Author: Cory

findom

Cory 1-877-332-2639 ext 407

I’m a woman with a penchant for Prada and a talent for turning pitiful, low-status men into personal ATMs. My specialty? Convincing pathetic loser betas to drain their meager savings so I can buy another designer handbag or book a spontaneous trip to Bali. It’s not just about the money, though. It’s about power. The sweet, syrupy kind that comes when a man with a Netflix-and-chill résumé hands me his Black Card like it’s a sacred offering.

The process is almost artful. I spot them before the see me. Shiftless guys in ill-fitting suits, with confidence levels lower than the tips some of you leave at brunch. I approach with a smile that could thaw the Arctic and a voice that purrs like a V8 engine. Then I start complimenting their “untapped potential,” pretending to be “starving artist” or “aspiring entrepreneur” (code for “I need money but also validation”). By the third round of $25 drinks, they’re confessing their deepest insecurities while I nonchalantly swipe their credit card for a “gift” that costs $300. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an investment in my affections.

Continue reading “They’re just my personal ATMs” →

Gifts

Posted on by Cory

breasts

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’ve had these, ahem, “gifts” since I was a teen. It’s like I had a magnetic field around me, drawing in every male eye within a 10-foot radius. It was both flattering and terrifying at the same time. I’d try to wear loose-fitting clothes to downplay them, but let’s be real, there’s only so much you can do to hide a pair of double-Ds from all of the neighborhood pervs.

The comments started early, too. Everything from “Wow, you must be cold!” to “Do you have trouble finding bras that fit?” But as I got older, the attention only intensified. I’d go to the grocery store and some guy would inevitably stare as if he’d never seen breasts before.

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blowjob

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’d somehow ended up at a friend’s backyard BBQ, half-listening to a conversation about the merits of different BBQ sauces. That’s when I noticed him leaning against the grill with his shirt sleeves rolled up. His fingers were absently toying with a set of tongs, just as I noticed the sunlight glinting off his wedding ring. Not that I was ogling, of course. I was just appreciating the way his hands moved. When our eyes met, he raised an eyebrow and I froze.

He ambled over, clutching a plate of ribs like a peace offering, and we fell into that classic small-talk rhythm. Compliments on the food, jokes about the humidity, a shared eye-roll at someone’s questionable ketchup-to-mayo ratio. But then, out of nowhere, he asked, “You ever fix a leaky faucet?” and I blinked, because what? “No,” I said, laughing. “I just turn off the water and pretend it’s not dripping.” He chuckled, of course.

Continue reading “Backyard BBQ BJ” →

cuck therapist

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

When David, a well-groomed man in his early forties, walked into my office and confessed his desire to “escape the weight of his marriage,” I sensed an opportunity. “Let me show you what it means to truly let go,” I said, watching his eyes flicker with something between curiosity and surrender. At first, I told myself this was just another session, a therapeutic exercise in roleplay to ease his marital tension.

Shortly thereafter, David’s sessions became a ritual. I’d begun weaving subtle suggestions into our conversations, phrases meant to blur the lines between his identity as a husband and the version of himself that could dissolve into pleasure at my command. “Under my guidance, you’ll forget the expectations of others,” I murmured one day as his eyelids grew heavy. “You’ll remember only what it feels like to serve me.” His breathing hitched and, for a moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far…but then he smiled and whispered, “Yes, Cory. Only you.”

Continue reading “Cucking David’s Wife” →

abdl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’d been called to the “fun house” on the edge of town to investigate what sounded like a paranormal situation. When I pushed open the creaky door, the smell hit me hard. It was a musty mix of wet carpet and baby powder. Weird combo, I thought. My eyes adjusted to the dim glow of a blinking Game Boy Color screen and there it was. A creature slinking in the corner. Its face was a smudge of a shadow and it had many (too many) teeth.

