Author: Amber

anal

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The workshop hummed with the usual frantic energy of Christmas, but while the other elves were busy with dolls and train sets, my station was dedicated to adult toys for Santa’s naughtiest whores. I’m one of the few elves entrusted with quality control and am, as they affectionately call it, the resident “fluffer” for our naughtier creations.

Today, my task involved a new recruit. Aaron, fresh from elf academy, was beaming, proudly presenting his latest invention: a handcrafted, ethically sourced, antler-inspired cock ring. He’d spent weeks meticulously carving and polishing it. “So,” he started, “the structural integrity is paramount, as is the comfort factor. I’ve deemed it ready for preliminary testing.” He gestured to the ring, then to me, with a hopeful glint in his eye.

Continue reading “Santa’s Christmas Sex Toy Workshop” →

nipple play Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Liam was frantic when he finally showed up for our play date. He was always a little sweaty, but this time he was breathing hard. When I asked, he said it was because he ran all the way to my house, but I like to think it was really just a mix of adrenaline and paranoia from sneaking around. He was, after all, my best friend’s brother.

“I only have forty minutes, Amber. Seriously,” he whispered, backing me against the door and already burying his face in my neck. “Forty minutes is plenty for the main event,” I purred, pushing him back slightly so I could appreciate the view. Liam is a bit of a walking contradiction. He’s a quiet, bookish engineer by day, and a total submission demon by night.

Continue reading “Holiday Nipple Play” →

Spanksgiving

Posted 2 weeks ago by Amber

spanking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

This is the story about the origin of Spanksgiving. The kitchen was thick with steam that smelled overwhelmingly of simmering basil and crushed tomatoes. Thanksgiving wasn’t complete without Mommy Anna’s infamous Neapolitan sugo, and Ronnie was slumped over the heavy cast iron pot.

“Don’t stop stirring, Ronnie,” Mommy Anna had warned. “We have company coming and this sugo cannot stick. Keep that heat low and that spoon moving!” I slipped into the kitchen hoping for a leftover cookie, but stopped in my tracks when I saw my brother. “Ronnie, you won’t believe it,” I whispered, leaning close to the stove.

Continue reading “Spanksgiving” →

orgy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The invitation arrived via a text message that simply read: “My place in the woods, massive shower. Five slots open. Thoughts?” I showed the message to Rita, who was admiring how cute the penis cookies she had just baked turned out. Rita didn’t even look up from her phone. “Julian’s place. Tonight. All of us. He wants a sexy shower,” she said with a smile as she handed a BBC cookie to Kayla.

Francie, stretching her legs and arching her back on the plush carpet, sighed dreamily. “Oh, sweet Julian. He’s always so ambitious. Obviously we’re going. But Kayla, you drive. I refuse to get pine needles in my new Mercedes.” Kayla laughed and rolled her eyes as I replied to Julian’s text with a “See you there!” and five wink emojis. One from each of us.

Continue reading “Sexy Shower Orgy Invitation” →

diaper boy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I still remember the day I met Mark. Tall, dark, and diaper-clad. His pants were noticeably puffy in the crotch, and a wry smile played on his face as he introduced himself. As we struck up a conversation, the puff in his pants grew, revealing a telltale outline. Mark casually mentioned his “accidents” and how they’d been an issue his whole life. He explained that he wears diapers when he’s away from home as a “safety net” in case he wets himself. I was taken aback, but his charming self-assurance put me at ease.

Fast forward a few months, and there I was, the girl who carried diapers in her purse, because you never know when Mark might have an “oops” moment. We’d become quite the pair, giggling through public mishaps and turning nighttime wetting into a playful routine. After Mark’s morning shower, we’d drape him in a fresh diaper, then I’d stroke his cock as he came to the crinkly sound of my hand moving up and down his shaft inside his clean pampers.

Continue reading “Tall, dark, and diaper-clad.” →

feet

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I knew what Daddy wanted. There’s only one thing that always brought that soft, knowing smile to his lips. Especially because Mommy hated it more than anything else in the world! No shoes, never shoes for this. Daddy told me I had to go to my closet and throw all of my shoes in the trash. I walked barefoot through the garden, deliberately, slowly. Across the freshly turned earth where Daddy had planted his roses, so that my soles were black and soil hid between my toes.

When I stepped back into the kitchen, I walked directly to Daddy, standing between his spread knees as he sat in his worn armchair. I extended my feet, crusted with garden debris. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he slowly, deliberately, picked up my ankle and lowered his head. His tongue was warm, sweeping away the grit, the soil, the evidence of my outdoor adventure.

Continue reading “I knew what Daddy wanted.” →

military man

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My friend Heather cornered me the moment she heard her brother, Henry, was back in the city. “Amber,” she’d whispered, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I’m throwing him a welcome home party and need you to be there! He’s been gone for so long, and you know…you know how I feel about you and him. Just…take care of him for me, okay?”

Henry was a ruggedly handsome military man, fresh from some top-secret Pentagon assignment. He was the kind of man who made you forget your own name, especially when he was wearing that crisp uniform. I wandered into Heather’s living room and there he was, looking as fine as ever, surrounded by friends and relatives. The air crackled when he looked in my direction. Heather had given me the go-ahead, a playful shove towards destiny, and my heart was doing a frantic drum solo against my ribs.

Continue reading “Henry’s Welcome Home Party” →

hallowe'en blog

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I spotted her immediately – a woman sitting at a table in my favorite coffee shop, engrossed in a book with a covetous title: “Dark Arts for the Desperate Soul.” Her eyes darted up, catching mine, and she quickly looked away, a flush creeping up her neck.

I approached her table with a confident stride, my heels clicking against the tiled floor. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing your book. Are you interested in witchcraft?” She stammered, her gaze flickering between me and the cover. “Y-yes, I am. But I’ve never…I don’t know much about it.”

Continue reading “the devil woman at my favorite coffee shop” →

witch sex

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

It was Hallowe’en night. Outside, the mortal world celebrated with plastic masks and cheap candy. But I craved a real thrill, a true terror. I had spent seven Hallowe’ens trying to communicate with spirits, but to no avail. Tonight, I wasn’t summoning a familiar; I was calling something hungry from the deepest trench of the underworld.

My voice, raw and aching, delivered the final incantation: “Come, Shade of the Forgotten. Taste me, for I am willing.” The candles—tallow dipped in fat—did not flicker. They simply vanished, plunging the room into absolute, freezing darkness. Then, almost instantly, he materialized. He wasn’t a sheet or a spectral mist. He was the perfect, sculpted embodiment of shadow, a man stitched together from cosmic cold and palpable malevolence.

Continue reading “Sex Witch Hallowe’en” →

witches

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Our potent little jar of moon-kissed herbs and dewdrop essence sat between us on the worn oak table. The “magic salve,” as we called it, was a concoction born of generations of hedgewitch wisdom, designed not just to heal the skin, but to awaken the spirit. Beside it, our broomsticks lay ready. Not the bristly kind for sweeping the hearth, mind you, but slender, polished hazel branches, each one unique, chosen and carefully prepared for this very purpose.

With a shared, knowing smile, Kayla and I began the ritual. Dipping the tips of our broomsticks into the shimmering, emerald green salve, we coated them generously. The scent was earthy patchouli, sweet jasmine, and something wilder, like fresh rain on ancient moss. Then, with a slow, deliberate grace, we inserted our broomsticks into our dripping wet pussies, pulling and pushing them in and out of our fuck holes as we moaned with pleasure, ensuring all of the salve

Continue reading “Magic Salve and Broomsticks” →