Milan 844-33CANDY Ext. 398
Barely legal sex is way too much fun! Especially, when you can find a very good girl who likes to do very bad things. The type of girl who always follows directions, so when you tell her to get down on her knees in front of you, she’s down before she can even give it a second thought. The type of girl that you only have to teach once, before she’s swallowing you whole with her eyes screwed shut and spit dripping down her chin.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
“Hey, Mom,” my son announced as he walked into my bedroom. “I wanna know why you’re fucking the neighbor instead of Dad.” He looked at me, smirking, as if he was in full control of the situation. I sat on the bed and cleared my throat. “Honey, your father hasn’t touched me in years. Stay out of it, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into…” He shook his head and laughed, almost manically. “No, Mom. Tell me WHY…or else, I’ll tell Dad what you did.” I gasped. “Oh no, you won’t!”
He mocked me, suggesting that the only way to keep him silent was to give him a reason not to tattle to his father. So, I did what any respectable mother would do. I seduced him. “How do you know I fucked the neighbor?” I asked, as I unbuttoned the first few inches of my blouse. He looked me straight in the eye and said “I watched.”
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.
Little Rachel 1*844*332*2639 Ext 457
Our spring break at the coast was wild from the start but it kept getting crazier as it went. My friends were out of control from the beginning. They were hooking up left and right. I was just looking for a Daddy. But all I could see was a bunch of teenagers. And that’s when one of them caught my eye. He was standing on the beach with a group of friends. His long dark brown bangs were swept to one side. And his confidence and charisma gave me older man vibes. I could tell that he was different from most boys his age. There was a maturity about him that stood out. There was something about him that had my heart pounding and my pussy dripping. When he said “hi”, I almost melted. We ended up sitting on the beach and talking for hours. He was so intelligent. I just liked hearing him talk. And he was so funny. He made me laugh so hard. But I knew we only had one night together. He was leaving the next day. Not only was he going to school in another state, but he was an exchange student from The Netherlands.
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.”
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.
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.
Kara 1844-332-2639 ext 306
Christine 1844-332-2639 ext 468
I have a secret, and I’m finally ready to share it.
My family and the people in my small town think I’m this sweet, innocent southern belle—the kind of girl they’re proud of, the one who smiles politely and keeps everything proper. To them, I’m still that untouched, well-behaved girl they’ve always believed I am.
But deep down, I know there’s more to me than that. Continue reading “A Southern Secret: Curiosity Behind the Sweet Smile”