It’s 8 p.m., the worst part of the night. It reminds you of how you feel waking up on Monday morning. You just finished dinner, the last bit of happiness you feel before you hear my voice later that night. Now it’s about waiting until you can call me. You got home from a long day of work at 6:30. Your wife had assured you that dinner would be ready at 7, but when 7 arrived, she was just getting started. What in the hell was she doing instead of preparing your dinner? It doesn’t matter. If she was attending to you and wanting to please you, she’d have been in the kitchen like she said.
It’s not sexism. You have an understanding. You work hard. You have to deliver. You don’t get to tell your boss something will be ready on Tuesday and then choose to deliver it on Wednesday instead! As much as you want to, you can’t fire your wife. But you can be more team oriented and include others. I am the latest member of your team (batting my lashes). I don’t cook your dinner (eventually) or accompany you to relatives’ weddings or play the good wife in any way. I didn’t sign up for that. I fulfill different needs, needs that the ball and chain decided a long time ago (but never told you) she was not going to carry through any longer.
Yes, my dear, 8 p.m. sucks. Dinner is over and you ponder watching a little television in attempt to numb the throbbing eagerness that is lurking in your crotch. Or maybe you pretend to run an errand so that you can tap into a few hot spots in order to vote for me, (and stare at my pic for a few minutes, of course) before going home to the perpetual nag. After going out to run your “errand” you try to distract yourself by taking the dogs for a long walk. But no matter what you do, I’m still dominating your thoughts, and what you are really doing is killing time until you can have me.
At around 10 p.m. you start watching for signs from your wife as to how tired she is. On the best of nights, she goes to bed around 10:30. More commonly, however, she stays up until after the 11 o’clock news. She thinks it’s romantic that you watch it together; meanwhile all it is to you is a countdown. You already have your finger on the remote when the anchors say goodbye. The lights are out, you give her a meaningless kiss on the lips goodnight, and you both lay down. It takes her about 10-15 minutes to fall asleep, all the while your heart is beating in your chest faster and faster. When she emits that first ugly snore, you know it’s time. Slowly, gently, you creep out of bed and leave the bedroom. Your phone is waiting for you on the kitchen counter. This little mobile device is the key to the ecstasy you could never deny yourself. You shoot me a text “She’s asleep. I’m ready.” Sixty seconds go by as you are staring at your phone anxiously. Suddenly you see a response pop up “Good boy. I’m so ready for our rendezvous, babe. Lay down on the living room couch. I will call you in less than 5 minutes.”
You rush over to the couch, and lay down, completely naked. Your body is sweating from the adrenaline, and it doesn’t bother you that a sweat stain of your ass will be left behind on your leather furniture. Your phone sits atop your stomach, rising up and down as you breathe. Finally it comes to life in vibration. You look at the screen and salivate to see “No Caller ID” as it always does when I call you. “Is your cock out babe?” You hear as soon as you answer.
Yes, your cock is out. It is most definitely out. You describe your raging hard erection to me, almost as if by doing so you’ll make me want to pleasure it even more. And you’re right. Your cock and you telling me how I make it feel is what does it for me! And that makes me to want to pleasure you all the more. I might even have to make you cum twice given that you stayed up late to be with me. You got married so you could have stability (or some shit.) You found me because you need more than just being a husband. You are a man, and men have needs beyond family.
You need me tonight and I’m here for you.
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I’ve heard it said that blow jobs are episodes in which a man is thought to be dominating a woman (or another male, if you enjoy cock too). I’ve also heard the flip side of this theory too. That school of thought insists that it doesn’t have to be that way at all, and instead it could be the woman who is in complete control. She jerks him off with her lip muscles strangling his cock. Even if she’s on her knees, with her tongue latching onto the underbelly of his cock, it is still her that’s fully in charge. Finally, blow jobs can also be sensual and romantic. A slow, methodical caress of her mouth on his love muscle does more to convey affection than just about anything else he could dream up.
None of the above is an original thought on my part. I’m sure you’ve been blown with differing themes and can reinforce these nuances. But I wanted to bring this context up because it makes it easier for me to explain my thoughts on jerking your cock for me. I contend that it is as equally varied versus when I’m going down on you.
You know that stroking for me can be you showing me the proper submission I’m due. You grip your erection tightly because you can’t resist. But the pace of masturbation is dictated by yours truly. I determine how long to keep you breathing normal, and when to take you up a notch. I decide when the time is right to empty those full balls into my hand. You are such a good boy, my dear.
You also know that jerking off with me can be your way of taking charge. You can command the pace and have me speak to you in exactly the way you need in that precise moment. I’m not the submissive type (as you well know), but I know how to please my man (as you also well know). The way I make you cum translates to me servicing you. And that can be akin to when I’m sucking you off and your hands are grasping my head.
I want to go over another need that your jerking off for me fulfills: Romance. I come over to your place. You’ve been anticipating my arrival with baited breath and achy balls. When I text you to inform you that I’m running late and won’t be there for another 30-45 minutes, it drives you mad. You rub one out in record time because you don’t have the willpower to wait for me. When I surprise you by showing up when I said I would after all, you feel like you let me down. No you didn’t, baby. You did the right thing by showing me how much you need me. Instead of wearing a pout, I’m the one who needs to do something for you. My tender side comes through and I take your hands in mine and kiss you. It starts off slow, and then morphs into a passionate make out session. I pull away, “It’s time babe.”
