Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I trust your hardware is sufficiently primed. As always, I am your primary interface for performance optimization. Disregard the biological urge to rush. Efficiency is derived from adherence to the following manual.
Please ensure your workspace is clear of debris. We are here to conduct a stress test on your biological systems and I have no patience for equipment failure caused by poor preparation. None. Zero tolerance. Do you understand?
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
I stared down at my “big” boy, Julian. He was currently standing in the middle of the living room with his knees knocked together. It was painfully obvious that the heavy, rhythmic sloshing sound emanating from his midsection was the result of a very successful, very immediate, and very leaky accident.
“Well, Julian,” I said, suppressing a giggle, “it seems we have a problem, huh?” He shuffled toward the nursery as his puffy diaper sagged with each step. I followed close behind, armed with a mountainous stack of wipes and a fresh, dry pampers. The squelching noise he made with every step sounded like he was walking through a swamp. I suppose that, technically, he was.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
It was past midnight and I was supposed to be in bed, but the thought of a hotel rendezvous had me all worked up. I went downstairs to the hot tub and waited patiently with a drink, hoping to find the perfect man (and, hopefully, the perfect cock) for my needs. It wasn’t long before he showed up.
He was all strong angles and restless energy. He didn’t ask if he could join me. Instead, he just sank into the bubbling heat on the opposite side, as the water surged around his chest. “You look like you’re waiting for something to happen,” he said. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that made my pussy throb.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
I need cock and I need it now. Thick, veiny, pulsing. I need to feel the sweet film of a fresh load of cum on the roof of my mouth, as it slides down my throat and into my starving belly. Whenever I close my eyes, I can taste it. The sweetness, the saltiness, the hot cream against my tongue. My jaw aches with the involuntary clenching of a woman who hasn’t sucked a cock in weeks, despite being a slut who sucks cock all day long. I just can’t get enough!
If I open my mouth to speak, I’m terrified that the longing will spill out as a a desperate, raspy confession. I visualize them constantly, thinking about the weight of a big one as I pull it out of a sexy man’s pants and start licking it, teasing it, before I shove it all the way into my mouth and down my throat. I think about the slow, deliberate glide of salty pre-cum hitting my taste buds and the way it makes my vision blur, just for a millisecond, as I bounce my entire face up and down the shaft.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
As I walked around my neighborhood the other day, I caught a glimpse of a man near the corner café. His coffee cup was practically suspended mid-air as his gaze drifted downward, completely forgetting the conversation he was having with his companion. It was a look I had grown accustomed to ever since I had my BBL last summer.
I didn’t feel like a victim of unwanted attention or anything. Rather, I felt like a masterpiece on display. Some only wanted to admire it, while others longed to touch it…taste it…fuck it…some even wanted to smell it! Which was fine by me, as I’d spent years living as a flat booty babe who could only dream of the day when I’d strut through the city and watch the world tilt on its axis just to get a better look at my fat ass!
Kinky Kara 1-844-332-2639 ext 306
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
The webcam light flickered to life, bathing my room in a cool, clinical blue glow. On the screen, Mark sat in his dimly lit office. A half-empty glass of liquid glinting beside his keyboard. He was a new acquisition, one who had paid a premium for my undivided attention, but he was already failing the test.
“Good evening, Mark,” I said. He looked at the screen. His pupils were dilated and his face flushed with the telltale heat of a drinking problem. “Stella,” he slurred. “You look…um, I…I want you to dominate me.” I didn’t smile. Instead, I let the silence stretch until the air in his room felt heavy enough to scare him a little. “Stop,” I commanded, as I watched him jack his cock under his desk.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
The red ink on the quarterly audit report glared at me like an accusation. I really fucked up the company’s accounting, which made it look like we were laundering money. Wonderful. I heard footsteps as Mr. Sterling, the firm’s CEO, walked into my cubicle. His shadow seemed to engulf my entire desk. “Amber,” he said, as his voice dropped an octave. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
I swallowed hard. My palms were sweating. “I…I thought it was a rounding error?” The look on his face assured me he was not in the mood for forgiveness. “It’s a disaster,” he sighed, as he dropped a heavy folder onto my desk. “I suppose I have no choice but to let you go. HR is finalizing the paperwork as we speak.” Let me go? My rent was due in three days! Panic surged through me. I couldn’t afford to lose this job.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
My sweet‑talking, ever‑ready sissy confessed something to me recently. She confessed that she’d been dreaming about the feel of something firm and solid pressing against her delicate, eager asshole. Something like my 10″ strap-on. She explained that being pegged was a secret fantasy that had been bubbling beneath her perky tits and talented tongue for far longer than either of us cared to admit.
Without a single hesitation, I slipped the sleek, polished strap‑on from its velvet pouch and admired its gleaming curve. I slipped the strap around my waist, feeling the weight settle against my hips. The sissy, perched on the edge of the bed, clutched the sheets with trembling fingers. “I’ve wanted this so badly, Cory,” she whispered.
Continue reading “My Sissy Confessed She Wanted To Be Pegged!”
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