knew, but a version clad in a pastel blue onesie, sucking on a pacifier the size of a teacup, gazing up at me with eyes that seemed far too innocent for a man who owed taxes.

Continue reading “Gary – a man whose beard had a beard” →

sex therapy

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

They call me Dr. Cory. I prefer just Cory, though. It feels more intimate. My patients, especially the men, seem to appreciate that. They usually walk in here carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, desperate for a listening ear, a compassionate gaze. What they don’t see, what they could never see, is the coiled viper beneath the serene exterior. A promise I made to myself years ago, after a man, a grown man, shattered my innocence. My revenge, you see, isn’t loud or violent. It’s surgical. Psychological. It’s how I remain in complete control.

Donald was my latest project. He shuffled into my office, a walking bundle of anxiety and vague dissatisfactions. His tie was too tight, his shoulders hunched, his voice a low monotone as he listed his woes: feelings of inadequacy, trouble sleeping, a general sense of being “stuck.” Typical. The moment he sat down, I knew his path. Regression therapy. The ultimate emasculation. We’re talking diapers, pacifier, babbling…the whole shebang. He was the perfect candidate.

Continue reading “Dr. Cory Has A Secret” →

sex blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

As Billy stepped into the shower, I admired his lean, toned body, my gaze lingering on his uncut cock, already hard and ready for me. I couldn’t resist the urge to touch him, so I stepped in after him, as my hands explored every inch of his skin. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, his voice sounding shaky. I smiled up at him, as my fingers traced the length of his shaft. “That’s okay, Billy. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

I started by lathering up his body with a lavender mint soap, my hands eagerly sliding over his chest and down to his cock as I washed him. I took my time, teasing him with soft touches and gentle strokes until he was moaning and bucking against my hand.

Continue reading “Billy’s Uncut Cock” →

blowjob

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

A good blowjob is more than just an act; it’s a performance, a communion, a journey to be guided through. From the moment the decision is made, a subtle shift happens. My focus narrows, all senses sharpen. There’s a delicious anticipation that builds, a silent understanding passing between us.

I love the ritual of it. Dropping to my knees, the soft thud of fabric on the floor, the shift in power dynamics as I meet his gaze from below. Reaching out, my fingers are already tingling, ready to receive. The first touch is always ginger, a gentle coaxing as I carefully free his cock from the constraints of his pants…shorts…underwear. He’s usually warm, already eager, and the sight of that dick standing at attention, ready and waiting, sends a little pulse of excitement through me.

Continue reading “A good blowjob phonesex” →

abdl blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

When most folks hear “massage parlor,” they think hot stones and essential oils. And we have those, of course. My hands are good, trained to ease knots you didn’t even know you carried. But it was never quite enough, not for me, and certainly not for some of my more adventurous clients. I noticed a pattern. A look in their eyes, a certain aspect of their tension that a standard massage just couldn’t quite smooth away. They craved a different kind of release, a deeper surrender.

That’s where the “add-on” came in. It started subtly, a suggestion here, a whispered request there. Soon enough, it became my signature service, the one that keeps my regulars coming back, often with that eager, almost wonderous glint in their eyes. After a thorough, tension-melting massage, when their muscles are liquid and their minds are drifting, I offer it. “How about something truly liberating today?” I’d purr, my voice effortlessly reassuring. Many already know what I mean. For those who don’t, I explain: a comfortable, absorbent diaper, snugged just right, a return to a state of complete, unburdened freedom.

Continue reading “ABDL massage parlor” →

findom blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Corey was always so eager. It was almost endearing. But then, softness wasn’t what he paid for, was it? He paid for the sharpest edge of my expectations, the cold precision of my demands, and the delicious humiliation that bloomed in his chest with every transaction. “Are you ready, sissy?” I typed, watching the ‘typing…’ indicator flicker on our private chat. A beat of silence, then his reply: “Yes, Mistress. Always ready.”

I smiled, a slow, controlled thing. He called himself a finsub, but to me, he was just Corey, my little piggy bank dressed in a perpetually apologetic expression, even through text. And a sissyboy, of course. That was the real fun of it. “Good. My new Louboutins are calling to me. They’re a rather fetching shade of scarlet, don’t you think?” I sent him a picture I’d pulled from the designer’s website – the most impractical, yet undeniably beautiful, pair of stilettos. “I think they would look perfect on me. Don’t you agree?”

Continue reading “softness wasn’t what he paid for” →

gooner

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Across the digital ether, I was spending my day with a loser. We all know the type. He wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary, just your average gooner who’d found my corner of the internet. He paid me for my time, of course. What he bought, primarily, was attention. Curated, commodified attention. Sometimes a few pics—nothing too wild, just enough to keep the illusion alive. But what he really wanted, what he truly craved above all else, were those trigger words.

You know the ones I mean. Those exact phrases, spoken or typed, that would unravel some tightly wound spring inside him. Words that would trigger him to stroke and edge himself stupid, lost in his own private loop of self-abasement and gratification. I, the puppeteer, tugging on invisible strings with carefully chosen syllables. He, the puppet, dancing to a rhythm only he could hear.

Continue reading “spending my day with a loser” →