Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I am a tramp. Or, as some like to say, une femme de la rue. I wake up wherever I fall asleep – sometimes under a bridge, sometimes in a park, sometimes with a very confused gentleman next to me. Life is an adventure, no?
I hear the whispers. “She sells herself for a few coins, you know.” “A lady of the night, that one.” They say it with a little shudder, a little sniff of disgust. They think I do not hear, but my ears, they are sharp like claws.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
It felt flattering at first, this intense desire to know me, every corner of my journey. He’d lean in, eyes wide and earnest, asking about the names and faces that came before him. “What was your first boyfriend’s name?” he’d ask, genuinely curious. “How old were you when you lost your virginity? What was that like?” He wanted details, not just broad strokes.
He wasn’t just curious about my experiences; it felt like he was studying them, absorbing every confession. When I mentioned I do phone sex, his interest spiked. “Why did you get into that? What was the wildest thing you ever did with a guy on a call? Or in real life?” His questions were relentless.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I never thought I’d find myself in the position of managing a failing company, but there I was, ready to take on the challenge. The first order of business was to assess the staff, and it didn’t take long to realize that Chris was not pulling his weight. He had only been with the company a few weeks, but wow, he was bad at his job!
I called him into my office and told him that he was on thin ice. His eyes widened, and I could see the fear in them. But then, I had a change of heart. I told him that there was only one way to keep his job. He agreed that he wanted to stay, he liked his job and all. “Alright,” I said, “remove your clothes and get down on your knees.”
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
It was a typical Friday evening, and I was lounging on my couch, scrolling through my phone when Max’s name popped up on my screen. I hadn’t heard from him in years, not since our ill-fated relationship ended abruptly. My curiosity piqued, I answered the call. “Hey, Max,” I said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”
“Hey, babe,” he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. “I just wanted to apologize for what happened between us. I know I messed up, and I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” “Max, we both know why we broke up. I just couldn’t deal with your…” I paused for dramatic effect, “micro cock.” Max sighed heavily on the other end of the line. “I know, I know. But I’ve been working on myself, and I’ve been doing a lot of research on how to please a woman. I promise things will be different this time.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
They call me many things. “That Stella,” they’ll say, “she’s…French.” As if that one word explains it all. They see the confident stride, the red lipstick, the way my eyes meet theirs without apology. They see a woman comfortable in her skin, undeniably so, and they fill in the blanks with their own assumptions. A certain kind of woman, they think…A slut…A whore.
It’s true, I don’t shy away from desire. And yes, a man who knows how to truly hold a woman, how to make her pulse quicken, is a rare and beautiful thing. But for all the gossip, for all the whispered judgments, they miss the crucial detail: I am impossibly, ruthlessly, agonizingly selective. Most men? They don’t even get a second glance.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
The brochure for “Carnal Kingdom” was a masterpiece of suggestive design: neon lights, blurred figures, and a tagline that read, “Not your grandmother’s carnival.” On vacation last week, seeking something beyond the usual tourist traps, this adults-only amusement park seemed like a perfect diversion. Especially for a girl like me.
The park lived up to its name, with rides like “The G-Spotter” and “Wet Dream Falls.” But one attraction, towering over the rest with its garish, phallic silhouette, immediately caught my eye: the “Cocktival.” “You gotta try it,” a heavily tattooed guy in line ahead of me grinned, adjusting his novelty penis-shaped hat. “It’s an experience.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
It’s not a secret, not really. Not to anyone who’s spent more than an hour with me discussing my dating life. My friends just sigh and nod. But it’s true. Unapologetically true. Some people search for a connection, a meeting of minds, a shared love for obscure indie films. All valid, I suppose. For me? I mean, sure, those are nice bonuses. But when it comes down to it, to that primal, magnetic pull, there’s one non-negotiable. I only like big dicks. Huge ones.
And I don’t mean ‘a little above average, nice.’ I mean, fill-you-up, stretch-you-out, leave-no-doubt big. The way it anchors you, the undeniable mass that makes subtle movements feel like seismic shifts. It’s not just about the numbers, though that’s certainly part of the equation. It’s the feeling of being completely, utterly taken. Of every nerve ending singing a roaring symphony, leaving no void, no empty space.
Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203
Mistress Anna put out an ad: Calling all submissive sluts. She needed to find a new Sissy to whore out and train for her own selfish, deviant, sexual purposes. Many came, lined up and interviewed, but she managed to narrow it down to a single one: He was extremely horny, very submissive, and in dire need of training.
xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208
I love a good finger fucking. I want it to be fast and filling. I even love it when it turns into fisting. My boyfriend likes to lie between my legs, pinning down my right thigh with his left elbow, and then he attacks my pussy with his fingers. He starts by petting my pussy lips. Teasing me until I begin to get nice and wet.
He is never in a hurry because he knows fisting is an art. Pinching my clit is another way he teases me into becoming super wet for him. When I’m ready, he fits two long fingers into my pussy. He probes and pokes. Curls his finger and drags it along my inner walls.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
A good blowjob is more than just an act; it’s a performance, a communion, a journey to be guided through. From the moment the decision is made, a subtle shift happens. My focus narrows, all senses sharpen. There’s a delicious anticipation that builds, a silent understanding passing between us.
I love the ritual of it. Dropping to my knees, the soft thud of fabric on the floor, the shift in power dynamics as I meet his gaze from below. Reaching out, my fingers are already tingling, ready to receive. The first touch is always ginger, a gentle coaxing as I carefully free his cock from the constraints of his pants…shorts…underwear. He’s usually warm, already eager, and the sight of that dick standing at attention, ready and waiting, sends a little pulse of excitement through me.