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
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
J’s eyes flickered between my confident grin and Kayla’s confident stare. “Tell us what you want,” Kayla whispered. I could see a little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. J swallowed, nervously. “I…um, want you to make weird sounds with your voices,” he said, in his deep boy voice. “And make me wear nipple clamps!”
Kayla and I looked at each other. “Weird sounds, huh?” I asked, with one eyebrow raised. “Maybe if you stopped using that awful boy voice and let Josie beg us for it, we’d be more willing to do as you wish…” Kayla tilted her head and leaned in, just barely touching J’s ear with her glossy red lips. “Yeah…maybe if Josie begged us for it…”
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.
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.
Danika * (844) 332-2639 x 466
My mother recently got married to a very handsome, very wealthy man. Ever since he joined our house, I have taken pride in being The Good Stepdaughter. Every chance I can get to be closer to him, and learn more about him, I jump on. Hopefully all of these steps I am taking will make it so I can jump on him. I’ve even started taking on chores I normally wouldn’t, all so I can get a chance to catch him in a private moment.
This wish was granted to me just this morning, dear diary, and it happened just being The Good Stepdaughter I am. I heard my new daddy start the shower, and I knew no one else was home, so I ran to my bedroom to put on a tight shirt and short-shorts, perfect for cleaning bathrooms without looking terribly suspicious. Quickly gathering the cleaning supplies I needed, I went to the bathroom located in the master bedroom. My heart was pounding in my chest as I got closer. I couldn’t believe I was about to go through with this.
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.
Avery 1-844-332-2639 ext. 228
Anyone who claims they don’t love their daddy’s dick is a total liar. I’m a full-fledged daddy’s girl, and I have been for as long as I can remember. He loves it when I get really dirty with him because I always make sure I please him before myself.
My daddy’s dick is the first one I ever had and the one I still crave the most. We have a lot of hot daddies here at Tomsin too. Especially dominant ones, which are my favourite. I feel so loved with them because when I take care of their cocks, they take care of me in return. They even give me hot toys and make sure that I always have the best time with them, as long as I stay in line. I always do because I love being a good girl.
Continue reading “I Can’t Get Enough Of Daddy’s Dick”
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.”