Everyone has their own private fantasy world...
The entries I write for you are an expansion of mine!
You stutter again, trying to maintain your composure in the face of the visual bomb I just dropped in your crotch.
“Come on Ashlee,” Michelle giggles. “I think you’ve tortured him enough.” You’re not sure if you’re pleased or upset over her trying to bring an end to this banter. But I’m undeterred.
“It’s not cheating to admit you want me,” I say. “Nor is it cheating to say you want to put your mouth on my tits.” With that, my hands cup both of my tits simultaneously, gently lifting them to show you how magnificent they are. “Well, I’ll admit it’s grey,” I continue, “but I don’t think it’s crossing the line into cheating. And I also think that if I pressed the issue, I could get you to touch them. That is of course if I was dancing on your lap.”Michelle rejoins the conversation, “But would you charge by the song Ashlee just to let him touch your tits?” The sweet torture of participating in this tempting conversation has you rubbing your cock against your leg with your wrist, pressing it as hard as you can.
“When I want to give a man a lap dance, I don’t look for money. So no, I wouldn’t charge him by the song or at all if what I wanted was for his hands to be on my tits. ”The waiter comes over with our check, abruptly ending the dialogue. You drive us all back to your place, your erection not subsiding even the tiniest bit. Michelle lights up a joint for the three of us and we talk for about 20-30 minutes, your mind racing from your thoughts about my body. I frequently look away to allow you to stare. Michelle announces she’s ready for bed, but I place my hand on your knee to indicate you should remain. I hug her goodnight, and she winks at you, inferring that she’s leaving for the purpose of giving us privacy.
“I don’t want your money, babe” I start when we’re alone. “I mean, I do want your money, in fact, I’d love for you to open your wallet for me eventually, but that’s not what I am looking for tonight.” You’re excited with anticipation of where this is going, but I linger a bit, relighting the joint that had gone out. After a few puffs, I pass it to you. “I want to give you a lap dance, and before you answer,” I stand up as I’m speaking and pull down my jeans, including my thong. I make myself comfortable on your lap. With my back to you, my ass starts grinding on your rigid bulge, I whisper, “Help me take off my top.” Off comes my camo tee.
Without any direction from me, your hands gently grip my sides. I put my hands over yours and direct them upwards until they reach my breasts. “Let’s get grey. This is not cheating, baby,” I tell you as I press your hands onto my bosom. You squeeze them while thrusting your cock upwards, hating the fact that you still have clothes on. I turn around and straddle you, lifting myself up a bit so that your eyes are level with my erect nipples. A little bounce of my body sends you into a ravenous state when you see the jiggle of my tits.
“I changed my mind, babe,” I say, looking down at your lust filled face as my index finger lifts your chin so our eyes meet. “Sucking my tits is cheating, but tasting my beautiful pussy is not!”
Be a good boy and call me, love. Tell me how the story ends.
To be continued (on the phone)…
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“So, a girl grinding her scrumptious ass into your crotch, fervently trying with vigor to bring you to the edge of cumming is not cheating?” I ask.
“Um no,” you reply in a slightly indignant manner.
“What if, while she was in pursuit of giving you the lap dance of your wildest dreams, she pulled down your zipper and took out your rock-hard cock, and brought it to her lips?” Michelle asked, joining in on the racy conversation. I knew just talking about this with us was feeding the bulge in your pants. Michelle knew it too.
“So,” I begin. “Does that cross the line? I mean what if it was at a bachelor party and you didn’t even ask for it? The stripper just offered to suck you off right then and there?”
You stutter momentarily, leading Michelle and me to smile and giggle at one another, loving what we were putting you through. Finally, you reply, “Well yeah, that would be cheating.”
“Well then, where do you draw the line? What constitutes cheating if a stripper dancing on your lap for cash is okay, but that same stripper takes it upon herself to bounce and grind a little harder with the intention to make you cum, is that really any different? Would you tell her to stop?”
You think for a moment, and then answer “Well no stripper is going to give me a free blow job. She might try to get me horny enough that I would agree to pay her for one, but what I’m saying is that, um, uh,” but the words are hard to find (pun intended). “I guess if you’re paying by the song—and no girl is going to give head for the price of a song that she lap dances to—then it’s okay. Because anything that is charged by the song is not going to be anything that would cross the line.”
“I see,” I respond. Michelle makes a facial expression that conveys agreement. But I’m not done by a long, hard shot! “So, what if I were dancing on your crotch and then I let you play with my tits, what then?”
You mull this over for a moment… “It’s a grey area. If we’re talking about squeezing your tits (I squeeze your knee as you say this), then I’d be inclined to say it’s okay. But—“
I push my finger to your lips to shush you, “But if it’s your mouth on them, sucking them, licking all over my hard nipples?”
“Well still grey, but then I’d be inclined to, uh, um, then I’d be inclined to say it’s cheating?”
“I see,” I respond. “So, if I offered to leave here and head back to your place, remove my top and bra and let you suck on my tits…” my voice drifts off. My hand gently rises to my right breast. You watch as I cup it through my tight tee and then squeeze. “…you would say No because that would be cheating?”
