Author: Amber

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My inbox looks like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July…if every firework were a marriage proposal from a loser who still thinks “pizza delivery” is a legitimate job. First there was Kevin, the “nice guy” from my yoga class. He offered me a ring and a guarantee that I’d never have to argue about the thermostat again (I’m almost always too cold!). I politely declined, telling him I “didn’t want to be tied down,” but the real reason is because his cock is too small.

Then came Derek. He showed up with a fresh‑baked batch of cookies and a Spotify playlist titled “Songs to Sweep Her Off Her Feet (and the Floor).” I laughed, because the only thing he’s ever swept me off my feet is when his Roomba bumps into me and I fall flat on my perfect little ass! He wasn’t impressed, to say the least.

Continue reading “loser proposals” →

mechanic roleplay

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

As I stood at the grease-stained counter of Miller’s Auto, I knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go as planned. “Three hundred and forty dollars,” Dave said, not looking up from his ledger. He was a man composed entirely of callouses and indifference. “New alternator, labor, plus the diagnostic fee…tax…”

I looked at the counter, then at my hands. Three hundred and forty dollars was a fantasy. My bank account was a haunting echo of two-digit numbers and my rent was looming like a storm cloud. I thought about the rusted sedan in the bay behind him. It was my only tether to a job that was already dangling by a thread. Without that car, I was nothing. Without that car, I was back on the street.

Continue reading “Miller’s Auto Shop” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

His name was Julian. I didn’t know his last name and, honestly, I didn’t care. I had met him at the hotel lobby bar only two hours prior. He didn’t talk much, which was a relief. In a place where you don’t exactly belong, silence is the only honest currency.

The hotel’s hot tub was tucked into a secluded corner of the terrace, shielded by heavy, dripping ferns. The chlorine smell stung my nostrils and mixed with the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. When he pulled me into the water, the heat was abrasive, bordering on painful. The thing is, I kinda liked it.

Continue reading “the hotel lobby bar” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Guys, I’m starving. No, not for proteins or fiber or the sensible things people eat to keep their hearts beating. I’m starving for the velvet texture of a hot load of cum against the roof of my mouth. It’s not like I don’t get enough cock or anything. I mean, we all know I’m a certified whore! lol But the reality of my world is that I took this job because I’m a cumslut and simply can’t get enough cum (or cock) to satisfy my cravings!

I can taste it even now, a phantom saltiness, sometimes slightly bitter, sometimes slightly sweet. My jaw aches to be stretched wide enough to take a thick, long, juicy cock balls deep down my throat. It’s a physical hunger that can’t be silenced.

Continue reading “I’m Craving Your Cock” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I stood in front of Mr. Henderson’s mahogany desk, clutching a stack of files like a shield. My crime? I had accidentally redirected the annual budget report to the entire company’s Slack channel instead of just the accounting department. “Amber,” Mr. Henderson said, as he adjusted his silk tie. His eyes were locked on mine. “Do you have any idea how bad this is? I’ve fired people for less!”

I winced. “I thought I was just sharing the link to the sign-in spreadsheet, sir. It was a slip of the touchpad…an honest mistake!” He leaned back, as his chair creaked ominously. “A slip. Right. You’ve been a liability lately, Amber. I should let you go.” My stomach did a slow, painful somersault. I had a car payment, an apartment, and an absolute inability to function in any other work environment. I needed to fix this. Fast.

Continue reading “I’ve fired people for less!” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The first meme I sent was a screenshot of a badly drawn superhero. “SIMP MAN” soaring over a city of unpaid bills, in a cape stitched with the word “beta.” “Enjoy your new alter ego, loser 🤡,” I typed. He messaged back instantly, “You’re so cruel.” My fingers hovered over the keypad, as I cackled. The more I called him the names he despised…“loser,” “beta,” “perv”…the faster his replies came in.

A notification pinged and I looked at my phone to find $150.00 transferred. Then another. And another. His account was draining like a faucet on full blast. The more I teased, the more he sent. “Thanks for the drink. Now, fuck off. There’s a hot guy over there…” was a risky one, but it sent him right over an edge, resulting in not only more cash in my pocket, but also a plea for me to stay. “Please, Amber…don’t go…”

Continue reading ““SIMP MAN”” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

When I first saw Chrissy, she was perched on a cracked vinyl chair in a downtown laundromat. Just a thin silhouette hunched over her laundry basket, waiting for the dryer to cycle. The dim fluorescent lights flickered above her, casting a sickly glow that made her skin look sickly and almost translucent.

“Hey,” I said, sliding onto the bench opposite her. “Are you okay?” She lifted her head, looking sad. “I’m Chrissy,” she whispered. “I’m just tired of being the joke everyone laughs at.” I studied her for a moment. “Why do you think you’re a joke, babe?” She sighed, as if she had explained this at least a hundred times before. “I know I’m not the kind of girl anyone wants. I’m so tired of being the ugly neighborhood sissy who only gets hit on during last call…But if someone could make me beautiful, like a girl that rich and successful men actually want…I’ll do anything.”

Continue reading “Sissy Chrissy Gets a Makeover” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I have a reputation for turning ordinary holidays into theatrical catastrophes. St. Patrick’s Day was no exception. The idea sprang from a brainstorming session with my best friend, Tayla, who declared, “You should do a striptease, Amber! Call it the Shamrock Shake!” I laughed, I blushed, and then I Googled “how to make a striptease sound Irish.” The results were…well…unhelpful, which only made the plan more appealing.

The venue was O’Malley’s, a dive bar that smelled like fried onions, stale pretzels, and optimism. The owners, two Irish twins with beards that could double as mop heads, had a St. Pat’s special. A free “Irish coffee” for anyone who could “out‑shine the leprechauns.” Tayla, ever the opportunist, whispered that the bar was desperate for a headline act that night. The twins thankfully agreed to let me headline.

Continue reading “St. Patrick’s Day Striptease” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I signed up for a certification in hypnotherapy because I liked the idea of it. But then it turned into something more…something powerful. The first time a client walked into my little office on the third floor of an aging building, his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite name. Curiosity? Fear? Something darker?

He introduced himself as Julian and said he was a “high‑functioning” executive who’d “just needed a little help to relax.” I began the session as I’d practiced a hundred times, using a gentle voice, a slow cadence, and a suggestion to focus on the rhythm of my breathing. “Follow the pendulum with your eyes and allow yourself to relax…” He seemed happy and booked another appointment. Success!

Continue reading “Not Your Grandmother’s hypnotherapy” →

fallout roleplay

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

“Amber?” he asks. His voice is a little hoarse, as if he’s been rehearsing his lines in the mirror. “Come in,” I say, stepping aside and letting him cross the threshold into my apartment. The hallway is lined with photographs of old, cracked cityscapes. I lead him to the living room, where a single lamp casts a glow.

“I have a role for you,” I begin. “Tonight we’re not just two people. We’re the last two survivors in a fallout bunker and the world above is a radioactive wasteland. The air is thin, the lights flicker, and the only thing keeping us sane is a game of…imagination.”

Continue reading “he’s been rehearsing his lines” →