Author: Amber

pantyhose

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I have a serious thing for pantyhose. Not just an ‘Oh, these look nice with my skirt’ kind of thing. More like ‘If I could wallpaper my apartment with nude sheers, I absolutely would’ kind of thing. It’s an obsession, a fixation, a silky, glorious addiction. It started innocently enough. I had a preference for smooth legs under dresses. But then it escalated.

Now, the mere sight of a freshly opened packet of control tops sends a little shiver down my spine. The satisfying rustle as I pull them up, the way they hug every curve, the subtle sheen catching the light…it’s pure, unadulterated joy. I have an entire chest of drawers dedicated to my collection. Fishnets, opaques, sheers, shinies, matte, reinforced toe, open toe…you name it, I’ve got it, probably in three different colors.

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pampers

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Mark is the kind of guy who, when stressed or overly excited (or even when he’s just plain distracted), will forget that he’s potty trained. It happens more than he would ever care to admit, but that’s okay because I always have a stash of clean diapers in my purse. There are always signs when it happens. His face gets red, his voice gets high, and I watch as his shoulders stiffen in that precise way that signals impending doom.

“Oh, honey,” I murmur, grabbing his wrist. “Let’s just go find the nearest bathroom.” There’s really no point in dwelling on it. He’s usually embarrassed enough as it is. The comedy of our lives is rooted in logistics. We cram into the stall. Mark looks genuinely miserable, leaning against the cold tile. “I am so sorry,” he always whispers, mortified.

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feet

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I pressed my soles into the damp earth, watching the rich, dark mud squelching between my toes, as I coated them in a thick, satisfying film. Daddy liked it when I committed, so I deliberately sought out the wettest patches and the places where fallen leaves were decaying into a rich, dark compost.

The mud was cool, but quickly warmed from my body heat. It slithered up my ankles, caking my arches, filling the spaces between my toes. I wiggled them, feeling the grittiness as the earthy smell rose to meet me. Perfect. When I finally padded back into the living room, leaving a trail of brown smudges on the polished wood, Daddy was waiting. He was in his usual armchair, a book open on his lap.

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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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