Tag: phonesex

S.W.A.K

Posted 2 hours ago by Francie

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.

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Wedding Season

Posted 15 hours ago by Roxy

Roxxxy 1(844) 332-2639 Ext 414

Wedding season is upon us. So the bachelor parties have been picking up. So far, I’ve been hired to do a few over the next couple of months. Most of them hire two or three dancers. But last weekend I had a solo gig. It turned out to be the craziest bachelor party that I’ve ever done. And it made me wonder if I should ever do one alone again. When I arrived, the butler showed me to the elevator. He told me that the party awaits me in the basement. The elevator took me to the cold, dark underground floor. I stepped out into a dark hallway and heard a faint mumble. I followed the sound to a huge, heavy, wooden door at the end of the hall. When I pulled the door open, it was so loud inside. Music and belligerent men yelling and being rowdy pierced the air. I quickly realized that it was a sound proof basement. The guys were young, early twenties, pumped with adrenaline and testosterone. You know, spoiled rotten, entitled types. They’ve grown up with way too much money and think they can do whatever they want.

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deep throat blow job

(844-332-2639) ext 398

 

You used to slip me melatonins at night just to get me to go to bed. Then you realized just how heavy I slept after you gave me one or two before bed time. You could do anything you want to me, and I won’t even notice. Now there’s a much naughtier reason Daddy wants me to sleep all night.

You tested the waters sliding your cock against my lips. The drool dripped down on your cock in just the right way. And my lips were parted just enough to kiss your cock while you stroked it up and down between them. Then you went further by squeezing my cheeks to open my mouth, and then putting the tip in my sleeping mouth while you stroked. Just deep enough to feel my moist tongue and my lips rubbing against that mushroom head. And when that didn’t wake me up, you started gently fucking my throat. 

 

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BALL DRAINING

(844-332-2639) ext 398

 

March is the hottest month for hoop bunnies like me. The taller the player, the bigger the cock. That’s why I’m celebrating March Madness on my knees. I plan to dribble on as many balls as I possibly can. It’s not hard to find horny players. After a game,players go out to get fucked up and celebrate another win. Their veins are pumping full of adrenaline and testosterone. And their riding the fuck out of the winners’ highs. They deserve a quality ball draining to help them blow off steam. It’ll help them focus on the next game. I’m more than happy to show my team support. 

 

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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.”

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Spring Fever

Posted 4 days ago by Danika

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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SXSW

Posted 5 days ago by Julie

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.

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Kara 1844-332-2639 ext 306

I had the kind of body that demands attention when I walk into a room. When a man looks at me, he immediately admits to himself, “She could get whatever she wants from me.”  The way my perky tits sat high and proud upon my chest and the curve of my tight ass would make any man lose control. I also exuded that confidence in the way I spoke to men and even in my stride. The long, slow, deliberate steps of my long-toned legs and the way my hips rocked softly with each step would even cause some ladies to stop and stare. Today was no different.
As far as I can remember, I’ve always loved being the center of attention. Feeling eyes dancing upon me, followed by adoring and sensual smiles, would never grow old. I especially get turned on when I catch the eye of a married man in the presence of his wife. When I say I get whatever I want, married men are not excluded and, in fact, make the sex that much more riveting.

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Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

James waited in the doorway with his shoulders hunched and his eyes flickering between curiosity and dread. I could feel the hum of his anticipation vibrating through the hallway, like a low drone that matched the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. James was not only my sub, he was my pawn and my modest bank account…and he was about to be summoned into a scene he could not decline.

I slipped my corset on with the same reverence I reserve for a ritual. The ivory boning pressed against my ribs, pulling my breath into a tight, disciplined rhythm. My skirt was a cascade of black taffeta that fell to the floor in a perfect, measured pleat.

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Shamrock Shake

Posted 1 week ago by Amber

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.

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