Category: erotic story

cock

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

When I say fill me up, I mean it. For me, the greatest thrill, the purest joy, comes in the shape of a man’s penis. Call them what you want – weiners, cocks – for me, they are nothing more than hard pleasure. The sight of one, firm and eager, makes my breath catch.

I love the feeling of putting a big juicy cock in my mouth. Thick and warm, sliding over my tongue, filling my cheeks, pressing against the back of my throat. It’s a delicious test of how much I can take and how deep I can go. The way it stretches my jaw, pushing, pulsing, making me gasp for air even as I crave more.

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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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boobs

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Oh, Bryan. From the moment he walked into the room, my internal “boob-dar” (a finely tuned instrument I’ve developed over many years of living with these glorious twin peaks) started pinging like crazy. He had that particular glint in his eye, the one that said, “Yes, I see the whole woman standing before me, but also…have you seen those things?” I like to think of myself as having a reasonably charming personality, a witty repartee, and eyes that sparkle with mischief, but Bryan? His gaze, bless his heart, seemed to have been surgically realigned to a precise latitude just below my chin.

Our conversation was punctuated by an almost comical pattern. He’d start a sentence while his eyes valiantly attempted to meet mine, only for them to drift south with an almost gravitational pull before he’d catch himself. He’d blush slightly and restart with renewed (but fleeting) determination. I’m used to it, of course; being a woman of ample tittage means you develop a certain resilience, but with Bryan, it was less about objectification and more about an endearing, almost scientific fascination. He simply couldn’t help himself. Honestly, it was kind of adorable.

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Obsessed With Mommy's Panties

Mama Felicity 1844-332-2639 Ext 270

It’s only natural for little boys to love their mommies. We’re their first loves, after all. Mommies are soft and nurturing. We smell so good and look even better.

I understood where the desire and curiosity came from as my son, Shawn, grew older and started riffling through my panty drawer. Honestly, I was flattered it was my scent making his young cock hard, not those little hussies around the neighborhood, but I couldn’t let him know I was encouraging his infatuations.

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cigarette

Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Auntie Anna was forced to babysit her naughty nephew. She warned him that if he broke anything in her house or misbehaved, she would be telling his mom upon her arrival to pick him up. He rudely rolled his eyes at her and stomped off to go watch his cartoons.

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masturbation

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My shift has been long. The music is loud, the men are loud. On this stage, I am a queen, even if the crown is just a spotlight and the throne is a brass pole. They watch me, hands gripping their drinks, their eyes hungry. I give them a show. But inside, I feel empty. A machine on repeat. I need something real.

My set ends. The applause is sloppy. I grab my towel and head quickly toward the back hall. “Five minutes, Stella,” the DJ calls out. Five minutes. That’s enough time. I push open the door to the small storage closet near the ice machine. It smells like bleach and desperation. I lock the bolt quietly. No one ever comes back here. This dark, hidden place is mine.

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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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Would You Suck It?

Trans Goddess Alexus 1844-332-2639 Ext 349

Say we met at a party after you’ve had one too many. Too many to notice the things people typically see about me. The things that tell them I’m not all female. You’ve somehow missed all those cues, and then we end up making out.

It’s the hottest makeout session you’ve had since high school. I mean, we are hot and heavy, and then you led me up to a bedroom expecting to get your dick wet. But as you undress me, the elephant in the room becomes revealed. Would you suck it?

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domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I ran a thumb along the seam of my black lace glove, savoring the slickness of the leather against my skin. The title—naughty slut, dominant bitch—they were just labels. To them, they were prayers whispered into the void. To me, they were tools.

Tonight, my tool was denial. Exquisite, slow, psychological denial. I pushed open the door, and the air shifted. Elias was already in position, knees pressed to the cold concrete, wrists secured behind him with thick, dark cuffs. He wasn’t looking at me; he wouldn’t dare until I permitted it.

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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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