Tag: phonesex

family fun

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Jorge was an older gentleman, well into his twilight years, with a certain gravelly charm that always preceded the unexpected. Our conversations, though infrequent, consistently veered into territory most people would never even acknowledge, let alone openly discuss. When he stated that he has a “relationship” with his mother, it wasn’t simply a matter of familial affection or even the typical complexities that often tie adults to their aging parents.

No, the truth, as Jorge once laid out in a matter-of-fact tone, was that their bond had long transcended conventional boundaries. Jorge, as it turns out, liked to fuck his mother. It was a consensual arrangement, he emphasized, a shared intimacy that, while undeniably taboo for all the obvious societal and biological reasons, formed an undeniable, secret world known only to a precious few, myself included.

Continue reading “Jorge Has A Secret Girlfriend” →

cuckold

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I have a type. Specifically, I have two types. There’s Type A: The distinguished gentleman, preferably with a full head of silver hair, a penchant for single malt scotch, and a portfolio that could rival a small nation’s GDP. These men are wonderful conversationalists, masters of the five-star reservation, and possess a certain gravitas that only comes with decades of accrued wisdom (and even more accrued wealth). They also, almost without exception, have the libido of a particularly sluggish snail.

Then there’s Type B: The strapping twenty-something, all rippling abs, boundless energy, and an unshakeable belief that life is one long montage from a sports drink commercial. These men are less interested in discussing the nuances of global economics and more interested in, well, nuances. And by nuances, I mean anything that involves their cock.

Continue reading “Richard, The Silver Haired Cuck” →

glory hole blog

Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461

“You won’t believe the night I had, Jamie,” Randy’s voice crackled, already a little hoarse, buzzing with the afterglow of his nocturnal adventures. He was a creature of the shadows, and his stories were stained with the same grime. I sat at my kitchen table, the half-eaten remains of a microwave meal cooling in front of me. Randy, on the other hand, was sitting in his car, still slick with the memory of anonymous mouths and urgent hands.

“Got a new spot,” he continued, excitedly. “Back of the old cinema, you know the one? Dark. Perfect. There was this big guy, hairy hands. Didn’t even say a word, just went for it.” He launched into the details, the hot breath, the rough stubble, the frantic rhythm against the plywood partition. He painted the scene with such visceral honesty, I could almost smell the stale sex and the cheap cleaner.

Continue reading ““You won’t believe the night I had, Jamie”” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

“I love pussy hair Julie. It’s such a turn on. I love how it looks, how it feels, how it smells, how it tastes. It’s an addiction, a fetish. I just can’t get enough. But the problem is that these days so many women wax or shave their pussy hair. Or they get permanent hair removal. I don’t understand it. I know. To each their own. But I just don’t get this modern trend. I would love to go back to the seventies. Everyone had big, thick, musky bushes. I miss those good old days.” He confessed.

So I decided to give him what he had been needing and longing for. He told me that he hadn’t been able to enjoy pussy hair in so many years. His wife had gotten permanent hair removal several years ago, even though he had asked her not to. And his mistress gets waxed regularly. She wasn’t open to allowing it to grow out either. The poor guy just wanted to bury his face in a bush. I had a plan. I was going to grow some out for him. But it was going to be a surprise. So I didn’t tell him.

Continue reading ““I Love Pussy Hair Julie”” →

extra-terrestrial blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They say the oldest profession adapts to anything. Mon Dieu, they were not wrong. Here I am, French as a baguette, running my little ’boutique sensuelle’ on Rue St. Dennis in beautiful Montreal (sweet bebe, you thought I was Parisienne French, didn’t you?). The clients? Well, that’s where it gets…interesting. You see, most of them aren’t human. They’re not even from planet earth.

Take tonight. My appointment, a Xylorian (pronounced “Sy-lor-ee-anne”) named Gleep, looked like a particularly disgruntled pile of amethyst-colored jello. Four eye-stalks, all twitching. He’s from a species that primarily communicates via bioluminescent mucus, which, let me tell you, makes for some truly messy pillow talk. And the smell! Like fermented algae and existential dread, even with the station’s advanced atmospheric scrubbers. But, c’est la vie, Gleep pays in rare crystals, which are currently trending on the galactic market. He also (naturally) leave quite the trail of slime after he cums.

