Sabrina in Stockings.

Do you know her? Have you talked with her? If not…why not? She writes (oh, man, does she write):

Smells Like Vanilla

I want. 

I’m pressing down against my office chair right now and bouncing up and down a little, just rocking back on my hips and thighs. It feels like all I am is warm, wet, and hungry and all of that is just melting out of my body through my throbbing pink cunt. Another hour like this and I’ll be in that state where I’m ready to bend over my desk, spread my legs apart, thrust my ass out like a bitch in heat and grind my aching clit against the edge of the desktop. I’ll growl, I’ll whimper, I’ll beg to get fucked. 

I have class in two hours. I have to go sit in a room filled with people, potential warm slippery bodies against mine, all night long. The work is boring and repetitive – exactly the kind of stuff that makes my mind wander to more interesting topics, like which of the objects in the room would be best to impale that pretty little blonde with … 

I can’t think when I’m like this. 

I wonder if any of them read this. I wonder if the guys and girls behind me will be able to smell how wet my panties are. 

They probably will. 

The thought humiliates me and makes me wetter at the same time. 

I’m tugging the crotch of my satin thong up between the lips of my pussy. It slides easily and I just know the slippery evidence will be visible on the black satin hours later. 

I have an old pair of pantyhose. Black. Matte, sheer-to-waist and ripe for ripping. I can’t decide if I want to put them on, feel how smooth the nylon is against my legs, run my short nails over the seam (pressing it right against my clit) and then rip out the crotch and fingerfuck myself through the hole, or if I want to wad up one of the legs and force it inch by inch balled up into my pussy. It would be lumpy, unless I twisted it just right. It would push out my walls at angles I couldn’t predict until the nylon was there, compressing just enough not to hurt me but rough-edged enough to feel very interesting indeed. 

Right now I’m not just wet but slick. The nylon wouldn’t absorb so much as get coated in my juices. Gods, I want to come. I’m riding the edge of my panties that got pushed up against the inner lips of my pussy, just enough to tease me but not give me enough of what I need to send me over. I lean back … the silky smooth satin shifts back and forth across my ass, right there, and it’s driving me crazy. I need more … Two fingers go to my lips, then three, and it’s your cock muffling my moans, my lips wrapped tight around my knuckles… tight around the base of your cock. My tongue flicks out to tease the head of your cock, running around the ridge, teasing that sensitive spot right and the underside, and I suck right there. My panties are starting to leak. I’m shaking, but not enough … not yet. 

My cunt actually hurts, I need to come so badly. I need to make this hard and fast. Hands off the keyboard now – I need something more inside me than just the edge of my panties. Two fingers go to my lips, circling, before pushing in and kicking back and forth, teasing right at the back… harder, then nothing, then more, more, more. 

I don’t think I screamed but I damn well made noise. 

It’s a blur, my panties are askew, my hair is mussed and I’m realizing I actually do need a job where it’s okay to go lie down for a minute and have five mini-orgasms one after the other until I can stop feeling like a hole that needs to be fucked and start feeling like a person again. I’m wondering if there’s someone out there this is enough for, instead of too much. I’m wondering why the hell my fingers always smell and taste like vanilla musk, afterward. I mean really … vanilla?

You can read the original story here.

Then call her.

xo, Angela

You tell me: What, jeet swesus, does that mean?

Everytime I see a PSO advertising all fantasies welcome or taboo specialist or dirty, nasty roleplay, then following it with the qualifier, nothing illegal, I wonder to myself, just what-in-the-fuck does she mean by that???

Since when was anything somebody might want to talk about illegal? At least not yet. And we better hope it never comes to that, because it is everyone’s freedoms that will be fucked with…not just the ones that sexual snobgoblins hypocritically deem morally beyond the pale (their pale, of course–because that’s all that matters).

Does anybody else see the irony in a girl presenting pictures of herself in pigtails and pleated skirts–sometimes even holding a teddy bear–and refusing to do age-play fantasies because they are “sick and twisted and illegal?” And does anybody even get the difference between fantasy and reality?

The PSO industry is a small part of a small adult demographic which exists in a big wide world with many historical examples of small-minded moralists really causing harm, even death in some cases. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be crying crucify him or burn the witch or here’s the jew or hang the black bastard in another time and place, if you think it’s ok to judge and legislate fantasy. Cuz I just won’t believe it.

