Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203
Miss Anna took a job as a stewardess. She figured she could make some extra money and travel for free. She would flirt with any hot passenger she could find, until one day she was paired up with a really hot pilot. He was young, handsome, and new at his job. She made sure to wink at him and brush up against him any chance she got.
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
Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453
“Let’s go to the rodeo, Julie!” A friend was visiting from out of state and had always wanted to go to the rodeo. She couldn’t believe that I had never been. It just wasn’t my thing. I didn’t even own a real pair of cowboy boots. But she wasn’t having it. She took me to a cowboy boot store that was a giant warehouse. There were rows and rows of cowboy boots as far as my eyes could see. It was so overwhelming. But before I knew it, I was high on the leather perfumed air. And all of the different styles, colors, and patterns were getting me so excited. But then I saw the ones. I knew the moment I laid eyes on them that I had to have them. And I got so turned on when I put them on. All of a sudden, the thought of going to the rodeo was quite arousing.
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.
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.
xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208
Do you remember when you started writing your first love notes? How you’d spill your secrets with ink, confident no one but the intended eyes would read them. Did you scribble “S.W.A.K” on the back, or was that something just girls did? Do you remember what it stood for?
Sealed with a kiss. Your confession of love and lust may have been sealed with a press of your lips to the envelope, but I hate to tell you the girl you sent it with shared your words. Even then, you were nothing but a laughing stock to women.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
I was walking home from the downtown farmer’s market, when the first drops of spring rain began to tap rhythmically on the cobblestones. I could feel the coolness seep into my shoes, making each step feel a little more risky in my high heels. As I pulled my oversized cardigan tighter, I caught a glimpse of someone else hurrying to seek shelter under the busted awning of a little café. His grin was half‑hidden by the brim of a drenched baseball cap. As I approached to take shelter myself, I thought, “Well, this could get interesting.”
He was taller than I expected, with a mop of dark curls that stuck to his forehead and mischievous eyes that seemed to laugh even before he said a word. I followed him inside and our shoulders brushed as we squeezed through the doorway. We ordered two steaming mugs of chai. “You know,” he murmured, “rain has a way of making people do reckless things.” I chuckled and replied, “Then let’s be reckless together.”
Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453
SXSW is an annual film and music festival that draws lots of celebrities, musicians, and others in the film and tv industry. It’s always a great time. But this year was absolutely amazing. My agent called out of the blue and told me that there was a well known, local jazz musician that needed a dancer for an event at a swanky venue. I was hesitant but she told me that he had asked for me specifically. So how on earth could I turn him down? I couldn’t. So I agreed to do it.
But I hadn’t anticipated being so attracted to him. He was very tall, very dark, and very handsome. He was older, which is my weakness. And so suave and charismatic. My heart melted and dripped out of my pussy when he looked me in the eyes and gently kissed my hand. I almost fainted when he whispered in his very deep voice “Hello Julie, it’s my honor to finally meet you”. Forget big dick energy. This man had massive cock energy.
We had intensely magnetic energy. The show could not have gone better. The audience kept growing and seemed to love the performance.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
When my boss announced that the downtown bar was hosting a St. Patrick’s Day fundraiser, I knew I had to give the crowd a little “Shamrock Shake” they’d never forget. The bar was drenched in emerald streamers, neon shamrocks flickering on the walls, and a DJ who seemed to think traditional Irish drinking songs were instructional dance tracks.
I slipped into the backstage area, where a gaudy green curtain separated me from the stage. I’d packed a modest wardrobe. A glittery emerald leotard, a pair of fishnet stockings that had seen more karaoke nights than a nightclub, and a tiny top hat that said “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” on the front. I also had a bottle of mint‑scented body spray that smelled like a julep and a fresh lawn.
Rachel 1*844*332*2639 Ext 457
I’m so glad that we decided to drive to the coast for spring break. Not only because a road trip is fun, but the airports have been a complete disaster lately. I’ve been looking forward to this girls’ trip with my besties for so long. And the credit card in my name that Brent promised came right in time for the trip. He told me to use it as I wish, to take my friends out to eat, go on shopping sprees, whatever I want. So we were taking our time. Stopping to shop and eat along the way. I thought I had been extra horny because of spring fever lately. But that’s nothing compared to my friends. They have so much pent up energy to get out. I think school has been really stressful for all of us. They haven’t gotten enough dick lately. Lol. So this was a much needed getaway. I just hadn’t anticipated how out of control they were going to be. Everywhere we went, they were flirting with all of the boys. A couple of them even hooked up with a few along the way. We are such little sluts. Barely legal, tight, teen sluts.