vampire blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The old castle felt like a living thing, breathing secrets into the cold night air. I had come here, drawn by a feeling I couldn’t name. Not for beauty, but for something dark, ancient, and undeniably powerful. Candles flickered in the great hall, shadows dancing like hungry spirits. Then, he was there. Vlad. Not appearing, not entering, but simply there. Tall, a silhouette against the deeper gloom, his eyes ancient and knowing.

He moved towards me, silent. Almost as if he was floating above the ground. Every step he took tightened something deep inside me, a knot of fear and something far more interesting. My breath caught in my throat. He wore clothes dark as his soul, and a scent, like old earth and something wild, filled the air around him.

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abdl

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I should have known better than to trust a mischievous ABDL boy like Vincent, but mom guilt got the best of me. After all, he did look so pitiful with those big, round eyes, promising to behave if I let him play with my cloth diaper stash. Yeah, right. As soon as my back was turned, that little ABDL troublemaker sniffed out my most precious pieces and went to town. I caught him cheek-to-cheek in my baby powder, giggling like a lunatic and making a mess I’d have to clean up by myself – after I punished his bare bottom for his transgressions, that is!

I called him over to the changing table, where he immediately eyed the spanking bench, knowing exactly what was coming. But he didn’t even flinch when I positioned him, his bottom up and ready for mom’s discipline. “Vincent, you naughty boy! I should put you in time-out for life after this stunt,” I scolded, the words falling flat as he just smirked at me, his diaper-clad crotch wiggling with excitement.

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cock witch

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Men come to me, drawn by the currents of rumor and raw, aching need. They know my reputation, whispers of the witchy domme whose pleasure is a consuming flame, and whose displeasure…well, that’s where the real magic happens. I don’t suffer fools, nor do I suffer inadequacy. My appetites are vast, a cavernous hunger that few men can truly fill.

They always approach me the same way, these eager, trembling submissives, offering themselves, their bodies, their very essence, hoping to be the one to finally quench my thirst. These men, they know the risks. They sign an invisible pact with their hopeful eyes and bated breath: absolute surrender, absolute consent to my judgment.

Continue reading “The Whispers Are True”

CBT With Puppet

cbt

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Puppet, a man I barely knew, was insisting I watch him as he pleasured himself. The audacity! I had only met him a few days prior at a mutual friend’s dinner party. But there he was, undressing in front of me, his lustful eyes pleading for me to stay.

“What’s gotten into you, Puppet?” I asked, trying to sound firm despite the nervous flutter in my chest. “We just met. This isn’t appropriate.” But he was relentless. “Just this once, Stella. I promise I won’t ask again,” he whispered, his hands already working to free his erection. “Please, I need to cum. My wife will be home any minute and…and I can’t help myself.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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””