xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208
Every man needs TLC – Throat loving care. And by man, I don’t mean sissy cuck bitches like you. I’m here to make you the best sissy cock sucker you can be. I’ve set up a pretty little throat training session just for you. I know how much you love slapping that suction cup dildo to your full-length mirror and gagging on it, but I’m not convinced you’ve been taking your training seriously. I only made a few small adjustments; let me explain.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Marcus was a man whose net worth was etched into the nervous, hungry way he adjusted his cufflinks. He was waiting for me to validate him. He was waiting for me to tell him he was the powerful provider he desperately wanted to be.
Instead, I took a slow sip of my drink, while keeping my eyes locked on his. “You know, Marcus,” I said, “it’s pathetic how hard you’re trying. You think buying me this vintage bottle makes you a player, but it doesn’t. You’re just another beta, sweating under the lights, hoping a girl like me will finally give you a sense of purpose.”
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
The forest floor trembled beneath my heavy steps as my gaze finally settled on the minuscule figure scurrying frantically between the moss-covered rocks. His frantic movements and high-pitched, unintelligible squeaks were a delightful contrast to my own immense size. I knelt down with a playful smirk, blocking his path with a single finger that was thicker than his entire body, and watched with immense amusement as he tumbled backward in a fit of panicked confusion.
I brought him up toward my face, pinching him gently between my thumb and forefinger so I could admire the way he kicked and struggled against my hold. He was such a frantic little thing! His eyes widened in utter disbelief as he realized exactly what kind of plaything he had become for the afternoon.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I checked my reflection in the darkened window of a parked car. My lipstick was a precise, bruised plum. To the casual observer, I was just a woman out for a crisp, midnight walk. But, to the ones I was hunting, I was a gravitational pull they had no intention of resisting.
Most men looked at me with a mix of hunger and entitlement. Those I ignored. I was looking for cues like the tremor in a hand, the way a shoulder dropped when I made prolonged eye contact, and the subtle, pathetic eagerness hidden behind a mask of indifference.
Continue reading “just a woman out for a crisp, midnight walk.”
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
The neon lights of the midway glittered from above as I stood by the games of chance, watching the desperate losers toss rings at glass bottles. That was when I saw him. He was leaning against the rusted railing of the Tilt-A-Whirl. He didn’t look like the rest of the pack-mentality boys who were roaming the park, he looked bored. When he caught my eye, he didn’t smile…he just tilted his head, like he was more curious than anything.
My sneakers crunched on discarded popcorn kernels as I walked toward him. Up close, he was even more striking. He had that jagged, restless energy that usually signaled trouble, and a smudge of grease on his jawline that made my pulse jump. “You look like you’re waiting for something to break,” I said, with a smirk. “I’m Amber, by the way.”
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
I stood at the kitchen window, watching my husband, Arthur, shuffle across the yard to tend to his prized roses. There was a time when his steady, predictable nature felt like a sanctuary, but lately, that stillness had begun to feel more like a cage. I regularly found myself longing for more. And thankfully, I found it in a much younger man. Our gardener, Juan.
It wasn’t that I sought to destroy what I had built with Arthur, but rather that I felt a desperate need to reclaim a part of myself that had been suppressed by the weight of age and expectation. When I met Juan, his youthfulness was like a mirror reflecting a version of me that hadn’t yet surrendered to the routine of growing old.
(844)-332-2639 ext 398
Like every horny teen slut, I love taking naughty pictures and videos of myself. The only problem is that “Dad” and “Daddy” look very similar when your fingers are buried in your cunt and your not paying attention to who you’re sexting. I didn’t notice that my latest horny adventure got sent to my Dad until after I already soaked my bed sheets.
I crossed my fingers and hoped I could steal Daddy’s phone before he heard me moaning “Fuck me Daddy!” through the phone. But when I snuck up to his room to steal it, I could already hear it playing. I froze in the doorway and listened to him playing the video. I waited for him to call me to his room or come out to mine. My brain started coming up with all kinds of excuses for being so slutty, but then I heard the video replay and the video get even louder.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I curate a lifestyle for men who have forgotten how to be small. My roster is a collection of gray suits and tired eyes who come to my door seeking the relief of total surrender. They want to be hollowed out. They pay for the privilege of letting me hold the map to their sanity. But then there is Jonathan.
Jonathan is a paradox. He’s a high-stakes litigator by day, weaving verbal traps and shaping reality so it bends to his will. He treats our sessions like a debate, pushing back against my boundaries with a smug, calculated charm. Jonathan treats my authority as a collaborative suggestion rather than a divine law. Which, let’s be honest, is quite a stupid choice for such an intelligent man.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
The floor of my dungeon is cold, but Puppet doesn’t seem to notice. He hasn’t moved for twenty minutes, the poor thing. His knees are pressed firmly into the hardwood and his head is bowed so his chin brushes his chest. Here, he exists in that perfect, vacant space between my commands, like a human instrument waiting for the hand that plays him.
I lean back in my red velvet armchair and savor the view. To anyone else, he might be a man, but to me he is exactly what I named him. “Pussy-Free Puppet Plaything.” And he knows it. “Look up,” I say. My voice is low and doesn’t quite sound the way it does in my everyday life. Puppet obeys instantly. His eyes, usually clouded with the chaotic noise of his own thoughts, are now hollow, stripped of everything but the singular need to serve. He is nothing if not for my direction.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
I stood in the center of the playroom with my arms crossed tightly over my chest. Max was attempting to shrink away into the corner, with his paci dangling uselessly from his lips. He had been told repeatedly that his behavior was unacceptable, yet he had chosen to ignore the boundaries I laid out for him.
I walked towards him and stopped just inches away, towering over his small, cowering frame. “Do you have any idea why you’re sitting in timeout, darling?” I asked, calmly. He tried to mumble something, but I reached down and firmly removed the paci from his mouth. “What have I told you about speaking with your mouth full?” I asked, setting his paci on the high shelf where he couldn’t reach it. His bottom lip trembled, but I remained unmoved. He had prioritized his own selfish impulses over the rules of our household, and the time for coddling had long since passed.