Author: Amber

ass

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

His deep blue eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and fervent admiration, were locked onto me. A villainess doesn’t beg. She commands. That primal scent, a mix of leather and something else entirely, intensified. His earlier indignation had vanished, replaced by an unmistakable hunger. He was no longer the man about to call the authorities; he was merely a man. A man caught in the web I had so carefully, so deliberately, spun.

I straightened slowly, the motion deliberate, the ripped catsuit revealing just enough, yet leaving the rest to his imagination – or perhaps, his memory. The stiletto heels clicked again as I turned, a slow pivot that allowed the light to glide across the gleaming patent leather, across the exposed curve. I didn’t need to speak. The silence was louder than any words. It was filled with the thrum of his heartbeat, the rapid, shallow breaths he couldn’t quite control.

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blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I glanced at the screen, and a name I hadn’t seen in over a year popped up: Scott. My ex-boyfriend, Scott. I stared for a second, wondering if it was some kind of mistake. Then the text itself loaded: ‘Hey, it’s Scott. Got a new phone, wanted to make sure you had my number.’ Um, why? Seriously. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but a reply felt unnecessary. What could he possibly want? And why now, after all this time? It’s been a full year since we spoke, since he walked in on me and Greg, since our whole world imploded.

I mean, ‘imploded’ sounds dramatic, but for me, it was more like a necessary demolition. Scott had become a lump. When he lost his job, I tried to be supportive, I really did. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and he just moped around the apartment, expecting me to pick up all the slack. Rent, groceries, bills – it all fell on my shoulders. It was overwhelming, frustrating, and frankly, I was drowning. I just needed an escape, you know? Something, anything, to make me feel alive again.

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findom

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Mark, bless his heart, shifted nervously on the edge of my worn velvet chaise lounge. His eyes, usually bright with a hopeful glint, were now clouded with a desperate hunger. He thought I liked him. He truly did. And maybe, in some twisted way, I did. But mostly, I liked the way the crisp hundred-dollar bills felt between my fingers after our sessions.

I moved with a practiced grace, as my many years of dance lessons finally started to pay off. I circled him slowly, my fingertips trailing lightly over the fabric of his neatly pressed shirt. He flinched at my touch, a tremor running through his body. He was so easy to control, a marionette dancing to the tune of my whispered commands. The rules were clear, etched in unspoken agreement between us. He could pump. He could stroke. But he could never, ever cum. He couldn’t touch me, but I could touch him. I was the conductor of this bizarre symphony of frustration, and he was my willing, albeit tormented, instrument. Nothing more than a plaything…A pet.

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ruined orgasm

1-844-332-2639 ext 404

“Ready when you are, Axel,” I said, trying to hide the sheer delight in my voice. Tonight, he had something particularly strange planned and I was pumped for it. “Okay, baby. I want you to take a jar of honey…” he began, his voice sounding low and suggestive. I followed his instructions, a strange mix of amusement and disgust swirling within me. The honey was cold and sticky against my skin as I dolloped it into the back of my panties, then lay down on my bed. Next came the caramel sauce, a thick, sugary stream down the front of my jeans. It was a disgusting concoction, the textures all wrong, the sensation was almost hilarious. I had a hard time not laughing.

As Axel urged me on, describing what he imagined, I started to play along, moaning and writhing as he encouraged me to rub my clit in that sticky mess. “Oh, Amber, you can’t cum yet,” Axel breathed, clearly satisfied with his plan. “You can only cum when I say so.” I lay there, covered in sticky goo, a smirk playing on my lips. “Typical!” I said, laughing. The next few minutes were a mix of edging and frustration, then Axel finally let me cum. I screamed as my body shook, and I squirted all over myself.

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asmr

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Zoey and I recently stumbled upon the ASMR fetish community. It was somewhat accidental, after both of our TikTok FYP’s were filled with videos of whispering voices and the strangely compelling sounds of people eating. Zoey had the brilliant idea that we should use this to our advantage – you know, being PSOs and all. “Food-focused ASMR calls,” she’d declared, eyes gleaming. “We’ll be the sex queens of the crunch!”

