Tag: phone sex

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He arrived at ten sharp, wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex that could’ve funded a small country. He smiled in a fake and predacious way when he saw me. “Stella,” he said, “I hear you’re an experience worth every penny.” He placed his leather briefcase on the mahogany desk and opened it, revealing a thick envelope full of cash, a stack of credit cards, and a signed contract. The initial request was that he wanted a session, but I wanted his ego. He just didn’t know it yet.

“Take a seat,” I said, gesturing to the leather chair across from me. The leather squeaked as he obliged, as his posture already flattened under his own weight. I let him linger a moment, watching his eyes dart to the sleek Manhattan skyline through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize that he thought he owned everything that lay beyond that glass.

Continue reading “worth every penny” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 453

Mr. Thomas had a foot fetish. It all makes sense now. But at the time, I always thought it was weird how he would just stare at our feet. Then one day he asked me to stay after class. At first, I thought I was in trouble. But I quickly realized that it wasn’t that at all. He asked me to take off my shoes. I thought that was weird. But I did as I was told. He let out an audible groan when he saw my feet emerge from my shoes. That’s when he motioned for me to come stand in front of him. He was sitting in his desk chair. As I walked over, he couldn’t take his eyes off my feet. When I got close enough for him to touch me, he reached down, picked up my foot and set it in his lap. He rubbed it for a few seconds. Then he set it on his cock. I could feel how hard he was through his pants. Then he picked me up and sat me on his desk. He caressed and admired both of me feet.

Continue reading “Mr. Thomas Had A Foot Fetish” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My inbox looks like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July…if every firework were a marriage proposal from a loser who still thinks “pizza delivery” is a legitimate job. First there was Kevin, the “nice guy” from my yoga class. He offered me a ring and a guarantee that I’d never have to argue about the thermostat again (I’m almost always too cold!). I politely declined, telling him I “didn’t want to be tied down,” but the real reason is because his cock is too small.

Then came Derek. He showed up with a fresh‑baked batch of cookies and a Spotify playlist titled “Songs to Sweep Her Off Her Feet (and the Floor).” I laughed, because the only thing he’s ever swept me off my feet is when his Roomba bumps into me and I fall flat on my perfect little ass! He wasn’t impressed, to say the least.

Continue reading “loser proposals” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

It started by accident…but now, it is the only way I can prove to myself that anyone is truly mine. I don’t want their words, and I certainly don’t want their affection. What I crave is the primitive, grounding sensation of being consumed by a man.

I like their tongue to trace the line of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder, and the hollow of my throat, with a focus so intense it borders on reverence. I like the wet, rhythmic heat of their wet tongue against my skin, slowly and deliberately licking and treating my body like a melting confection. Like an ice cream cone.

Continue reading “being consumed” →

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

My duties as the resident “Mama” were officially on pause. Upstairs, my ABDL boys were safely tucked into their cribs, safely swaddled with their paci’s. I kicked off my slippers with a sigh of relief as the clock struck ten. Being a caretaker for my ABDL boys was a full-time passion, but my internal thermostat was currently screaming for something entirely different. Something definitely not nursery-rhyme approved.

A wicked grin spread across my face as I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my contacts with a wet pussy. I wasn’t looking for another playdate or a diaper-changing partner tonight, I wanted someone who didn’t know the first thing about baby powder. A hot, rugged guy who would look at me not as a caregiver, but as the woman I kept hidden behind all those bedtime stories and soft lullabies.

Continue reading “not nursery-rhyme approved” →

mechanic roleplay

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

As I stood at the grease-stained counter of Miller’s Auto, I knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go as planned. “Three hundred and forty dollars,” Dave said, not looking up from his ledger. He was a man composed entirely of callouses and indifference. “New alternator, labor, plus the diagnostic fee…tax…”

I looked at the counter, then at my hands. Three hundred and forty dollars was a fantasy. My bank account was a haunting echo of two-digit numbers and my rent was looming like a storm cloud. I thought about the rusted sedan in the bay behind him. It was my only tether to a job that was already dangling by a thread. Without that car, I was nothing. Without that car, I was back on the street.

Continue reading “Miller’s Auto Shop” →

cashcow

(844-332-2639) ext 398

I’m feeling like a cowgirl. It’s time to milk a cashcow. And I mean it when I say milk. Draining a wallet is easy. It’s much more fulfilling to drain a man’s balls so thoroughly that he throws me his wallet and begs to stop cumming. The real question is which lucky Human ATM will get the honor of satisfying my dirtiest desires tonight.

Maybe it’s you. You’ve been staring at my pictures and listening to my horny voice taunting you to play. Your mind starts thinking about all the filthy things that sexy voice can say. Then your cock is twitching and you can feel your wallet burning a hole in your pocket. You can call it curiosity. Call it lust. Call it relaxation after a long day. Then call me.  Continue reading “Every Cashcow Needs a Proper Milking” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I flip the page. The paper makes a crisp sound against the silence. “Section 1: Manual Stimulation Protocol,” I recite, reading aloud as if plainly listing the maintenance steps for a failing engine. “Begin the rhythmic application of pressure in accordance with the provided metronome beat. Speed is currently set to sixty beats per minute. Any deviation in tempo will be noted as a failure in mechanical compliance.”

On my monitor, I watch him. He is trembling. Most men think this is about desire. They are wrong. It is about total hydraulic submission. It is about treating his body as an extension of my own apparatus. “Maintain grip,” I command. My tone is flat and clinical. “Apply lubricant to the friction points to ensure smooth operation of the interface. You are not permitted to deviate from the prescribed movement. If the system experiences an overload, you are to suppress the response. Stalling the mechanism is strictly prohibited.”

Continue reading “Manual Stimulation Protocol” →

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I really should have known better than to let my little ABDL diaper enthusiast, Leo, sit on the cream-colored sofa. I was busy folding laundry in the next room, humming along to the radio, when the distinct, rhythmic squelch-squelch of a soggy diaper signaled that my boy had once again pushed his luck to the absolute limit.

When I marched into the living room, I found him staring at the ceiling with that wide-eyed, guilt-ridden expression that only a grown man wearing a printed disposable pampers can pull off. “Oopsie, Mama Cory,” he squeaked. His voice cracked with feigned innocence, while a widening, warm puddle beneath his backside confirmed exactly what kind of afternoon we were about to have.

Continue reading “my little ABDL diaper enthusiast” →

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

His name was Julian. I didn’t know his last name and, honestly, I didn’t care. I had met him at the hotel lobby bar only two hours prior. He didn’t talk much, which was a relief. In a place where you don’t exactly belong, silence is the only honest currency.

The hotel’s hot tub was tucked into a secluded corner of the terrace, shielded by heavy, dripping ferns. The chlorine smell stung my nostrils and mixed with the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. When he pulled me into the water, the heat was abrasive, bordering on painful. The thing is, I kinda liked it.

Continue reading “the hotel lobby bar” →