Continue reading ““the oldest profession adapts to anything”” →

sexy stepmom

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

My new husband was away on business, so it was just his son Johnny and I in the house for the next 2 weeks. I was looking for something to do, something that would help us feel closer, when it dawned on me. I should teach him how to sexually please a woman! So, I went to my bedroom and put on the sexiest pair of red lace panties and a matching bra, and then added a sheer red robe and black stripper heels. I put my hair up in a messy bun, as I didn’t want to tangle it. This could get wild.

Johnny gulped as I made my way down the stairs. He had been playing video games and was not expecting me to appear in such an outfit. I sat in front of him, on the coffee table, blocking his view of the television. Johnny sat up, looking me up and down as I crossed my legs. “You like what you see, Johnny?” I asked, looking him in the eye. He nodded eagerly as I slipped off my robe, revealing my lacy red bra. I could see the outline of his hard dick

Continue reading “Teaching My Stepson Johnny How To Please Me” →

voyeur ********* play story

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

“Jackson, you’ve been a very bad boy…” I purred into the microphone, my voice a low, seductive whisper. Jackson’s eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of my voice. He knew I was watching, but he didn’t know how. I could see the panic in his eyes. The fear of being caught! What a fantastic way to keep him in line, I thought to myself. No one likes a confident sub!

“On your knees, Jackson,” I commanded. He hesitated for a moment before looking towards the door where his wife was busy in the kitchen. “Now,” I added, my tone leaving no room for argument. He dropped to his knees, as his heart pounded in his chest. I could see it, the way his shirt moved with each beat, the way his breath hitched in his throat. I watched as he reached for his belt, his hands shaking as he undid the buckle.

Continue reading ““You’ve Been a Very Bad Boy, Jackson”” →

whore

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Ah, the whispers. They follow me, rustling through the market stalls, fluttering down cobbled streets. “La Française,” they hiss, as if my origin were a mark of evil itself. “That tramp. She’s a lady of the night, you know.” And then the little tittering laughs, like dry leaves moving across the pavement.

Me? I just tuck a rogue curl behind my ear, adjust the scarf I found near the canal – a surprisingly chic silk, mind you – and flash them a smile. A wide, toothy grin that usually makes them flinch. Because, mon chéri, they’re right. Every last word of it. They call me Stella. Or sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly brave and convinced of their own moral superiority, “that hussy.” I don’t mind. A name is a name, and a hussy, well, a hussy knows how to live.

Continue reading ““La Whore Française”” →

xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208

I posed, alone on stage in the darkness, waiting for the music to build. My heartbeat was pounding in my chest as the steps of my routine played over and over in my head. I’d practiced a thousand times, but this would be my first performance. I could hear the gravelly tones of men talking in hushed voices until the spotlight flicked over my body, making me the only thing visible in the room. Then, a hush fell over the crowd as the bright light above highlighted my luscious curves. The music swelled, and my hips swayed to the beat. Rhythmically. Hypnotically.

I faced the crowd expecting… I don’t know what. Horny men jerking off? Piles of cash being flung at my feet? I’m not sure what I expected, but darkness wasn’t it. My head bowed, chin tucked to my shoulder as I reached behind me to pull the strings of my top. The bodice floated to the floor, and cheers reached my ears. I wasn’t alone at all.

Continue reading “Alone On Stage” →

sissy

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

In the early days, before we truly peeled back the layers of each other, his fascination with my past was almost insatiable. It wasn’t a judgmental interrogation, but a soft, probing quest for intimacy, as if understanding my pussy’s history was the key to understanding me.

“Your First boyfriend. What was his name?” he’d ask, his voice a low hum against my ear as we lay tangled in sheets, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. I told him, a name I hadn’t thought of in years. He listened, rapt. Then, “How old were you when you fucked him for the first time?” His eyes searched mine, not for shock value, but for the story behind the number.

Continue reading “his fascination with my past” →