We decided to advertise our new fetish service on X and our first video call came through Teams, after a quick DM with a guy named “CrunchKing69.” Zoey was already unwrapping a bag of spicy ramen noodles as I answered.  “H-hello,” a nervous voice replied. “Is…is this the, uh, ASMR call?” “You want it, we’ll do it,” Zoey purred, before chomping hard on the crunchy noodles. The sound filled the room, and we could see CrunchKing69 drooling on the other end while stroking his hard dick. Next, it was my turn. I grabbed a handful of crisp green grapes and popped one in my mouth before sinking my teeth into it. The satisfying crunch reverberated through the microphone. “Delicious,” I murmured, chewing slowly. “Want to hear more?”

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abdl

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The Met Gala was a whirlwind of glamour and chaos. The red carpet was a sea of flashing cameras and eager photographers. I stood there in my silver mermaid gown, the cool fabric shimmering under the bright lights. My silver flowers in my hair added a touch of whimsy to the futuristic look. You, in your silver suit, looked like a god among men. The photographers loved us, snapping pictures as if we were A-listers.

You leaned in, your breath hot on my ear, and I thought you were going to give me a sexy bite. Instead, you whispered, “I had an accident.” My eyes widened, but I kept my composure. “It’s okay,” I reassured you, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. “Let’s get inside.” Once we were in, we ran into an old friend who quickly understood the situation. She led us to the washroom, her eyes sparkling with amusement. The changing table was tiny, barely big enough to sit on, let alone hold a grown man. You looked at me, a mix of embarrassment and relief in your eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you muttered,

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sexy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The chime of the church door seemed to echo the conflict within me. Sister Agatha’s words about resisting temptation, about the sanctity of marriage, still hung in the air as I stepped out into the cool night. My women’s group was a haven, a weekly affirmation of my faith and my commitment to Thomas.

Then I saw him. He was emerging from the pub across the street, laughter spilling out around him and his friends. He was a silhouette at first, broad shoulders and a confident stride. But as he turned, the streetlight caught his face – sharp jawline, eyes that crinkled at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling, and a shock of unruly dark hair. He was magnificent. And he was looking directly at me.

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paypig

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The neon glow of the laptop screen reflected in Mark’s tired eyes. Another Friday night, another weekly ritual. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he navigated to my profile. Just the sight of it sent a shiver of anticipation, laced with a familiar dread, down his spine. He was a paypig, and me, a Goddess. It was a dynamic we’d established months ago, a strange, consensual game of power and submission. He knew the rules, the boundaries, and the consequences of breaking them – or rather, failing to meet them.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, a battle raging within him. He knew what I expected. The usual “wallet rinsing,” as I playfully called it. A significant chunk of his paycheck, willingly surrendered to my coffers. He tried to resist, truly. He’d set up budgeting apps, tried to distract himself with hobbies, even considered deleting his social media accounts. But the pull was too strong. It was the anticipation, the thrill of the transgression, the feeling of belonging, however twisted, that kept him coming back.

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gaming

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I smirked, perched on the edge of Liam’s desk, my gaze raking over him. He was tied to his own gaming chair, a pathetic picture of frustrated desire. Miss Anna, a vision in black leather, circled him with her eyes laser-focused on his, her crimson-painted nails tapping against a riding crop she held with menacing grace.

“Having a little trouble, Liam?” I purred, my voice dripping with mock concern. He just groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, a sheen of sweat slicking his forehead. We’d given him a simple rule: hands behind his head, or else. But the little sub was struggling. “Please,” he gasped, eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “Please, Amber, I can’t! I can’t hold it.”

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hotel

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I saunter into your Vegas hotel room, my hips swaying hypnotically as I approach you, the high roller of the night. I’m here with my friend, and together, we have a plan to entice you into giving us your winnings. But first, we want to give you a show you’ll never forget. I turn to my friend, giving her a wink as I begin to slip out of my dress. It pools at my feet, leaving me standing there in nothing but a pair of lacy panties and a seductive smile. My friend follows suit, and soon we’re both standing before you in nothing but our undergarments.

I can see the surprise and desire in your eyes as you take us in. I step closer, my hand reaching out to trace a finger along your chest. “Like what you see?” I ask, my voice low and sultry. You nod, unable to speak as you take in the sight of us. My friend and I exchange a wicked grin, knowing that we have you right where we want you. I move closer, my lips brushing against your ear as I whisper, “Why don’t you sit back and enjoy the show?”

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