Author: Writer

Diana 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 248

Lick those lips and prep those fingers, my little pervert piggy. Your pathetically throbbing erection is quivering in your hand, waiting for my divine command. Well, you got it. I allow you to continue your degrading self-pleasure.

Now, stroke that pinky prick with force, faster, faster you filthy worm! You know you’re nothing more than a set of balls and a dick for me to drain. Your only purpose in my presence is to make me money. You’re one of my top clients after all. I should be flattered, shouldn’t I?

Continue reading “Keep Stroking Gooner” →

Trinity 1-844-332-2639 ext 285

He calls the shots and I love it. It starts with a look. Not the kind of look that asks. The kind that commands. The kind that tells you what you’re going to do—and you already know you’re going to do it. He was older. Powerful. Hands always in his pockets, voice low, calm… but his eyes? They owned me before he ever touched me.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said one day, closing the door behind us. “You want to be told what to do, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. I just dropped my eyes and nodded. “Strip. Knees. Now.” And I obeyed. God, I obeyed.

I knelt on the floor—bare, trembling, wet. He circled me like a predator with all the time in the world. He touched me only when he wanted to, how he wanted to. One hand in my hair, the other between my thighs. Every whimper was permission for him to take more.

“You’re not allowed to cum until I say so,” he warned. “Understand?” “Yes, Sir.”
That’s when the game really began. He bent me over his desk, tied my wrists behind my Continue reading “He Calls the Shots—And I Love It” →

D

Trinity 1-844-332-2639 ext 285

Room 619 – The night I let go. I wasn’t supposed to be there. Not in that hotel. Not in that hallway. And definitely not in that bed with him. But the second the elevator doors opened and I saw his silhouette leaning against the wall near Room 619, I felt my pulse throb between my thighs. He didn’t say a word when I walked up—just opened the door, let me in, and locked it behind us.

We were both supposed to behave. He’s off-limits—older, taken, dangerous. But I’ve never been a good girl. I’ve always had a taste for what I shouldn’t touch. And tonight, I needed to be ruined. The second the door clicked shut, he was on me. Hands greedy. Mouth desperate. I moaned into his kiss like I’d been holding it in for weeks—because I had. My dress hit the floor before I could even gasp. His hands were rough, his grip unforgiving, and it made me ache.

He threw me on the bed like I was his favorite secret. His mouth traveled down my body, kissing, biting, worshipping. When he slid his fingers inside me, I arched so hard I nearly broke. “So wet for Continue reading “Room 619 – The Night I Let Go” →

Trinity 1-844-332-2639 ext 285

The stranger at the bar was my boyfriend. It was his idea. “Let’s play pretend tonight,” he said. “You be you—but act like you’ve never met me.” He told me where to meet him: a dark lounge tucked in the corner of the city, moody lighting, velvet booths. I walked in like I didn’t belong to anyone. Red lips, black heels, no bra under my silk blouse.

He was sitting at the bar, one hand around a whiskey glass, the other draped casually across his lap. He didn’t even glance at me at first. When he did, his eyes lit up with pure hunger. “You here alone?” he asked, voice low, dangerous. “For now,” I answered, sliding onto the stool beside him.

He bought me a drink. Let his hand graze my thigh as we talked about everything and nothing. My heart was racing—and I knew we were both fighting the urge to drop the act. But it made everything hotter.

Thirty minutes later, we stumbled into a hotel room like we’d just met. He pushed me against the door, yanked my blouse open, and kissed me like he didn’t know my name. He fucked me rough, like Continue reading “The Stranger at the Bar Was My Boyfriend” →

Aynsley 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 459

I was home from college for the weekend when I found myself in an impossible situation with my sister’s husband. I’m 20 years old but my naivety got the better of me.

It all started innocently enough. My sister was out of town on business and I was lounging around the house, bored out of my mind. My brother-in-law was home, too, but we rarely interacted, having little in common. That evening, he surprised me with a bottle of expensive champagne.

“Let’s have a drink to celebrate your homecoming,” he said with a wink, popping the cork. I hesitated at first. But he assured me it would be fun.

Continue reading “My Sister’s Husband” →

Diana 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 248

Baby, I wanna play hooky with you. Today, as I woke up and started my morning routine to head to work, all I could think about was crawling back under the warm covers and pulling you close to me. I yearned to feel your naked body pressed against mine, our hips and thighs intertwined as we breathed in the scent of our mixed perspiration.

I wanted to skip out on my responsibilities and obligations for a day, to spend it exploring every inch of your tantalizing skin instead. Thinking about running my fingers over your chiseled abs and up your strong arms. I longed to lock my lips with yours, plunging my tongue into your mouth to taste you deeply.

Continue reading “Let’s Play Hooky” →

 

Carina 1844-332-2639 ext 293

“Mr. Daniels… I swear, I wasn’t trying to distract you.”

I’m sitting on your desk, legs crossed, skirt hiked up just a little too high. My blouse is unbuttoned enough to reveal the lace of my bra — and the way your eyes keep drifting tells me I’m doing exactly what I intended.

You lean back in your chair, arms folded, voice deep. “This isn’t appropriate, Carina.”

I bite my lip, sliding one heel off slowly, letting it drop to the floor.

“I know. But you called me into your office… and I figured maybe you wanted a little one-on-one performance review.”

I shift, just enough to let the hem of my skirt ride up further. No panties. I made sure of that.

Continue reading “This Isn’t Appropriate” →

Carina 1844-332-2639 ext 293

The moment you hear my voice, you already know you’re in trouble.

I’m sprawled across the bed in nothing but a tiny lace thong that clings to me like a secret. One hand trails slowly over my skin, tracing every soft curve, every shiver — like I’m performing just for you.

“Mmm… you have no idea what you do to me.”

My breath catches, just enough for you to hear how badly I need it — how badly I need you.

My fingers slide over my breasts, squeezing gently until a soft moan escapes. Then lower… gliding between my thighs… brushing that spot that’s already soaked and throbbing.

I’m not shy about it. I want you to hear every sound I make — every breathy whimper — and know it’s all for you.

“God, I’m so wet already. Are you going to make me beg for it?”

Continue reading “You’re in Trouble” →

Amy 1-844-33CANDY ext.460

I’m the girl who turns “What if?” into “Oh God, yes.” With a voice that’s been called “whiskey neat with a side of trouble,” I’ve made a career out of making strangers forget they’re strangers.The spaces between your shame and your hunger. Maybe you’re a CEO who needs to be stripped of control, or a suburban dad who craves a back-alley dominatrix with a PhD in humiliation. I’ll morph into your muse, your tormentor, your accomplice. You want a confessional? A rebellion? A fever dream where I’m both the cure and the symptom? Buckle up, sweetheart.

Continue reading “The static between your thoughts and your zipper” →

1844-33-CANDY EXT 423

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the expansive marble floors of my sugar daddy’s penthouse. I step out, heels clicking against the cool stone, and I can feel your eyes on me, hungry and eager. I turn to you, a smirk playing on my lips. “You know what I want for dessert, don’t you?”

You nod, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in your eyes. That look on you is absolutely lovable. I walk over to the plush couch, my dress riding up slightly with each step, giving you a teasing glimpse of my thighs. I turn around, my back to you, and slowly unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of silk. Then I step out of it, standing in nothing but my black lace thong and heels.

“Come here,” I command, my voice firm yet inviting. You approach me, your eyes roaming over my body, taking in every curve and line. I turn around, my ass now facing you, and I bend over slightly, giving you a perfect view of my ass. “You know what to do,” I say, looking back at you over my shoulder. Continue reading “Dessert for My Sugar Daddy” →