Gifts

breasts

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’ve had these, ahem, “gifts” since I was a teen. It’s like I had a magnetic field around me, drawing in every male eye within a 10-foot radius. It was both flattering and terrifying at the same time. I’d try to wear loose-fitting clothes to downplay them, but let’s be real, there’s only so much you can do to hide a pair of double-Ds from all of the neighborhood pervs.

The comments started early, too. Everything from “Wow, you must be cold!” to “Do you have trouble finding bras that fit?” But as I got older, the attention only intensified. I’d go to the grocery store and some guy would inevitably stare as if he’d never seen breasts before.

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control

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They come to me looking for control. No, worse. They come pretending they want it, like submission is some romantic fantasy spun from silk and flowers and candlelight. But I must disillusion you. Control isn’t soft. It’s the echo of a belt on bare skin. It’s the look in someone’s eyes when they realize they’ve gone too far and there’s no going back. I don’t do gentle. I don’t do forgiveness. And I certainly don’t do second chances. I’m the consequence you didn’t think you’d earn.

Last night, a man called me “Stella, darling” during a session. Not “Ma’am.” Not “Mistress.” Darling. I didn’t correct him. I let him ruin himself with his own carelessness. We were in the basement. The one with the cold concrete floor and the steel cuffs bolted to the wall. He was on his knees, trembling. Not from fear (yet), but from anticipation. That always amuses me. The hope humans carry, even when they’re already doomed to fail.

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doctor fetish

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Under the sterile clinic lights, wearing my favorite red dress felt like a mistake. “Amber?” A nurse called from the doorway, with a clipboard in her hand. Her smile was tight, but professional. “Dr. Lorne will see you now.”

I followed, as my heels tapped too loud against the linoleum. The exam room was cold. Paper-covered table, stirrups gleaming like instruments of some forgotten ritual. Then he walked in. Dr. Lorne. Tall. Calm. Silver watch on his left wrist…the kind that ticks just loud enough to sync with your pulse if you’re listening. He didn’t look at my chart. He looked at me. Not in a leering way. Worse. Like he already knew things.

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collect

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.

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vegas

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.

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spanking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

It wasn’t that short, I told myself. Just daring. Besides, it’s my favorite skirt. There’s no harm in wearing it! Boy, was I ever wrong. Daddy found me by the front door just as I was about to leave for school. “Amber. Dorothy. Tomsin.” He reserved stating my full name for only two reasons, one of which was when he wanted the room to chill.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said, as he gestured to the skirt. “You think dressing like a whore is armor? It makes you a target.” I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. “It’s my body, Daddy!” He sighed. “That’s what they all say.” I looked directly at him, feeling the anger building inside of me. “Haven’t I outgrown your hemline lectures by now?” Daddy’s eyes, tired and grim, locked with mine. “Get upstairs.”

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cuck therapist

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.”

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Bombaclot!

 ☏ Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203 ☏☏☏ Zesty Zoey 1-844-332-2639 Ext 403

Ronnie was riding his bike around the neighborhood, when he suddenly heard a bunch of grown men yell ‘’Bombaclot!’’ as they smacked the table while playing dominoes. Some laughed, some cussed some more. This intrigued him, so he decided to go another round around the block. Sure enough, just as he approached them he was met with yet another ‘’Bombaclot!’’

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Isabelle 1844-33-candy Ext 464

Detention is where I am right now, and where I belong. Seated in my plaid skirt, I was innocently minding my own business, white shirt loosely unbuttoned to tempt Mr.Black, a plan I’d hatched with the intention of provoking a reaction. Suddenly, I saw Mr.Black look up from his desk. His eyes reflect a hungerthat immediately tightens my thighs.

He knew I was a bad girl, and I was desperate for him to teach me a lesson I wouldn’t forget. “Isabelle,” he growled, standing up and walking over to lock the classroom door. ” You’ve been distracting the entire class with your attitude. It’s time you learned your lesson.”

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Goddess Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

“I read your profile.” He whispered. “And that’s exactly what I want. Please, make me your sissy faggot.” I giggled and let my hand rub up my inner thigh. Nothing pleases me more than when little sissy dolls crawl to me willingly.

“How good of a faggot will you be?” I asked my new toy, and he moaned.

“So good for you, Goddess.” They always say that, but when I asked how he was dressed for me, I was pleasantly surprised to find this little faggot more than prepared to perform.

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