I wrote this for my dirty little stories blog, Blistered Lips and thought you might like a gander.

She is watching you. You feel her eyes, lasers watching every move, every nuance, even the breaths you take. Yes, you paid her for this. To be here, to make you do this. But she is enjoying it. She likes her work. She likes making you do this dirty deed. This realization excites you.

You are on your knees in an alley off Garfield street. Not a very nice neighborhood. You can hear the music, the noise of the crowd from the biker bar on the corner. “Soon they will come,” she says. The gravel crunches as she moves closer, cupping your chin, pulling your face up to look at her. She studies you, stares into your eyes, her mouth a twist of a smile and a sneer.

“What do you say?”

You heart quickens in your chest. You know what she wants to hear. You swallow. You aren’t quick enough. She slaps you. Slaps you hard with her leather gloved fingers.

“Say it, you dirty, fucking, piece of shit scumbag.”

“I am a cunt-fag, Sir. Use me.”

“That’s more like it. And I expect you to say it every time. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She starts to raise her hand and this time you know better. “Yes, Mistress.”

You think of the hotel room on the other side of town. The business conference you spoke at this afternoon. The wife. The three children. The birthday dinner at your in-laws last week. Your woodshop. I’m a normal guy, you think to yourself. With a normal life, a good life, a happy life. Yet, here you are on your knees when two guys stumble out from the bar and turn into the alley.

You watch them wallking towards you, leather vests, tight jeans. One of them, the one with the beard, is already unzipping his pants.

Echo, Mistress Echo, grabs your shoulder.

“Here comes dinner,” she says tightening her grip. “Now lets get busy.”

I speak of Kat, the erudite and sexy Femme Fatale that is on her way to PhoneSex stardom. But let her tell you herself. From her intro at her classy website, Stocking Affair:

“If you think that phone sex is limited to those late night ads and moaning, allow me to shift your paradigm and remove your tie. I am a 100 percent independent phone entertainer, with no acting, corporate affiliation, or ability to fake being anything other than my lusty, carnal, and overeducated self. If you lust after nerds, pushy academics, cute girls in glasses, sexual controllers with a classy kinky streak, this might be the place.”

“…allow me to shift your paradigm and remove your tie.” Don’t you just love it? When you read something so very sexy and well-written, can you have any doubt that this is a woman to be reckoned with? And don’t your knees just wobble at the thought of her wrapping all of the intelligent sensuality around you? I’m almost tempted to call her, myself.

If you like me (and I know you do), Kat is definitely someone you should be checking out. This is one sharp cookie as you will discover for yourself when reading her divinely erotic stories and always informative and insightful blog, Little Indescretions. I am smitten with this woman. And I am sure you will be, too.

Before you go, get yourself a drink and a smoke. Then relax and enjoy all that Kat has to offer. By the time you’ve nosed and peeked and luxuriated in all that steamy verbiage, you should be rock-hard and ready to give her a call.

Well, what are you waiting for? Get on over there and wallow in the meanderings and musings of the amazing, gorgeous and brilliant Kat.

Then PICK UP THAT PHONE AND DIAL!

You know you want to.

If you’re the type who craves to be pussy-whipped by a hot, young, hard-bodied princess, have I got a girl for you! Princess Crissy of Pussy Denied is truly a princess among wanna-be royalty.

I’ve done three-way calls with her and was in absolute awe of her ability to cut a man down to size. With the voice of an angel, the pubescent body of a teenage succubus and absolutely the cruelest of intentions, Princess Crissy ( aka Fiesty Sassy Lil Brat ) is one powerful little package of dynamite.

When you tangle with Crissy, you are in for the ride of your life. She happens to be one of the best (if not THE BEST) humiliatrixes on the Net today and will deliver Grade A+ devastation. You will drool, ache, beg, plead and possibly even cry.

And, because she controls you with such charismatic grace and sensual authority, you will love every minute of it. She might even let you cum.

But she might not.

Call her soon. And tell her Angela sent you.

***The rating you see at the beginning of this entry is a “CRISSY ORIGINAL.” Is she special or what? See why I love her?