Tag: #yesmistressamber

ass eating

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

There’s just something about the way he eats my ass. He doesn’t actually EAT it. He just licks. Nibbles. Presses his mouth around my hole like he’s trying to hoover it. His tongue traces the entrance. His teeth graze the delicate skin. Not a bite. Never that. Not yet. But close. Close enough to make me shiver. Perhaps it’s warning. Or a promise. He calls it my peach. Says I taste just like one. Sugar and sun, with a secret tang underneath.

I hate that I like the word. Peach. He doesn’t say it in a sweet way. It sounds more like hunger. Like something clawing at the dark. The way his hands tighten on my hips when I arch toward him, wordless, desperate. The way his breath hitches as if he’s losing control, when in truth, I’m the one unraveling.

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cum sluts

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I’ve always liked the feeling of a day’s worth of grime sliding off me like a second skin. After a twelve‑hour shift, the world feels like a filthy hallway and there’s nothing better than a bath. Especially, when you’re full of sticky cum! This is why Zoey and I have developed a “bathing” ritual.

After work we meet at the dim corner booth of the bar that never closes. “Another night, another cleaning,” she says with a grin. We both know what that means. We’re not looking for a house‑keeper. We want someone who knows their way around a woman’s body. That’s when we notice the bartender, Hugo.

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abdl

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Davey always had a telltale sign that his cock was getting hard inside of his crinkly, padded diaper. He didn’t even try to hide it. Why would he? I was his muse. “Mama…” he whispered, as his sweet voice trembled on the other end of the phone. “Can we…um, can we have some family fun together? You know how much I love that!”

I tilted my head, playfully feigning thought. “Hmm…are you sure you’ve earned it, Davey?” His eyes widened as I reached for my phone on the nightstand. “Because if you’ve been a good boy for Mommy…” I unlocked it, opened the camera, and propped it on a little stand across from my rocking chair. “Then you can show how Mommy how nicely you edge yourself for her.”

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Christmas

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

There I was, tied to a kitchen chair on Christmas Eve, while Father Murphy chanted Latin over a spray bottle of sacred water. My aunt snapped her fingers near my face, trying to “jolt the demon out,” while my mother sobbed in the hallway.

It all started when I’d panicked and screamed, “I see the Ghost of Christmas Past!” at dinner after seeing my ex-boyfriend’s photo in a social media ad. Now, my Grandma insisted I was possessed by one of Scrooge’s Christmas ghosts.

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