Category: phone sex story

wetting pants

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I was standing impatiently in the endless line for the artisanal coffee stand when my attention drifted to a man near the condiment station. He looked utterly normal, mid-forties, sporting the kind of practical, slightly too-long khaki shorts that scream “I own a reliable minivan and believe strongly in SPF 50.” He was fiddling intently with a massive travel mug, his brow furrowed in concentration, which made him a captivating, if mildly mundane, subject for my habitual people-watching session. Which is essentially my only viable defense against the soul-crushing boredom of waiting for overpriced caffeine.

Then it happened, with a swift, silent efficiency that defied the laws of polite public existence. My eye, tracking the slight shuffle of his feet as he adjusted his weight, caught a dark spot blooming rapidly on the front of those sensible khaki shorts, right where the pocket met the thigh, and it was spreading with an alarming, undeniable velocity. Initially, my brain tried to categorize the event as a catastrophic coffee spill—perhaps a sudden rupture in the travel mug’s sealing mechanism.

Continue reading “The Man In The Khaki Shorts” →

********* 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.

Continue reading “Milking Information From My Arrogant Prince” →

friend

Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Dirty Auntie Anna decided to surprise her naughty nephew. She had missed playing with him and fucking him. She thought it would be fun to drop by unannounced, and so she left the bar she was at, slutty as ever and prowled her way to her nephew’s doorstep.

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sissy bitch

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I checked my watch. Exactly 8:00 PM. No need for rushing. That is the first rule of control. A Domme never rushes. The air was cool. I like it that way; it makes the submissive shiver a little, even without fear. He was already kneeling on the thick, dark rug, waiting. He never looked up until I told him to.

Today, he was wearing the pale pink satin nightie I had selected, the cheap lace scratching his skin. His face was painted heavy, the makeup slightly smudged around the eyes from nervous anticipation. He was not a man now; he was my project. He was my sissy bitch.

Continue reading “The Rules of Control” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My basement isn’t for old boxes. It’s for pleasure. And this week, it held Jacques. The chains were thick but soft. Not to hurt him, just to hold him. He was stretched out on the cold stone floor, a thick mat beneath him, with his arms and legs secured. On the first day, he looked excited, but a little nervous too. I just smiled. “Welcome,” I whispered, and his whole body tensed.

I started slow. Just walking around him, my bare feet silent on the floor. I wore a thin robe, the silk brushing my skin. His eyes, usually so confident, were wide and fixed only on me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch. I bent down, just out of his reach, letting my robe open a little, showing the curve of my thigh. He made a low sound, a guttural groan.

Continue reading “My Basement” →

boss

Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Miss Anna had been assigned a new boss at work. She immediately couldn’t stand him at first sight. He seemed like a real prude. He would correct everything she did, and make her even re-do assignments over and over.

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vampire

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He stood in the shadows, his eyes, like deep pools, watching me. Vladimir. Not the monster from old tales, but something more compelling. He was power, yes, but he also a deep, aching loneliness that immediately drew me in. His gaze did not leave mine. There was no fear in me, only a strange, dark hunger. I reached him, standing so close I could feel the cold radiating from his skin, a faint pulse beneath it.

“You look at me,” I said, “like you wonder what I will do.” He gave a small nod. “I wonder, Stella.” His voice was a rich hum, like a cello string. I lifted my hand, not to touch his face, but his chest, finding the hard muscle beneath his velvet coat. He did not flinch. “Tonight,” I whispered, my fingers pressing lightly, “you will let me wonder.” His eyes widened. I could feel the surprise, but also a hidden interest, a spark.

Continue reading “Vladimir’s Slutty Domme” →

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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gang bang blog

Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461

I love weiners. It’s not a secret, not really. It’s more of an operating principle. A hunger. Tonight, the hunger felt particularly strong, mixed with something colder. It wasn’t about pleasure, not exactly, not tonight. Tonight it was about filling a void, a hollow place that echoed with every breath. Three of them were already there, sprawled on the floor, passing a bottle of something cheap and smelling of regret. Two more were on their way, or so I’d been told. Good. The more, the better. More bodies, more heat, more noise to block out the silence inside my own head.

I watched them roll their eyes over me, appraising. A part of me, a small, shriveled part, recoiled. But the larger part, the hungry one, just felt a numb sort of anticipation. It wasn’t about being wanted, it was about being consumed. About letting go of the reins and letting the current take me. The first one, a burly guy named Mick or Mark, I forget, pulled me down. His breath was sour with whatever he had been drinking. There was no tenderness, no soft words.

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alien sex blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My little boudoir, tucked away in the shadows of the Neo-Quebecois arcologies, is more of an intergalactic pit stop than a massage parlour. Earthlings? Pah! They are so predictable. Most prefer vanilla sex, some maybe throw in an interesting fetish or two every so often. But the extra-terrestrials? Give me a multi-limbed sentient cloud anytime. They know how to live!

It wasn’t always like this, of course. Back on old Earth, it was all just…well, skinflute city. I can’t count how many boring blowjobs I’ve dolled out over the years. Then the galactic gates opened, the tourists arrived, and suddenly, there was a whole new world of anatomy to explore. And let me tell you, when a Tralfamadorian senator offers triple credits just to have you gently hum while they regenerate their epidermal layer, you don’t say no. Especially when their epidermal layer looks like a shimmering, bioluminescent silk cocoon. It’s surprisingly peaceful, a bit like watching a very slow, very expensive lava lamp.

Continue reading “My little boudoir is more of an intergalactic pit stop” →