To be continued…
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Your wife is out of town for a few days when your old friend Michelle reaches out to you. You haven’t spoken to her in ages, your relationship with her is now relegated to looking at each other’s social media posts and maybe dropping an occasional comment to one another. The last time you spoke to her she was 31 years old, dancing for tips, and still doing the same free-spirited things you did when you were 20 and studying for final exams. She’s still very attractive; if you were single, you’d love to date her. But that wasn’t on the table back then, and now that you’re sentenced to marriage without parole, it’s not now either. However, now is when she is calling you…
Michelle and a friend of hers are going to be in town for an evening and she wants to know if you would let them crash for a night at your place. You’re a bit hesitant, as you know your wife would definitely not be down with it. But since you know that nothing is going to happen, you decide that what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and you agree to let them stay.
The day arrives and Michelle’s car pulls up two hours later than she said she would be arriving. You’re already a little ill at ease because not being prompt is vintage Michelle. But there’s no turning back now. She steps out of the car, which you see from your house window. You decide to let her ring the doorbell and let on that you’re staring outside when the passenger side door opens and out walks a buxom piece of ass that immediately ignites the engine in your balls.
As you come out to greet us, Michelle shouts out your name and runs towards you, throwing her arms around you. You stare at me walking behind her as the two of you embrace. “This is my friend, Ashlee,” she says. I just smile at you and extend my hand with a simple “Hello.” Michelle explains that we used to work together years ago.
We come inside and make small talk for a little while, Michelle noticing that your eyes are glued on me. She expected it and doesn’t seem to mind. Michelle looks great for her age but is not in the same league as me. After about 15 minutes she explains that they need to take off to take care of some business but assures you they’ll be back in time to go out for dinner. “That’d be great!” you exclaim, your mind racing with being able to spend time with us.
Later that night the three of us are eating dinner, enjoying our visit when Michelle taps me on the hand and motions towards the bar. I excuse myself and saunter into the bar and sit down next to a handsome well-dressed man wearing a wedding ring. Michelle explains to you that “Ashlee” loves the challenge of engaging a married man. She tells you that we used to have contests to see who could get an attached man to buy us a drink and ask for our number the fastest (yours truly won every time). Needless to say, the drinks were on Michelle for the remainder of the evening every single time we went out.
When I return to the table I ask, “So Michelle, did you explain to my new friend what I just did?” You love being called “my new friend,” but not as much as the wink and sexy smile I give you. From there I ask you if you’ve ever cheated on your wife like the guy at the bar just wanted to. You admit that you’ve thought about it but would never go through with it. “Not even a lap dance at a bachelor party?”
To this, you reply, “Well sure, but that’s not really cheating.”
To be continued…
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There are many ways to say, “I want you”. You can do it with protestations of love, of how you’d climb any mountain to be with me, swim any ocean, slay a thousand dragons. You can shower me with gifts and tell me how badly you want to strangle your cock when you hear my voice.
However, I hope you realize that I want you just as badly. I work my magic by summoning my innate powers of seduction in a way only you inspire. You’ve commented on how horny my voice gets you, and while it is naturally sexy, it’s only when I want you back that I intrinsically become turned on. I’ve been told many times that the cadence in my voice becomes undeniably hypnotic when my juices begin to flow; I believe this photo perfectly captures that I am confident I have you and have successfully conveyed how much I want you too.
They say love conquers all, but I think my power over you is something greater than that. We don’t have a word for it because you and I have an unspoken connection.
There’s an urgent need that moves through your body when you are craving phone sex with me.
In fact, you have that frenzied feeling right now.
Call me, I’ll empty your balls spectacularly.
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Not every Valentine’s Day is some incredibly magical experience where two people who are head over heels in love come together to indulge in a Cupid-inspired honeymoon episode. In fact, I’ll bet that the allure of all that we regard as special on this holiday originated as a way to sell greeting cards and get men to appreciate their wives before eventually evolving into a ploy to sell jewelry, expensive dinners, flowers, chocolate, and greeting cards.
All of the pressure is on you. Girls have pressure on them too, but it’s a different flavor of pressure. For us, it’s more about showing the other girls that we’re capable of having a good man on February 14th, one eager to shower you with diamonds and nights at the Ritz Carlton. Most girls know by Christmas time if they’re going to have a man who qualifies in the eyes of their social circle. That gives them ample time to mentally prepare for the excuses they tell their friends. If, however, they have a boyfriend or husband, then they have the luxury of just sitting back, making demands, and critiquing all of your efforts.
I’d like to change things around a bit for you this year. I’m not able to relieve you of the responsibility you were sentenced to of getting a dozen red roses for your wife just when the market sees prices increase, but what I can do is ensure that Valentine’s Day is not such a one-way street. Or perhaps the better way to think about it is that I will keep it a one-way street, but I can make it so that there will be two one-way streets, with the second being from me to you. I’m not asking you to take me to dinner. I’m not asking you to send me an overpriced, heart-shaped cardboard box of exotic chocolates (“fat pills” as I like to call them). The only thing I’m asking you to do is jerk that cock of yours for me.
