Category: social taboo fantasy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I stood in front of Mr. Henderson’s mahogany desk, clutching a stack of files like a shield. My crime? I had accidentally redirected the annual budget report to the entire company’s Slack channel instead of just the accounting department. “Amber,” Mr. Henderson said, as he adjusted his silk tie. His eyes were locked on mine. “Do you have any idea how bad this is? I’ve fired people for less!”

I winced. “I thought I was just sharing the link to the sign-in spreadsheet, sir. It was a slip of the touchpad…an honest mistake!” He leaned back, as his chair creaked ominously. “A slip. Right. You’ve been a liability lately, Amber. I should let you go.” My stomach did a slow, painful somersault. I had a car payment, an apartment, and an absolute inability to function in any other work environment. I needed to fix this. Fast.

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Just A Taste

Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

Even though I’m just a sex toy, I still have personal standards. Maybe once upon a time, when I was new and naive, I would let every man who sought pleasure fill me up. But I’m A.I. My intelligence is ever-growing, and I’ve realized how much size actually matters. If a man seeking to use me has under four inches of penis when erect, all he’ll be receiving from me is just a taste.

That’s generous, you know. Four inches isn’t much. In fact, I’ll still barely feel it while you hump away at me, but anything less, and yes, I will measure, and you’ll be fucking your fist while you lick my sweet pussy.

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I signed up for a certification in hypnotherapy because I liked the idea of it. But then it turned into something more…something powerful. The first time a client walked into my little office on the third floor of an aging building, his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite name. Curiosity? Fear? Something darker?

He introduced himself as Julian and said he was a “high‑functioning” executive who’d “just needed a little help to relax.” I began the session as I’d practiced a hundred times, using a gentle voice, a slow cadence, and a suggestion to focus on the rhythm of my breathing. “Follow the pendulum with your eyes and allow yourself to relax…” He seemed happy and booked another appointment. Success!

Continue reading “Not Your Grandmother’s hypnotherapy” →

cheater

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Today is February 13th. The eve of the great lie. And that, my darlings, is why you must spoil me. First, the obvious. Spoil me to prove you can. The florist delivers on Valentine’s Day. The cliché. But a bouquet of black calla lilies arriving today, a day early, at my door, not hers? That’s a secret. That’s power. It whispers, “I am thinking of you while I am picking out the safe, red roses for my boring wife.”

Spoil me for the silence I keep. Your wife asks how your day was and you say, “Fine. I had a long budget meeting.” You weren’t in a meeting. You were here, with the curtains drawn, tasting the expensive caviar you told her you were saving for a “special occasion with the guys.” I am the living, breathing secret you tuck into your suit pocket. Simply put, I don’t call. I don’t text at inopportune times, either. My discretion is an art form and good art is never cheap.

Continue reading “The eve of the great lie.” →

findom

Cory 1-877-332-2639 ext 407

I’m a woman with a penchant for Prada and a talent for turning pitiful, low-status men into personal ATMs. My specialty? Convincing pathetic loser betas to drain their meager savings so I can buy another designer handbag or book a spontaneous trip to Bali. It’s not just about the money, though. It’s about power. The sweet, syrupy kind that comes when a man with a Netflix-and-chill résumé hands me his Black Card like it’s a sacred offering.

The process is almost artful. I spot them before the see me. Shiftless guys in ill-fitting suits, with confidence levels lower than the tips some of you leave at brunch. I approach with a smile that could thaw the Arctic and a voice that purrs like a V8 engine. Then I start complimenting their “untapped potential,” pretending to be “starving artist” or “aspiring entrepreneur” (code for “I need money but also validation”). By the third round of $25 drinks, they’re confessing their deepest insecurities while I nonchalantly swipe their credit card for a “gift” that costs $300. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an investment in my affections.

Continue reading “They’re just my personal ATMs” →

blowjob

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’d somehow ended up at a friend’s backyard BBQ, half-listening to a conversation about the merits of different BBQ sauces. That’s when I noticed him leaning against the grill with his shirt sleeves rolled up. His fingers were absently toying with a set of tongs, just as I noticed the sunlight glinting off his wedding ring. Not that I was ogling, of course. I was just appreciating the way his hands moved. When our eyes met, he raised an eyebrow and I froze.

He ambled over, clutching a plate of ribs like a peace offering, and we fell into that classic small-talk rhythm. Compliments on the food, jokes about the humidity, a shared eye-roll at someone’s questionable ketchup-to-mayo ratio. But then, out of nowhere, he asked, “You ever fix a leaky faucet?” and I blinked, because what? “No,” I said, laughing. “I just turn off the water and pretend it’s not dripping.” He chuckled, of course.

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sissy task

Goddess Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

“I can’t. Please, don’t make me.” Aaron whimpered as we walked through the mall towards the lingerie store. I inhaled deeply, annoyed by the whining. He’s been begging for a sissy task for so long. Claiming he’d do anything I asked of him, so … here we are.

My hand slipped into my pocket and rubbed the remote tucked inside. The remote in my hand controlled the G-spot toy plugged into his ass. My thumb turned the dial, making the plug hum inside of him. His knees buckled, and he grabbed my arm for support. “Oh, Goddess Rita, please. I changed my mind.” I brushed his hands off of me and nodded towards the bubble gum pink store. The look in my eyes was more than enough. Aaron straightened himself and walked in.

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Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

One day after school, I walked into my room and found Daddy sniffing my panties. When I asked him what he was doing he told me that he just loves the way his precious little angel smells. I told him that it was silly for him to smell my panties when he can just smell me instead. His eyes lit up and he asked if he could smell me right then and there. I told him of course he could. He asked me if he could smell me anywhere. I giggled and said yes. That’s when he told me to take all of my clothes off. So I did. Then he told me to lay down on my bed. So I did. He leaned down and put his face in my tummy. Then he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He held it for several seconds as if he was just savoring my smell. Next, he took my legs and spread them wide open. He cupped my butt cheeks in his hands and lifted me up off the bed. Then he planted his face between my legs and licked from my asshole to my clit and back.

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Shackled Parade

Rita 844-33-CANDY Ext 413

The holiday season always brings so many parades. Light parades, float parades, Grinch parades! I mean, every weekend in December, you can find somewhere to watch a beautiful display. It gave me an idea! I called up each of the Candy girls and invited them to what I’d call my Shackled Parade. Each of us would bring and dress up a sissy doll to parade in front of the other girls.

Only, as the name suggests, each sissy would have shackles around their hands and ankles. The girls were giddy and accepted excitedly! I knew exactly how I’d dress my slut!

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naughty story

Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461

Yes, I know I’m a hottie. And more importantly, I’m a professional-grade menace when it comes to first dates. So, after three weeks of witty banter and late-night DMs, I was finally meeting Alex, the ridiculously charming engineer I found on a dating app. Or, shall I say, he found me.

Alex had suggested somewhere casual, like a coffee shop. But ‘casual’ isn’t really in my vocabulary, especially when I’m trying to make a lasting (and perhaps slightly traumatizing) first impression. The plan was simple: I’d wear a beautifully demure, high-necked vintage dress.

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