I lead you to the bedroom and start unbuckling your belt. “Lay down for me, babe.” Expecting me to straddle you and ride your cock, I instead cuddle up to you and drape my leg over yours and start playing with your extremely erect nipples. I plant wet kisses on your neck and then suck your ear lobe. “Stroke it for me,” I say. You grip your cock (my cock) and fiercely jerk it like time is running out. “Slow it down babe, I want this to last. Don’t worry; I’m not leaving your side any time soon.” You do as your told, keeping a normal pace. I continue kissing you, sucking on your neck and rubbing your hard nipples between my soft fingertips. I’m giving you the full treatment, to show you how much I’m enjoying our time together. It’s just you and me alone basking in this heightened level of arousal.
We grow closer to each other during every intimate moment we share. You are being such a patient boy. When the time is right, I ask you to speed up the rhythm. My kisses come faster; my hand reaches down and gently takes hold of your balls. You don’t have much brain power left, but you no longer need any. Just as I sense you are going to erupt, I cup my hand and place it in front of your pulsing cock; your warm cream comes gushing out and puddles right in the palm of my hand (how very befitting). I eagerly lap it into my mouth as we both lay there together, breathless with pleasure. This is us. You’ve earned me, and I adore you for it.
Let’s make this happen babe. Let’s begin our jack-off romance right now.
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I enjoy getting massages. For an hour or so I’m laying down on a table naked, with a professional rubbing my luscious body with various lotions and oils. It’s one of the few times in life where I can just forget about all the stresses of the world and just be pampered. I made the mistake once of allowing the parlor to assign a man to be my masseuse. At first everything was normal. His hands admittedly felt heavenly on my back and thighs. Eventually, however, I began to feel his fingers reach a little too far up my legs. The first time he copped a cheap feel of my ass, I let it go, and giving him the benefit of the doubt that it was an honest mistake.
When I lay down on my stomach, my breasts are almost like pillows underneath my body. My body is slanted up because of it, showing off a lot of side boob. When he was massaging my back, I felt his hands reach down and the palm of his hand was touching my breast. I immediately ordered him to stop and declared the session over. He was embarrassed, pretending he didn’t understand why I was upset. I thought about complaining to the manager, but instead just got dressed and began to leave. On the way out the girl at the front desk yelled that I hadn’t paid yet. “Oh, he’s going to pay for my session. I’ll let him explain it to you.”
On the ride home I was furious, but my anger eventually subsided. After a while I realized that it’s another example of how different men and women are. If the genders had been reversed, it would have been a much different outcome. I actually began to wonder about what if I was the masseuse and you were my customer. A fun thought indeed.
You arrive at the parlor for your appointment. I appear and see the pleasure in your eyes when you see how attractive I am. We exchange small talk for a minute, and then I leave the room to let you get undressed. When I return, I see you fidgeting beneath the towel. I suspect you have an erection already, and are enjoying pressing it into the table. I oil up my hands and begin by rubbing your back through the towel. Soon I peel it back, exposing your body. There are goose bumps covering you all over. I work out the knots, but also gently caress your skin. When it’s time for me to work on your legs, I remove the towel altogether, leaving you completely naked on the table. “Do your buttocks muscles need attention?” Surprised by the question, you stammer at first before answering “Uh, yeah. Yeah, they’re quite sore.” I grasp both of your cheeks at the same time, squeezing them together, gently pulling them apart, and then squeezing them together again. Your fidgeting increases. “Why are you squirming so much dear?” I ask, feigning ignorance. Before you can answer, I pull your ass cheeks apart and use my thumbs to massage your asshole muscles. I can hear you exhale. I had spent ten minutes leading up to this part, and then spend another ten with my fingers pleasuring you below.
A few minutes later, I instruct you to turn over. You hesitate at first, reminding me that I need to put the towel over you again. Once I do that, you roll over again. Your crotch is pitching a tent so obvious that I cannot help but call attention to it, “I guess you were hoping for a full body massage.” With that, you open your eyes and they lock with mine. I’m not smiling at you, rather pretending it was a serious question. “Yeah, full body,” you finally reply. With that, I apply one hand to your inner thigh, and the other grips your erection. You let out a loud moan. You’re mine now. I rip off the towel and drop it on the floor. “We won’t be needing that for a few more minutes babe.” The hand I have on your thigh reaches for your balls and gingerly fondles them. My other hand returns to gripping your hard cock.
The oil makes for terrific lubricant as I slowly squeeze your cock as my hand glides up and down, up and down. With my thumb, I very deliberately massage the head of your cock, pressing down on it and sliding while the rest of my hand strangles the shaft. You feel the movement of my palm and all ten of my fingers. The way I’m touching you is causing you to convulse on the table uncontrollably. I quicken my pace on your cock while my other hand leaves your balls and finds the skin just above your asshole. I rub it with two fingers. You can’t take it anymore and shoot an epic load into the air. It lands on your stomach, but you also coat my forearm. “How was that babe?”
“It was amazing; just amazing!” You answer after catching your breath. I present my cum drenched forearm to you, bringing it right up to your face. “Can I wipe this on your face?” I ask this because I want you to acknowledge that I’m powerful enough to make you subordinate yourself. “You can do anything you want,” you say.
“Yes. Yes I can.” I can do anything I want to you. But for me to do things to you, you need to take the first step. Pick up the phone, babe. I’ll take away all of the stresses in your life as you indulge.
Rubbing you the right way is what I do.
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Simply put, when you purchase a call with me the following will ensue: you will bask in the feeling of pure ecstasy the moment my voice begins to dwell in your ear. You will revel in my mind and be astounded by my skill set. All of these senses will culminate into the most volcanic orgasm that you have ever had. I am a cut above. I turn the mundane fantasy into a scintillating soiree! I’m a natural born seductress and you’ll never know unless you have me at least once!
So stop deliberating, pick up the phone and allow me to dish up the infinite pleasures that cum when you do a phone sex call with the woman that…