pampers

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Mark is the kind of guy who, when stressed or overly excited (or even when he’s just plain distracted), will forget that he’s potty trained. It happens more than he would ever care to admit, but that’s okay because I always have a stash of clean diapers in my purse. There are always signs when it happens. His face gets red, his voice gets high, and I watch as his shoulders stiffen in that precise way that signals impending doom.

“Oh, honey,” I murmur, grabbing his wrist. “Let’s just go find the nearest bathroom.” There’s really no point in dwelling on it. He’s usually embarrassed enough as it is. The comedy of our lives is rooted in logistics. We cram into the stall. Mark looks genuinely miserable, leaning against the cold tile. “I am so sorry,” he always whispers, mortified.

Continue reading “The Kind of Guy Who Wears Pampers”

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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domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I ran a thumb along the seam of my black lace glove, savoring the slickness of the leather against my skin. The title—naughty slut, dominant bitch—they were just labels. To them, they were prayers whispered into the void. To me, they were tools.

Tonight, my tool was denial. Exquisite, slow, psychological denial. I pushed open the door, and the air shifted. Elias was already in position, knees pressed to the cold concrete, wrists secured behind him with thick, dark cuffs. He wasn’t looking at me; he wouldn’t dare until I permitted it.

Continue reading “Savoring My Power Over Him”

sissy girl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

A mischievous grin spread across my face as I saw “Sissy Girl” flash on the screen. I tapped accept, wondering what adorable display she had cooked up for Mama tonight, knowing full well she’d be decked out in something impossibly cute, probably with a tell-tale bulge peeking from under her chosen ensemble.

“Mama!” a high-pitched squeal erupted from the speaker, and there she was, Emily – my sissy girl – beaming at me, while practically vibrating with excitement. She waddled closer to the camera, proudly showcasing her latest ‘outfit,’ a truly magnificent riot of color: a pastel rainbow onesie, ruffled bloomers peeking out from beneath, and even striped knee-high socks that mismatched just enough to be utterly charming. “Look, Mama! Look what I’m wearing!” she exclaimed, twirling clumsily to give me a full 360-degree view. Her cheeks were flushed with pride.

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Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

My friend spent months venting to me about her ex. She would go on and on about how pathetic he was, giving me vivid details about their sex life. I think she wanted me to be as disgusted as she was. But what she didn’t know is that I was quite intrigued. I’d finally heard enough. I was bound and determined to find out for myself if all of it was true. She told me that he loved to watch her fuck other people. It didn’t matter who it was. She could pick them out. And she said she did. There were men, women, and sometimes both at once. She told me that he loved to clean out all of her holes afterwards. Then she told me that he was such a loser because he would come within seconds. But then he would be hard again. He was multi orgasmic. Oh, and he was balding, which she absolutely hated. What she didn’t know was that all of that turned me on and I wanted to experience it firsthand. So one night  I decided to go to the bar he frequented. He didn’t know who I was. But I told him.

Continue reading “My Friend’s Ex”

feet

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I pressed my soles into the damp earth, watching the rich, dark mud squelching between my toes, as I coated them in a thick, satisfying film. Daddy liked it when I committed, so I deliberately sought out the wettest patches and the places where fallen leaves were decaying into a rich, dark compost.

The mud was cool, but quickly warmed from my body heat. It slithered up my ankles, caking my arches, filling the spaces between my toes. I wiggled them, feeling the grittiness as the earthy smell rose to meet me. Perfect. When I finally padded back into the living room, leaving a trail of brown smudges on the polished wood, Daddy was waiting. He was in his usual armchair, a book open on his lap.

Continue reading “The Mud Between My Toes”

 

xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208

The Winter Witch blows in much like Jack Frost. One day, she isn’t there, and the next, she’s nipping at your heels. Some confuse her groans of frustration as blustering winds. The truth, however, is that the Winter Witch craves human males to satisfy her sexual appetite. Unfortunately, they become harder and harder for her to find in the cold.

She rustles through the forest, searching for hunters. The men bundled up and hunkered down, looking for prey who would have no idea that they would soon be just that. The Winter witch swirls around them like a flurry of white snow, only to appear before them as a thirty-foot-tall Ice Goddess.

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domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Another one. Always the same hopeful, pathetic look in their eyes. As if I would be anything more than a fleeting fantasy for their miserable lives. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” I purred, my voice dripping with an accent thicker than the Parisian fog. He flinched, already knowing what was coming. Good. Fear is the first step to understanding your place.

He mumbled a greeting, as his gaze darted around my dimly lit salon. The velvet curtains, the antique furniture, the subtle scent of expensive perfume…it was all designed to overwhelm. To make them feel small. And it worked. Every time. “You are late,” I stated, not as a question, but as a cold, hard fact. They call me a bitch. Bien sûr. What did they expect? A gentle caress? A whispered endearment? Ridicule.

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abdl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I knew the moment I walked into the gaming room that the fun was over. The odor that greeted me was not just a smell; it was an airborne structural warning. A thick, insistent presence that suggested something prehistoric had recently perished inside a snug plastic shell. Little Timmy, all six-foot-two of him, was trying desperately to look inconspicuous. His eyes were glued to the TV screen as if focusing hard enough could make the problem vanish into the digital ether. The faint squish sound that accompanied his every subtle shift in position, betrayed his feeble attempt at denial.

“Timmy,” I announced, my voice sickly sweet despite the emergency, “I think we need to have a little chat about the structural integrity of your current diaper situation…” He just groaned dramatically, confirming what I already knew: I didn’t get paid enough for this environmental hazard mitigation, especially when the offending item was a premium, extra-capacity, nighttime Pampers that had clearly failed its crucial mission.

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cock sucking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I’m a woman of simple, yet incredibly specific, pleasures. While some chase after fancy dinners or the latest gossip, my eyes are always scanning for one thing: a beautiful, thick BBC to wrap my soft, glossy lips around. It’s a craving, a delightful obsession, and frankly, my favorite way to unwind.

Recently, I met his guy. I spotted him across the room, as he was leaning against the bar with an easy smile playing on his lips. He was tall with broad shoulders and had that unmistakable “big dick energy” that always makes me feral. My radar went wild. There was a certain confidence in his stance, a lazy power that promised a delightful experience. My heart did a little flutter-kick. I had to have him!

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