Tag: phonesex

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Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Corey was always so eager. It was almost endearing. But then, softness wasn’t what he paid for, was it? He paid for the sharpest edge of my expectations, the cold precision of my demands, and the delicious humiliation that bloomed in his chest with every transaction. “Are you ready, sissy?” I typed, watching the ‘typing…’ indicator flicker on our private chat. A beat of silence, then his reply: “Yes, Mistress. Always ready.”

I smiled, a slow, controlled thing. He called himself a finsub, but to me, he was just Corey, my little piggy bank dressed in a perpetually apologetic expression, even through text. And a sissyboy, of course. That was the real fun of it. “Good. My new Louboutins are calling to me. They’re a rather fetching shade of scarlet, don’t you think?” I sent him a picture I’d pulled from the designer’s website – the most impractical, yet undeniably beautiful, pair of stilettos. “I think they would look perfect on me. Don’t you agree?”

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ass

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

His deep blue eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and fervent admiration, were locked onto me. A villainess doesn’t beg. She commands. That primal scent, a mix of leather and something else entirely, intensified. His earlier indignation had vanished, replaced by an unmistakable hunger. He was no longer the man about to call the authorities; he was merely a man. A man caught in the web I had so carefully, so deliberately, spun.

I straightened slowly, the motion deliberate, the ripped catsuit revealing just enough, yet leaving the rest to his imagination – or perhaps, his memory. The stiletto heels clicked again as I turned, a slow pivot that allowed the light to glide across the gleaming patent leather, across the exposed curve. I didn’t need to speak. The silence was louder than any words. It was filled with the thrum of his heartbeat, the rapid, shallow breaths he couldn’t quite control.

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Pretty Little Candy Girl Part Three

Trans Goddess Alexus 1844-332-2639 Ext 349

Amber didn’t sniffle or cry as I pushed her into the house—my brave little candy girl. The cabin was a single dusty room with a bathroom off to one side—a small kitchenette tucked under a small window. The twin-size bed had no sheets or pillows. “Get naked.” I barked, which made Amber flinch.

I couldn’t decide if I was happy or annoyed that she wasn’t fighting me more. Adrenaline had built up in my veins, waiting for this moment, and I was buzzing off the possibilities. Her being compliant hadn’t been a situation I considered.

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Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

It was most definitely the test drive of my life. The sexy, young salesman gave me a hands on tutorial of the car, from the passenger’s side. It was quite the experience, so sensual. Every time his hand would graze me, it was electrical. It made my whole body tingle. To be honest, I was a little nervous to be driving under his influence. I literally felt weak in the knees. But I tried to play it calm, cool, and collected. We pulled out of the dealership. I hit the throttle and we were off. The way it took off when I barely tapped the gas peddle shot a rush of adrenaline through my body. My whole body was tingling, especially my pussy. I looked over at him. There was no way I could ignore his hard cock protruding through his pants. I think the speed gave him a thrill as well. He kept looking over at my legs, or between them. I hadn’t planned on test driving anything. So I didn’t really think about the fact that I was wearing a very short dress. And it had ridden up, practically exposing my pussy. He obviously noticed.

Continue reading “Test Drive Of My Life Part 2” →

gooner

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Across the digital ether, I was spending my day with a loser. We all know the type. He wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary, just your average gooner who’d found my corner of the internet. He paid me for my time, of course. What he bought, primarily, was attention. Curated, commodified attention. Sometimes a few pics—nothing too wild, just enough to keep the illusion alive. But what he really wanted, what he truly craved above all else, were those trigger words.

You know the ones I mean. Those exact phrases, spoken or typed, that would unravel some tightly wound spring inside him. Words that would trigger him to stroke and edge himself stupid, lost in his own private loop of self-abasement and gratification. I, the puppeteer, tugging on invisible strings with carefully chosen syllables. He, the puppet, dancing to a rhythm only he could hear.

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Mama Felicity 1844-332-2639 Ext 270

Danny has been so bad. He’s too young to be masturbating but you and I both know, once a boy finds his penis, he’ll never leave it alone. I discovered some of his dad’s old dirty magazines under his bed and knew I had to confront him.

I came into his room last night and sat on his bed. I laid the dirty magazine between us, and his face turned so red. He was embarrassed and humiliated, but I touched his thigh and told him that, because he was too young to be touching himself the way he had been, from now on, I would be supervising his masturbation as punishment. He was clearly confused and asked what I meant.

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blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I glanced at the screen, and a name I hadn’t seen in over a year popped up: Scott. My ex-boyfriend, Scott. I stared for a second, wondering if it was some kind of mistake. Then the text itself loaded: ‘Hey, it’s Scott. Got a new phone, wanted to make sure you had my number.’ Um, why? Seriously. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but a reply felt unnecessary. What could he possibly want? And why now, after all this time? It’s been a full year since we spoke, since he walked in on me and Greg, since our whole world imploded.

I mean, ‘imploded’ sounds dramatic, but for me, it was more like a necessary demolition. Scott had become a lump. When he lost his job, I tried to be supportive, I really did. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and he just moped around the apartment, expecting me to pick up all the slack. Rent, groceries, bills – it all fell on my shoulders. It was overwhelming, frustrating, and frankly, I was drowning. I just needed an escape, you know? Something, anything, to make me feel alive again.

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sissy

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

It started a few months ago when Violet, my beautiful, curvy sissy, had a little accident in public. She had been holding it in for hours, but the pressure became too much, and she couldn’t help but let go. She called me in a panic, ashamed and embarrassed, and I could hear the tears in her voice. I knew exactly what she needed. I calmly instructed her to go to the nearest public restroom and wait for me.

When I arrived, I saw her standing there, red-faced and trembling, her eyes filled with fear and anticipation. I didn’t waste any time. As punishment, I made her get on her knees, pull up her skirt, and lick my feet clean. The humiliation of the situation sent shivers down her spine, and I could see her body trembling with a mixture of shame and excitement.

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Body Envy

Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

Oh, you have a bad case of body envy! I mean, it reeks. Most men look me over with sexual desire, but the green-eyed monster shines through your gaze. You don’t want to fuck my face or impregnate me. No, you want to be me. It’s obvious; I don’t understand how you’ve managed to hide your secrets from your wife for so long.

Is she just stupid, or does she not care about you at all? All the signs are there. Why can’t she see how badly you want to be a woman?

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Mark, bless his heart, shifted nervously on the edge of my worn velvet chaise lounge. His eyes, usually bright with a hopeful glint, were now clouded with a desperate hunger. He thought I liked him. He truly did. And maybe, in some twisted way, I did. But mostly, I liked the way the crisp hundred-dollar bills felt between my fingers after our sessions.

I moved with a practiced grace, as my many years of dance lessons finally started to pay off. I circled him slowly, my fingertips trailing lightly over the fabric of his neatly pressed shirt. He flinched at my touch, a tremor running through his body. He was so easy to control, a marionette dancing to the tune of my whispered commands. The rules were clear, etched in unspoken agreement between us. He could pump. He could stroke. But he could never, ever cum. He couldn’t touch me, but I could touch him. I was the conductor of this bizarre symphony of frustration, and he was my willing, albeit tormented, instrument. Nothing more than a plaything…A pet.

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