Tag: phonesex

pantyhose fetish

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I leaned against the wall, crossing my legs seductively. “You like what you see, Mike?” I asked, running my hand up my thigh. His eyes followed my every movement, and I could see his dick straining against his pants. “OH…MY…GOD…YES,” he breathed, taking a step closer. I smiled, standing up and walking towards him. “Well, you’re in luck. I have a special surprise for you today.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of fresh, unopened pantyhose. His eyes widened, and I could see his dick twitch in anticipation.

“Do you want to see me put them on?” I asked, holding up the delicate fabric. He nodded eagerly, and I slowly began to slide the pantyhose up my legs, taking my time to make sure every inch of skin was covered. Once I had them on, I turned around and bent over, giving Mike a full view of my ass. I could hear him groan behind me, and I knew he was aching to touch me. But I wasn’t done teasing him yet.

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domme blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I’m a domme who loves to punish men who drool over me. I don’t like them, I like that they pay me. Today, I’ve got a new client, a man named Jack. He’s a regular caller, but this is our first time talking. I answer the call with a sultry “Oui Bonjour, Jack.” He stammers, “H-hi, Stella.” I can hear the nervousness in his voice, and it makes my pussy tingle. I love the power I have over these men. “So, Jack, tell me, what do you want to talk about today?” I ask, my voice dripping with seduction. He hesitates then says, “I…I want to talk about…you.”

I laugh, a deep, throaty sound. “Oh, Jack, you’re a naughty boy, aren’t you? You want to talk about me? Well, let’s talk about my body, then.” I describe my curves, my small but full breasts, my tight ass, and my wet pussy. I can hear his breathing quicken, and I know he’s touching his cock. They all sound the same when they touch it. I smile, knowing I have him under my control. “Imagine my hands on your dick, Jack.

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TS Alexus 844-332-2639 EXT 349

Abusive throat fucking isn’t just for brainless bimbos. I’ve concluded that every homophobic, closed-minded boy bitch needs to have his throat stretched open by this TS Goddess and my perfect shecock. Sissy whores and thirsty females jump on my cock all day long, but I’m itching for a challenge.

That’s right; I’m talking about you. The macho man always takes what he wants and demands nothing short of perfection. Your time on top is over; now you’ll kneel before me and gargle my hot spunk like a good boy.

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Stand There and Take It, For Me

Mama Felicity 1844-332-2639 Ext 270

“Please, Mama.” He whined as his cock bobbed pathetically. “I can’t take it anymore!” The snivingly bitch wasn’t even crying real tears. My hand swatted out again. Striking the head of his erect penis and sending it flying.

Precum splattered at our feet and over his naked tummy. Thankfully, his arms were tied above his head, or he might do something stupid like try to stroke himself to orgasm. “I’ll slap it as many times as I like. It amuses me. Stand there, and take it for me.”

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Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

It was a four hour road trip to my friend’s ranch. The weather was beautiful. It was a sunny spring day. So I decided to put the top down, turn the music up, and enjoy the long drive. About an hour and a half in, I found myself on a desolate highway. Suddenly I had what I thought at the time was a brilliant idea. I could sunbathe while driving. First, I took off my t-shirt. Then somehow, I managed to get my jean shorts off. So I was driving along in my lacy turquoise bra and panty set. But then I decided that I really didn’t want tan lines. And no one was around. So I thought I might as well take my bra and panties off. I threw them into the passenger seat with my clothes. And there I was driving down the highway naked with the top down and my hair flying in the wind. When all of a sudden, a big gust of wind swooped in. And all of my clothes started flying out. Then I realized that I was going to have to go retrieve my clothes while completely naked. I was mortified.

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findom blog

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.

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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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