Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203
Ronnie began using the phone to call his friends and talk. He was in that ‘’stage’’. Every time he would pick up the phone, Mommy Anna would hear the ‘’click’’ and yell from upstairs for him to hang up. She would even wait to hear him whining from downstairs stating ‘’it isn’t fair!’’ and him slamming the phone shut before she would continue as she didn’t want him to hear her talking dirty to her lover… or worse, how they would find excuses for her to spank Ronnie.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Derek knew I wanted to go to Las Vegas. As soon as I answered his video call, he panned the camera outward. The Bellagio fountains erupted behind him, with water arcing under the cold platinum glare of floodlights. “Surprise, my little New York raindrop,” he said. His voice rumbled so low I could feel in my bones. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Think of how you looked when you came the last time I touched you.”
I didn’t close my eyes. Instead, I let the image of him fade as the fountains crescendoed, their mechanical thrum syncing with the pulse in my dripping wet pussy. When I looked back, the screen showed not his face, but his body. Drenched in sweat, naked except for the sheen of the Vegas night. His hands slowly traced the curve of his ribs, as if he were sculpting himself out of muscle and clay.
Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357
Abby knelt beside my desk. Dressed in red lingerie with her eight-inch dildo shoved up her pussy. Her panties clung tight to the embarrassingly small sissy clit, so I didn’t have to look at it if I happened to catch a glimpse from my peripherals.
My fingers danced over the keys, entertaining a thrilling roleplay with a real man as Abby panted and hugged onto my ankle. Being ignored turned her on so much.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I have always liked the dark side of control. Sometimes, I think back to the hallway of my old school, where the smell of chalk and old books mixed with the scent of my very hot teacher’s cologne. Mr. Harris was my English teacher for three years. He was kind, with a soft voice that could make Shakespeare feel like a whisper in a lover’s ear. To me, anyway.
After graduation I left the town. I moved to the city, and learned how to dress in black leather and how to make a command sound like a promise. I became a domme. This entire time, I kept Mr. Harris’s name in a notebook with his birthday, his favorite coffee, even the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking. It was a secret map, like a game that only I could see.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
When David, a well-groomed man in his early forties, walked into my office and confessed his desire to “escape the weight of his marriage,” I sensed an opportunity. “Let me show you what it means to truly let go,” I said, watching his eyes flicker with something between curiosity and surrender. At first, I told myself this was just another session, a therapeutic exercise in roleplay to ease his marital tension.
Shortly thereafter, David’s sessions became a ritual. I’d begun weaving subtle suggestions into our conversations, phrases meant to blur the lines between his identity as a husband and the version of himself that could dissolve into pleasure at my command. “Under my guidance, you’ll forget the expectations of others,” I murmured one day as his eyelids grew heavy. “You’ll remember only what it feels like to serve me.” His breathing hitched and, for a moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far…but then he smiled and whispered, “Yes, Cory. Only you.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
My phone buzzes. Another message from a man who thinks he’s ready. “I want to serve,” he writes in clumsy English. “I can take anything.” This made me smile. They always say that.
I reply in French first. “Tu penses que t’es fort? Viens me prouver.” Then, in English. “Be here at 9. Naked. On your knees.” I wear their desperation like perfume. Tonight’s guest arrives and I circle him, watching how he reacts. He licks his lips when I step close. Wrong move.
xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208
It’s hump day, and there is no one around the house to hump me. I’ve decided, today is the day I’m going to stretch out my pussy with the reusable, metal speculum I bought online. Getting naked and lounging on my couch, I was waiting for a fun phone sex boy to call me up.
It was good that he didn’t know what he wanted to talk about because I wanted him to hear me ruin my pussy. I described the duckbill like a gynecologist’s tool, and he sounded like he was getting hot over the idea of finding out just how wide my pussy would open.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
“You’re not like the others, Amber.” He’s a lot older than I am and I probably should’ve run for the hills as soon as he said that, but I didn’t. I couldn’t help but desire him, even though I knew he was trouble. His hands were cold when he cupped my face, as his thumbs brushed my lips. I tilted my head back, as he murmured, “Spread them.” It wasn’t a request.
My fingers trembled, parting my pussy lips to reveal the ripe, aching fruit between us. The next thing I knew, he was devouring the flesh. MY flesh. I moaned, thinking it was passion, until his teeth grazed my clit and sent a joly of electricity through my entire body.
Kayla Cumsalot 1844-332-2639 Ext 357
Ever since she could remember, Kayla dreamed of meeting her very own Prince Charming. The kind of knight in shining armor that would scare away her demons and hold her tight the whole night through. She imagined what it would be like to be the LADY OF THE HOUSE and his little wifey. In a big castle where she would cook and clean and be an OBEDIENT WIFE.
However, in all of her dreams, she didn’t imagine the thick cuff locked around her ankle that kept her chained inside her fake little house. For it wasn’t a home she ended up in, but a prison, and that Prince Charming she’d always longed for? Instead, he was MONSTER like she’d never known could be possible.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
A message pings on my screen. “Hi, I’m Tim. I’ve never done this before. Can I pay you to tell me what to do?” His profile was bland. Just a blurry photo of a shaggy-haired man in a wrinkled shirt. Beta. The kind who needs a leash. Perfect. Findom is a game of hunger and humiliation, and I play it well.
He arrives at my door, nervous, clutching a duffel bag like a shield. “I-I just wanted to help,” he stammers, handing me a thick envelope of cash. I smirk. “Strip,” I order. He hesitates for a moment, then peels off his clothes layer by layer, revealing a wiry frame.
Continue reading “I’ve never done this before. Can I pay you to tell me what to do?”