It can work in any number of ways, so don’t take this next suggested vision as the only way we can make our experience happen. Imagine you wake up on Valentine’s Day morning. You kiss your wife and press your morning wood up against her. She issues a snore but then greets you, followed by pulling her leg away from your erection. “What are you doing,” she says. “You have to go to work.” You relent. “Remember, it’s Valentine’s Day,” she follows with.
Inside of all but 2-3 seconds she enjoyed your morning kiss, rejected you sexually, shooed you off to work, and then reminded you that you owe her gifts, adoration, and romance later. You go off to work, calling me on your commute. “Ashlee, I, um, uh— “
But I cut you off. “Happy Valentine’s Day babe,” I say with pleasure in my voice. It’s exactly what the doctor ordered. We conversed pleasantly for several minutes, and eventually, I asked if you want to do a call, but I understand the timing doesn’t work right now. I also understand you have dinner plans and are expected to perform afterward. “Might you want to call me after she’s been serviced and put to bed? Perhaps a little Valentine’s rendezvous of our own?”
Logistics are a challenge, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. You spend much of the morning thinking about me. When you get to the office you pull out your phone and read my latest blog again. Then you leave a comment both here and on my Guestbook. Then you check out my gallery and find yourself massaging your cock through your pants. With your hard cock in hand, you peruse the other pages on my site, your eyes drinking in the new hot photographs sprinkled around on the sidebar and below. You find yourself hard as a brick when you dial me again. “Ashlee, I’ll find a quiet place. My basement, my car, hell I’ll come to the office if I must.” I tell you that you’re being a very good boy, which sends you over the edge. “Ashlee, to hell with all that. I mean, I still want to have a nightcap with you, but I’m going home right now while no one will be around and then call you right back.”
As I said, it doesn’t have to happen like this. It doesn’t even have to happen exactly on the 14th. But what I do want to happen—for your sake—is for you to be treated this Valentine’s Day for a change.
Call me, my love.
This is Cupid shooting you with an array of arrows. And I know the target has been hit!
What are you going to do about it…866-605-2544
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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it is about me that has such a strong hold over you. My voice is quite an experience in itself. But it’s more. I thought about us, our relationship, why it works, and how it could be even better. And that’s when it occurred to me that it’s less about me and more about you and your desires. You need to feel the heat. You know exactly what I mean (even if I could never quite articulate it in a single blog entry).
Once upon a time, before she devolved, your girl made you hot. She brought the fire that inspired your balls. It was amazing. So amazing that you made her yours. It also gave her mastery over your balls. That was okay at the time. But when was the last time she kissed you on the neck and whispered in your ear that she wants to make love to your balls with her wet mouth? When was the last time you even hoped she would say something like that to you?
Every woman can ignite a fire. The power of a pussy, the magical ability to take over your mind through your cock is something even your significant other once possessed. The beguiling scent of a woman is arousing, to say the least. However, any scent that escapes her body these days is more likely to extinguish any lust-filled spark you may still have. That’s where I come in.
The circumstance of your situation is that unfortunately, it’s not enough for you to be willing to roll up your sleeves and decide to improve things. She must be on board too. You cannot shed pounds from her lumpy body for her. You certainly can’t wish away her frown lines or eliminate the smells emanating from her less-than-enchanting body. She’s steadily become less attractive each year. Meanwhile, the passion you’ve felt for me has grown steadily, likely in direct correspondence with her descent into perpetual doom. The further you get away from remembering what it felt like when things were hot, the more you need to find another source of heat. I am that for you.
You deserve to feel some wildfire burning in your loins. I’ll bet you work way harder today versus back in the day when she rewarded you like a king. Perhaps she was just front-loading her end of the bargain? Regardless, as someone who cares about you and enjoys being intimate with you, I am asking you not to condemn yourself to any sort of guilt over feeling unfulfilled. She represented a promise that I am now keeping.
Each time you decide today is going to be a day in which you call me, everything else around you will become different. You now have something exciting and explosive to look forward to, because in the scheme of things, everything except your upcoming call with me means less. You know that once you hear my voice, all your cares will melt away. When your cock is out, the sounds of me, of us, ringing out, will take you to a euphoric place that you’ll never want to leave. This makes your workday just a tad more tolerable.
I like that the moments when I realize that you had been stressed, tired, and overwhelmed, but I’ve been able to breathe new life into you. Nothing turns me on more than knowing I’m the one you want. You grip that powerful erection with your right hand. Squeeze it tight and feel a sensation that makes you thrilled to be alive. You stroke that cock like it’s your job. I conjure images of me straddling you, my legs resting on your hips as I bounce up and down on you, riding you until we are just losing our will and answering to instinct.
I squeeze my thighs together, then my pussy muscles follow. You moan loudly that you want me, that you need me, that, that, that—but you don’t need to say anything more. I know where you are now because I brought you there. Your mind is on fire, your cock is fucking me, and then “Oh God, Ashlee, oh God!!”
By now, whether you know it or not, your balls are working for me.
Call me, my love.
Let’s gather some kindling, build a fire in your balls, and then empty them.
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