“Well,” I said, aloud, patting my hip where my “Mama Kit” (a custom duffel bag with a sippy cup, pacifier, and a vintage rattle) hung, “you’re not what I expected.” It hissed. I giggled. “Oh, you’re spicy. I like that.” Drawing on years of experience comforting mommy’s boys and toys, I waddled closer, patting the floor. “Here, let’s sit down like grown-ups.” I sat, crossing my legs. The creature paused, with its too-long fingers twitching. Casually, I pulled out the rattle and clicked it. “I bring treats,” I added, unzipping the duffel to reveal a stash of glow-in-the-dark lollipops (for emergencies).

Continue reading “the fun house on the edge of town” →

findomme

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

My journey into findom began innocently enough. I was posting cryptic Instagram captions about “liquid assets” and “monetizing my worth,” when a guy slid into my DMs asking if I’d ever considered “roleplaying a trust fund beneficiary.” Little did he know, I was all about roleplaying!

The first time I hosted a findom session for a man I’ll call Kevin (not his real name, though honestly, I’m sure someone named Kevin will read this and think it is him), I wore a tie I’d bought for $12 at a thrift store and demanded he pay “pay the lady” up front, as is customary in this profession.

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abdl blog

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

It all started with a hopeful “I want to help, Mommy!” This year, Timmy begged to bake Christmas cookies, promising to be “extra good” and “follow the recipe like a big boy.” I caved, of course, because what ABDL mother says no to his twinkling eyes right before Christmas?

Big mistake. Within ten minutes, flour was airborne like a blizzard, egg whites were splattered on the ceiling fan (yes, really), and the kitchen resembled a combat zone where sugar and chaos had declared a truce. I stood there, flour-dusted and blinking, as Timmy beamed. He was soooo proud of himself.

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crinkly diaper

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Chris was a lanky, 23-year-old man with a longstanding habit of dramatically sighing whenever I produced his diaper from my sleeve. Like a magician with big tits. “Cory,” he’d say, his eyes rolling toward the cosmos, “must you always do the dramatic crinkle thing?”

I couldn’t help it! The crinkle was my love language. One particularly memorable Tuesday, as I prepared to unleash the crinkle on his post-chili-calamity mess, I realized I’d accidentally bought the “super-squishy, ultra-quiet” eco-diapers. Panic set in faster than Chris could say “I’m totally fine, really.”

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ass toys

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I stepped into the little storefront on the corner of Pine and Mistletoe, expecting only the comforting scent of peppermint and cocoa. What greeted me instead was a dazzling, over‑the‑top Christmas candy shoppe that doubled as something far naughtier. The walls were lined with jars of bright red gumdrops, sugar‑coated pretzels, and candy‑cane swirls, but nestled among those innocent treats were an assortment of sex toys that had been cheekily fashioned to look like confections.

As I meandered past the peppermint bark displays, I couldn’t help but notice a glossy, peppermint‑flavored dildo that shimmered like a giant crystallized candy cane. Its sleek, curved silhouette promised a delightfully deep, throbbing rhythm for anyone brave enough to indulge! Next, I saw a row of strawberry‑filled chocolate truffles. Each one was meticulously molded to a different size. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were in fact an array of vibrating butt plugs!

Continue reading “on the corner of Pine and Mistletoe” →

snowman sex

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Barnaby the Snowman wasn’t like the typical, friendly, button-eyed fellow you see on Christmas cards. His broad, muscled torso was comprised of meticulously packed and sculpted powder, but what really snagged my attention was the sheer architectural ambition of his midsection and the monster carrot dick that stood straight out between his snow covered balls. This snowman was more man than snow!

“Well, hello there, handsome,” I whispered, brushing an errant flake off his coal eye. I knew it was absurd to flirt with an inanimate frozen object, but Barnaby radiated a silent, powerful magnetism. The impulse to touch him became overwhelming. The shock of the cold was electric and immediate. Maybe it was just the wind, but in my heightened state, it sounded like he wanted me to press myself against his icy body. I swore he told me to.

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