Tag: phonesex

breeding

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My hand trembled slightly as I pulled it back from Mr. Thorne’s firm grip. This was the biggest deal of my career, and it was done. “To celebrate, Stella,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you must join me for dinner.” I accepted. The restaurant was upscale, the drinks flowed, and his eyes, dark and intense, seemed to see through me, past the business woman, to something deeper.

Dinner ended, but the night was young. “One more drink?” he asked, his hand lightly on my arm as we stepped out into the cool city air. The ‘one more drink’ became two, then three, in a dimly lit bar where the music was soft and the world outside faded. He leaned closer, his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine, filling my senses. My usual discipline, my careful boundaries, began to dissolve.

Continue reading “The Biggest Deal of My Career Phonesex” →

wetting pants

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I was standing impatiently in the endless line for the artisanal coffee stand when my attention drifted to a man near the condiment station. He looked utterly normal, mid-forties, sporting the kind of practical, slightly too-long khaki shorts that scream “I own a reliable minivan and believe strongly in SPF 50.” He was fiddling intently with a massive travel mug, his brow furrowed in concentration, which made him a captivating, if mildly mundane, subject for my habitual people-watching session. Which is essentially my only viable defense against the soul-crushing boredom of waiting for overpriced caffeine.

Then it happened, with a swift, silent efficiency that defied the laws of polite public existence. My eye, tracking the slight shuffle of his feet as he adjusted his weight, caught a dark spot blooming rapidly on the front of those sensible khaki shorts, right where the pocket met the thigh, and it was spreading with an alarming, undeniable velocity. Initially, my brain tried to categorize the event as a catastrophic coffee spill—perhaps a sudden rupture in the travel mug’s sealing mechanism.

Continue reading “The Man In The Khaki Shorts” →

********* blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My current curiosity belonged to Elias. He was the perfect, arrogant prince of his small, modern kingdom. A penthouse suite protected by layers of steel and, most deliciously, a web of high-definition security cameras. He was a man who believed in control, which meant he feared observation most of all.

I was the only one who truly saw the fissures in his flawless exterior, the things he typed only when he thought the Wi-Fi was off, the desires he locked away when the moon turned cold. This information was my leverage, far more potent than any rotten apple or ill-gotten jewel. I knew what I wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.

Continue reading “Milking Information From My Arrogant Prince” →

Aynsley 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 459

“Sir,” I purred, my voice low and husky just as instructed. “I’ve been bad, haven’t I?” I arched my back in exaggerated submission, the crimson skirt riding up to expose my bare thighs.

My “master,” an imposing figure in his sixties with a greying beard sprinkled with stubble, chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Indeed, my little good girl. But fear not, for a stern discipline is just what you need.”

Continue reading “I’ve Been Bad” →

sissy bitch

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I checked my watch. Exactly 8:00 PM. No need for rushing. That is the first rule of control. A Domme never rushes. The air was cool. I like it that way; it makes the submissive shiver a little, even without fear. He was already kneeling on the thick, dark rug, waiting. He never looked up until I told him to.

Today, he was wearing the pale pink satin nightie I had selected, the cheap lace scratching his skin. His face was painted heavy, the makeup slightly smudged around the eyes from nervous anticipation. He was not a man now; he was my project. He was my sissy bitch.

Continue reading “The Rules of Control” →

abdl mommy

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I know that silence is never a good sign when Timmy is supposed to be playing with his blocks. When I take a peek in his room, there he is, huddled awkwardly against the beanbag chair. His face is flushed scarlet, avoiding my gaze. I’ve only seen him do this when he’s deliberately done something he knows he shouldn’t have.

As I approach, and the air around him begins to change. The usual scent of baby powder is replaced with a humid, musky heaviness that confirms my deepest suspicion. My naughty boy didn’t hold it, and he certainly didn’t ask Mommy for help. Which now creates a significant problem we have no choice but to address.

Continue reading “Timmy Has A Messy Diaper” →

cuckold

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

It’s not that I want Liam to suffer. Not really. It’s just that his suffering is so intensely performative that I can’t help it. He really is the sweetest guy, loyal to a fault, but he’s also fiercely territorial. And nothing gets him more dramatically worked up than the mere suggestion that another man exists in my orbit. Example? Once, he genuinely thought our elderly mailman was trying to woo me with junk coupons.

I call this dynamic “emotional seasoning.” He definitely calls it “a breach of sacred trust.” Either way, it’s wildly entertaining…for me anyway. lol Last Friday, we were out at our friend Sarah’s housewarming party. We’d been there about an hour, and Liam was settled into his usual routine – explaining the complex history of artisanal brewing while simultaneously keeping a nervous tally of everyone who crossed my line of sight.

Continue reading “I love cuckolding Liam” →

Jackie 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 330

I ain’t one to gossip, but Lord have mercy, I got myself into a right ol’ pickle last night! Name’s Jackie, y’all, and I’m a cup-a-coffee-over-a-size-10 kinda gal, blessed with curves that could rival a ripe peach basket. After knockin’ back a few too many margaritas at Sue Ellen’s, I decided it was high time to mosey on home. Called up that Uber ride-share thangy, and before I knew it, I was sittin’ in the backseat of a sleek sedan, my skirt ride-high and my panties drenched with anticipation.

Now, this driver, bless his heart, was built like a Greek god – chiseled jaw, smolderin’ eyes, and arms that could snap a two-by-four in half. I ain’t proud, but when that man’s hands brushed against my thigh, I felt my lady parts throb like a honky-tonk on a Friday night. Next thing I know, we’re pullin’ over on some deserted road, the headlights castin’ shadows on his chiseled features.

Continue reading “Ain’t One To Gossip” →

Aynsley 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 459

I stepped into the candlelit chaos of Sigma Chi frat house, a whirlpool of bodies and libations. Laughter and thumping bass pulsed through my veins as I made my way to the keg.

As I poured a red solo cup, I caught eyes with a ruggedly handsome frat brother, glancing down at the tight tank top clinging to my curves. “Hey there, heatwave,” he smirked, sidling up next to me. “You look like you’re ready to get wild.”

His friend, equally chiseled, leaned in, fingers trailing along my arm. “Yeah, we can show you a real party.” Before I could respond, they each grabbed a cup and steered me toward a darkened hallway.

Continue reading “The Frat Party” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

“Dr. Julie, she says I’m a perv that can never be satisfied. Over the years she has caught me several times, with all kinds of different things. It started out with toys. First a masturbator, then anal toys, and kinkier things. Then she found fetish porn on my computer. I tried really hard to stop but I can’t stop thinking about really kinky things. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed to admit this. But when I have sex with her, I fantasize about some very taboo fetishes. It makes me feel so guilty. She once found a suitcase I hid in the attic. It was full of lingerie, teddies, panties, bras, socks, garter belts, stockings, and even a pair of red heels. Then there was the time she found makeup. She even found diapers once. It’s really bad Dr. Julie. She tells me that there is something wrong with me. She says this isn’t normal. I feel like such a loser. She told me that I have to get therapy. That’s why I’m here.”

Continue reading “Dr. Julie, She Says I’m A Perv” →