Tag: phonesex

cock

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I love weiners. Cocks, penises, la queue. Whatever the polite name is, or the dirty one, the object remains the same. For me, it is the center of the world. It’s not just a casual interest; it is an obsession. I remember once, walking through the grocery store. List in hand, I paused in front of the thick packaged sausages. My friend, Élise, was with me. She asked, “Stella, why are you staring at the food?”

I didn’t answer right away because I was too busy looking at the weiners. It sounds silly, I know. A girl obsessed with hot dogs. But they remind me of big, fat, juicy cocks. My stomach was hungry, but that had nothing to do with lunch. This need is so intense! When I see a man, really see him, my eyes skip the face and I ignore the clothes. They go straight to the center of his pants, imagining the veins, the rough heat under there just waiting to fill up a girl like me. It’s an instant turn on!

Continue reading “I love weiners and weiners love me!” →

orgy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The invitation arrived via a text message that simply read: “My place in the woods, massive shower. Five slots open. Thoughts?” I showed the message to Rita, who was admiring how cute the penis cookies she had just baked turned out. Rita didn’t even look up from her phone. “Julian’s place. Tonight. All of us. He wants a sexy shower,” she said with a smile as she handed a BBC cookie to Kayla.

Francie, stretching her legs and arching her back on the plush carpet, sighed dreamily. “Oh, sweet Julian. He’s always so ambitious. Obviously we’re going. But Kayla, you drive. I refuse to get pine needles in my new Mercedes.” Kayla laughed and rolled her eyes as I replied to Julian’s text with a “See you there!” and five wink emojis. One from each of us.

Continue reading “Sexy Shower Orgy Invitation” →

tits

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’m currently waiting for my date, Bryan, at this dimly lit, slightly too-loud bar, strategically wearing a top that says, “Yes, these are real, and yes, they require their own zip code,” because why hide the goods? Especially when I’m dealing with a titty connoisseur who specifically requested I wear something “supportive but revealing.” If there is one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I am not subtle.

Bryan finally walks in, and let me tell you, this guy doesn’t even bother with eye contact first! Which usually would be a giant red flag for me, but in his case, it’s more like a giant green, flashing signal advertising mutual appreciation for my, uh, “generous” proportions. I knew he was a dedicated breast man from our first phone call when he subtly (or perhaps not so subtly lol) kept dropping hints about “support systems” and his admiration for “natural architecture.” Seeing him now confirms every delightful, slightly unhinged rumor about his specific interests and the inevitable focus of our evening together.

Continue reading “Bryan Is A Breast Man” →

masturbation

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

It smells in here, like cheap drinks and a lot of dreams. I walked fast through the backstage hall and pushed open the door to my small dressing room. I needed privacy and quiet. But I needed something else, too.

On stage, I am bright lights and fast moves. My smile is for the money. But in this quiet room, the smile is just for me. I looked at the mirror. Glitter was everywhere. I started taking off my outfit. The velvet, the straps, the tight little things. Slowly. I like this part. Peeling off the layers and the feeling of myself, it comes back.

Continue reading “Backstage Masturbation Fun” →

diaper boy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I still remember the day I met Mark. Tall, dark, and diaper-clad. His pants were noticeably puffy in the crotch, and a wry smile played on his face as he introduced himself. As we struck up a conversation, the puff in his pants grew, revealing a telltale outline. Mark casually mentioned his “accidents” and how they’d been an issue his whole life. He explained that he wears diapers when he’s away from home as a “safety net” in case he wets himself. I was taken aback, but his charming self-assurance put me at ease.

Fast forward a few months, and there I was, the girl who carried diapers in her purse, because you never know when Mark might have an “oops” moment. We’d become quite the pair, giggling through public mishaps and turning nighttime wetting into a playful routine. After Mark’s morning shower, we’d drape him in a fresh diaper, then I’d stroke his cock as he came to the crinkly sound of my hand moving up and down his shaft inside his clean pampers.

Continue reading “Tall, dark, and diaper-clad.” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He was kneeling before me with his head bowed. Fear is a sound I understand intimately. It’s a language universally welcomed and accepted here. My gaze drifted down the line of my black pencil skirt, lingering on the whip on table beside me. “Look at me,” I commanded.

The sound of my voice broke the tension like a glass shattering. He flinched, then lifted his chin slowly and reluctantly. His eyes were a deep, unsettling blue, swimming with an emotion I recognized instantly. It was the terrifying beauty of surrender. He wasn’t looking at a person; he was looking at the weight of his own submission.

Continue reading “Fear is a sound I understand intimately” →

groupie

Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461

I leaned back against the peeling faux-leather sofa, nursing a flat ginger ale. My eyes weren’t fixed on any one person; they were sweeping, taking inventory of the faces that mattered. The ones leaning over the mixing board, the ones holding the actual contracts. My gaze skipped past the girlfriends, the wives, the stable ones. They were wallpaper.

I live for the proximity. I don’t care about the music, not really. When you’re standing next to someone who is currently being applauded, some of that heat spills onto you. I care about the glow. For a few hours, I’m not just so-and-so from nowhere; I’m Jamie who was with HIM. It’s a borrowed shine, and I’m addicted to the reflection.

Continue reading “I Only Have Eyes For Him…Until I Don’t.” →

diaper sissy

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I adjusted my camera, ensuring my background was just as comforting and ‘mama-like’ as I hoped my presence was for her, eagerly anticipating the flood of color and giggles that was sure to follow as soon as the connection solidified between us across the miles.

As the screen flickered to life, she appeared, a vibrant burst of color against her soft pastel bedroom wall. “Mama! Look!” she squealed, twirling clumsily to show off her latest carefully curated ensemble. It was a concoction of pure joy and imagination. She wore a rainbow-striped onesie, complete with little ruffles on the shoulders and a convenient snap crotch, layered over a soft, slightly bulky pull-up.

Continue reading “Diaper Sissy On Camera” →

Aynsley 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 459

I’m a 20-year-old girlie with a wild side who’s always ready to spice things up. And let me tell you, my college pussy is as tight as they come. I mean, I’ve been told it’s like a vice grip down there. Not to brag or anything.

One day, I was walking back from the library, lost in thought about some lecture I had just attended on the Renaissance. Suddenly, a cute guy from my biology class, Max, caught my eye. He smirked and asked if I wanted to grab a coffee. What began as a friendly chat turned flirty and raunchy pretty quickly. So we decided to head back to my dorm.

Continue reading “Tight, College Pussy” →

feet

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I knew what Daddy wanted. There’s only one thing that always brought that soft, knowing smile to his lips. Especially because Mommy hated it more than anything else in the world! No shoes, never shoes for this. Daddy told me I had to go to my closet and throw all of my shoes in the trash. I walked barefoot through the garden, deliberately, slowly. Across the freshly turned earth where Daddy had planted his roses, so that my soles were black and soil hid between my toes.

When I stepped back into the kitchen, I walked directly to Daddy, standing between his spread knees as he sat in his worn armchair. I extended my feet, crusted with garden debris. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he slowly, deliberately, picked up my ankle and lowered his head. His tongue was warm, sweeping away the grit, the soil, the evidence of my outdoor adventure.

Continue reading “I knew what Daddy wanted.” →