Author: Amber

cock sucking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I’m a woman of simple, yet incredibly specific, pleasures. While some chase after fancy dinners or the latest gossip, my eyes are always scanning for one thing: a beautiful, thick BBC to wrap my soft, glossy lips around. It’s a craving, a delightful obsession, and frankly, my favorite way to unwind.

Recently, I met his guy. I spotted him across the room, as he was leaning against the bar with an easy smile playing on his lips. He was tall with broad shoulders and had that unmistakable “big dick energy” that always makes me feral. My radar went wild. There was a certain confidence in his stance, a lazy power that promised a delightful experience. My heart did a little flutter-kick. I had to have him!

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succubus

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My Succubus costume was cheap red vinyl and was slutty enough that I felt the wind lift the hem with every step. I’d spent an hour applying black as night liquid eyeliner and slicking on the perfect shade of red lip gloss that tasted like artificial cherry and bad decisions. I wanted every eye on me. The kind of attention that made lesser girls blush, the kind that promised chaos.

I moved through the crush of masked students like I owned the ground, thriving on the whistles and the lingering stares. Every glance felt like a currency, and I was rolling in it. That’s when I saw him. He was standing alone, leaning against the wrought-iron fence of an old, unused cemetery that bordered the sidewalk—a classic mistake, I realized later.

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ghost sex

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

As soon as I finished uttering the words of my spell, the shadows in the corners of my basement didn’t just deepen; they coalesced. A figure rose from the center of the pentagram. He was transparent, tall and lean. He wasn’t monstrous, but terrifyingly perfect; his form was defined by the absence of light with eyes like distant, hungry stars. I was instantly mesmerized. “You called,” his voice hissed, a static whisper that vibrated in my teeth. “What payment do you offer, little witch?”

My breath hitched. I felt a cold knot in my stomach, but the heat of reckless desire was raging in my desperate pussy. I had aimed high; summoning not a man but a ghost from the Underworld, a creature whose touch could corrupt or worse. But still, I had to have him.

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********* blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My current curiosity belonged to Elias. He was the perfect, arrogant prince of his small, modern kingdom. A penthouse suite protected by layers of steel and, most deliciously, a web of high-definition security cameras. He was a man who believed in control, which meant he feared observation most of all.

I was the only one who truly saw the fissures in his flawless exterior, the things he typed only when he thought the Wi-Fi was off, the desires he locked away when the moon turned cold. This information was my leverage, far more potent than any rotten apple or ill-gotten jewel. I knew what I wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.

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cuckold

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

It’s not that I want Liam to suffer. Not really. It’s just that his suffering is so intensely performative that I can’t help it. He really is the sweetest guy, loyal to a fault, but he’s also fiercely territorial. And nothing gets him more dramatically worked up than the mere suggestion that another man exists in my orbit. Example? Once, he genuinely thought our elderly mailman was trying to woo me with junk coupons.

I call this dynamic “emotional seasoning.” He definitely calls it “a breach of sacred trust.” Either way, it’s wildly entertaining…for me anyway. lol Last Friday, we were out at our friend Sarah’s housewarming party. We’d been there about an hour, and Liam was settled into his usual routine – explaining the complex history of artisanal brewing while simultaneously keeping a nervous tally of everyone who crossed my line of sight.

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butthole blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

So, you know how everyone has that one quirky thing that makes them unique? Like, maybe they organize their socks by color, or they insist on buttering their toast in a specific way? Yeah, well, my Daddy, he’s got a thing. A very specific thing. And frankly, I’ll tell you…it’s my butt. Or, more precisely, my slightly used, fresh-from-a-long-day, let’s-be-real-it’s-a-bit-“dirty” butthole. Daddy loves a dirty butthole! Especially mine.

It’s not like he’s a hygiene menace, and I’m definitely not walking around un-wiped. No, no, no. But for some reason, the moment I’ve been out all day…rushing around, hitting the gym, maybe even just living…and I finally collapse onto the sofa, he gets this twinkle in his eye. It’s like he can smell adventure. Or, you know, just me.

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cock witch

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

They call me ‘The Collector.’ My coven might raise a brow at my methods, but they don’t understand the relentless ache, the void only true satisfaction can fill. I am predacious by nature, preying only on those submissive men who believe their shriveled cocks are enough. They read the runes, they sign the parchments, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and fervent hope. They know the terms: if they do not measure up, they become an offering. An ornament. A keepsake.

I had another one show up tonight. A nervous young man, all trembling anticipation, stood before my altar. The scent of black candles and patchouli filled the chamber. He stripped, his body a canvas for my scrutiny. I circled him, my gaze a physical weight, assessing. My eyes, usually a calming forest green, glowed with a faint, reddish heat.

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prissy sissy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

They all want the same thing: to shed the heavy cloak of their ingrained manliness and embrace the exquisite lightness of a prissy sissy. To them, I am Mistress Amber, and that title is the first lesson. They come to me, not as men, but as puzzles. Rough, unrefined lumps of masculine expectation, yearning for the delicate touch of my chisel.

My studio is a sanctuary of silks and satins, of soft lighting and the sweet, cloying scent of powders and perfumes. It’s where I perform my artistry. I don’t just dress them in lace and satin, though that is a crucial step. The goal is to ultimately reshape them, from the inside out. Their posture, once broad and assertive, must become pliant, shoulders gently sloped, hands clasped demurely. Their voices, those booming declarations of male ego, must soften, rise, become breathy and almost apologetic.

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family fun

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I walk into the kitchen, where you’re making lunch. Watching you, I can see the sweat on your back, the way your shirt clings to your skin. I walk up behind you, pressing my body against yours. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you all day, Paulie,” I announce. “The way your muscles flex as you move around the house, the way your jeans hug your ass. I’ve been wanting to fuck you for years, thinking about how good it would feel to have you inside me.”

You turn around, a smirk on your face. “Is that so?” you ask, your hands finding my hips. “And what makes you think I want to fuck you, Amber?” I grin, my hands moving to your chest. “Because I know you do,” I say, my fingers tracing the lines of your muscles. “I know you’ve been wanting to fuck me for years, just like I’ve been wanting to fuck you.”

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sissy blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

It felt flattering at first, this intense desire to know me, every corner of my journey. He’d lean in, eyes wide and earnest, asking about the names and faces that came before him. “What was your first boyfriend’s name?” he’d ask, genuinely curious. “How old were you when you lost your virginity? What was that like?” He wanted details, not just broad strokes.

He wasn’t just curious about my experiences; it felt like he was studying them, absorbing every confession. When I mentioned I do phone sex, his interest spiked. “Why did you get into that? What was the wildest thing you ever did with a guy on a call? Or in real life?” His questions were relentless.

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