bbl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

As I walked around my neighborhood the other day, I caught a glimpse of a man near the corner café. His coffee cup was practically suspended mid-air as his gaze drifted downward, completely forgetting the conversation he was having with his companion. It was a look I had grown accustomed to ever since I had my BBL last summer.

I didn’t feel like a victim of unwanted attention or anything. Rather, I felt like a masterpiece on display. Some only wanted to admire it, while others longed to touch it…taste it…fuck it…some even wanted to smell it! Which was fine by me, as I’d spent years living as a flat booty babe who could only dream of the day when I’d strut through the city and watch the world tilt on its axis just to get a better look at my fat ass!

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Little Rachel 1*844*332*2639 Ext 457

I knew it was coming sooner or later. It’s no secret that I don’t do well in his class. I knew I was failing, again. So I decided to take things into my own hands and be proactive. The only way he’s going to pass me is if I do sexual favors for him. I didn’t want to wait for him to start demanding. I was surprised that he hadn’t already. But when class was over, he just stepped out of the room. So I got under his desk and waited for him to return. It’s a thing we do. I get under his desk and give him a blow job while he sits there. But students started pouring in for the next class before he did. Then I finally heard the door close. A woman’s voice began explaining that she would be teaching the class because Mr. Beckett had an appointment. I couldn’t believe it. It was Mrs. Beckett, his wife. How was I going to explain this? She had already caught us in the past. So of course she was going to know exactly what was going on. But the three of us have also done things together.

Continue reading “I Knew It Was Coming”

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The webcam light flickered to life, bathing my room in a cool, clinical blue glow. On the screen, Mark sat in his dimly lit office. A half-empty glass of liquid glinting beside his keyboard. He was a new acquisition, one who had paid a premium for my undivided attention, but he was already failing the test.

“Good evening, Mark,” I said. He looked at the screen. His pupils were dilated and his face flushed with the telltale heat of a drinking problem. “Stella,” he slurred. “You look…um, I…I want you to dominate me.” I didn’t smile. Instead, I let the silence stretch until the air in his room felt heavy enough to scare him a little. “Stop,” I commanded, as I watched him jack his cock under his desk.

Continue reading “Mark learned the hard way”

Lost Subs on X

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The first one caught my eye at 2 am. A tweet that read, “I’m lost. Need a hand to hold.” The author’s thin‑lined profile picture was of a man with a half‑smile, signed with his handle @MourningMoth. I replied, not with a greeting but with a command. “Close your eyes. Breathe. Count to three, then type ‘ready’.” The reply came instantly. They usually do.

From there, the dance began. I instructed him to write down his limits, his safe words, and the things that made the darkness feel comfortable. He obeyed and explained that each line he typed was a confession he could not make to anyone else. Of course it was! lol

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My Pretty Sissy

Kara 1-844-332-2639 ext 306

There is just something about dressing up a sissy boy that delights me. I guess all girls loved to play dress up, but dressing up as sissies is so much more fun. Surely I could play in my closet, trying on all the sexy dresses and heels I’ve acquired, but I’d rather dress up my sissy boy. He gets so excited when I call him over because he already knows what to expect. Today was slightly different, but I’ve decided to surprise him once I’ve dressed him all up.

 

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Danika * (844) 332-2639 x 466

There is something inherently sexy about spring. The sun revives us, the earth itself working to become fertile; plants and birds alike come to life. There are numerous texts throughout history that speak of fertility rituals across every culture. I would like to focus on a particular work that is fueling my current fantasies. The Histories by Herodotus speaks of Sacred Sex Temples in Mesopotamia. At the start of spring, it is said that women would go to these sacred temples and wait until a man offered her money in exchange for access to her body. He would then fuck her in the sacred temples as an offering to the goddess Inanna.

I can’t even begin to tell you how wet it makes my panties, how much I want to touch myself at the thought of offering myself to a stranger in a Sacred Sex Temple.

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Puppet Master

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The only light in my apartment is a single bulb swinging from a loose cord. Puppet, my nickname for the man who walks the line between devotion and dread, is already waiting in my living room with his shoulders hunched as if he’s bracing for a storm he cannot see. His eyes remain fixed on the floorboards and I can hear his breath. It sounds shallow, like the rhythm of a heart that beats faster when it knows it is being watched.

“Stella,” he whispers, trembling. I smile and he flinches. The movement is tiny, but enough to tell me he is listening. The rules between us are more of a contract that’s etched in ink and fear. Obey, or the consequences will be more than a bruised ego. He knows the price of disobedience. Exile, humiliation, the kind of silence that follows you into the night.

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Weak and Fragile

weak fragileAnna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Mistress Anna was waitressing at the casino again, when she noticed a weak, fragile soul. He was sitting by the bar looking fragile. She crept up to him and tippy toed her fingers alongside his back, startling him.

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The night I first saw my new little sissy girl, Chrissy, she was perched on a cracked stool with her legs crossed so tightly that she seemed to be holding herself together with nothing but sheer will. Her hair was a clumsy knot of pink and violet extensions and her makeup was more of an attempt than it was a success. She had thick eyeliner that drooped, lipstick that was smeared, and her blush was in all of the wrong places. Her too‑small dress clung to her body like a second skin. She was, indeed, a bit of a hot mess.

We got to talking and she nervously asked me the magic question that all of my sissy girls eventually ask. “Do you think you could help me become beautiful?” There was something raw in the way she asked, though. She was very clearly yearning to be seen by a different kind of audience. She wanted not just beauty, but the kind of beauty that opened doors. The kind that turned the heads of men whose pockets were fatter than their morals.

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Spring Fever

Danika * (844) 332-2639 x 466

Welcome back to another moment in time, where I walk you down a delicious historical path. Today I stepped out onto my balcony that faces a beautiful forest. The trees are starting to liven up; the Bluebells are sprouting in the field. The fragrance in the air and the warmth on my skin took me to a more…seductive place. Goosebumps covered my skin, and my nipples became hard. Beginning in the 1800’s they called it Spring Fever, a euphemism for getting turned on once the sun came out.

This was a time when everything became fertile. When the world warms up, people begin to look at each other differently. Less clothing also means our eyes get to wander and take in the exposed flesh before us. Which is something I particularly enjoy. I have to admit, I am a sucker for nice legs, toned backs, and hard dicks. Winter was especially brutal this year and I have a bad case of Spring Fever.

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