They say the sun will come out tomorrow, but during winter it’s easy to forget that. Spotting a girl in a pair of skin-tight denim jeans is about the best you can hope to take in when you’re out and about when it’s chilly. The fleshy thighs have been covered up since Thanksgiving. Fortunately for us both, the season is changing and so is my wardrobe. And you know what they also say? Suns out, buns out!

I didn’t do much for St. Patrick’s Day this year. I didn’t feel the need to relive my college days when how fast you drink cheap beer tinted with green food coloring was regarded as a talent. I like catching a buzz as much as anyone, but I found more pleasure in watching the college basketball conference tournaments leading up to Selection Sunday. I spent the weekend trying on my spring and summer attire with hoops on in the background.

As I tried on my clothes, I imagined how you and your cock would react if you saw me showcasing my beautiful ass after months of viewing bulky puffer jackets and denim-draped legs. My go-to seems to be tight-fitted up top, but equally as influencing down below; that’s My favorite little flavor of March Madness.
I know my boobs usually steal the show. But sometimes I like to feature my backside too. And while I’m quite aware of the power my chest wields, my ass, on the other hand, is pretty proactive too. I am indeed grateful to possess much more than one magical weapon!

Drink in the photo that accompanies this blog entry because you are about to experience just what my framed bottom can do…

I lead you to a couch, nudging you to be seated. When your back hits the cushion I spread your legs apart and turn around. While looking over my shoulder as I’m biting my bottom lip, I begin to softly grind my silky thong-laden ass into your face. You reach out to squeeze it, but I pull forward. Watching my ass cheeks gently jiggle and twerk right there in front of your face fuels you with a lust-filled agony that is permeating your body. You can feel the urgency of pressure in your balls. They are near full capacity.

I drop to my knees and grab your belt. Your pants are soon down to your ankles, leaving only your boxer briefs between me and your cock. I rub your erection through the fabric until a huge wet spot forms on your briefs from your leaking dick. You’re breathing heavily and trying to grab at me. I reach beneath the waistband of your briefs and your wet bulging head meets my hand instantly. I aim your cock up towards your face and press the top of your shaft firmly against your flesh, removing my hand from your briefs. I caress the soft underbelly of your manhood and stare into your longing eyes. “Please, Ashlee.”

“Please what, baby?” But you don’t need to answer. You can’t answer. I stand up and show you my perfect bottom again and then lay down against your cock, lining it up with my ass crack. Pressing up against you, I rock up and down. As I continue to move back and forth, I can tell that you can’t take much more. I continue dry-humping you for a few seconds more until you frantically explode with a frenzied sense of pure pleasure and relief.

Want to experience my magical weapons for yourself?

Call me. 866-605-2544

You’re sitting at a high-top table enjoying your drink. A lot of guys come to strip clubs alone looking for a much-needed dose of rapturous distraction. One after another the scantily clad money-whores saunter over to you. They rub your shoulders and pretend that they find you as attractive as you initially find them. “Hey sexy,” they say. But you’ve grown numb to any attempts at flirtation that will not burn a hole in your pocket in two seconds flat! You crave all of them, and yet none of them. You’re on the cusp of throwing yourself a pity party and ordering another drink when suddenly the hottest set of tits you’ve ever laid eyes on appears from across the room. Her face is gorgeous, her legs go on for days. But her boobs take center stage. They are exploding out of her glittering white tasseled bikini top and bounce with a firmness that defies gravity.

The way she walks embodies the utmost confidence. It’s me, and in this fantasy, we’ve never met. I haven’t yet rocked your cock, you’ve never cum to the sound of my flawless voice, and you’re about to be hit in the face with a ton of bricks.

You see at least 6 other men are sitting comfortably between where you’re sitting and where I’m standing. You know you must have me, but unlike every other female in the joint, you cannot just simply wait for me to meander over and ask you if you want a lap dance. You know that the first guy I slightly smirk at will gladly hand me his ATM card and passcode. The entire place is enamored by the most succulent melons your mouth could ever taste. But will it be your mouth that tastes them?

But to the disappointment of the first man in front of me, I didn’t smile or try to pitch him. He was expecting me to eagerly flirt with him and eventually ask for the opportunity to grind my ass into his crotch, but I just kept on walking. It may be a strip club, and I may be a dancer, but I’m a triple threat and my brain, beauty, and body allow me to be as discerning as I wish.

Your heart started beating dare I say ahem…(hard) when you wondered if you should make a play for me. Should you walk across the club and approach me? You were stoned still in a painstaking deliberation when suddenly my eyes looked over and met yours. Involuntarily you started to get up and come towards me. You hadn’t even realized that your body had begun to move when I was no longer in view. A large and rather wide man stood up and blocked me from your sight like clouds hiding the sun. He’s another ambitious customer and another one I don’t want. You see him sulk as I push past him and find your eyes again (they were surveying my body).

Finally, I’m upon you. You’re struggling to find the right words to greet me with when I reach down and grab your cock. Your entire body convulses with pleasure. “Babe, I want to skip the niceties and the silly lap dance and take you straight to the Champagne Room.” You’re finding it hard (quite literally) to breathe, let alone, speak. But you do summon the words after a few moments…

“How much?”

“One paycheck. One paycheck and I’ll grind on your cock through the tight fabric of your jeans, cradle your head between my beautiful breasts and jack your erection until you see stars.”

* I love writing stories about us, babe. But the reality is that you do not need to go anywhere near a strip club or hand over a paycheck to experience how it feels to be the chosen one.

The truth is…

I’d chose You every time.

One of the key components of making a phone sex call with your only desire (yours truly) so astoundingly different is that our call is not simply an auditory exchange. I have a natural ability to create an all-consuming whirling of every sensing organ in your body. The culmination of setting every fiber of your being ablaze simultaneously results in the best sexual high of your life!

While I am always eager to entertain your personal and individual fantasies, I realize that sometimes you need a bit of inspiration for your next great high. That’s why in today’s blog entry, I thought I would share a little sexual scenario that I fantasize about.

It’s one of those warmer-than-usual November days when you put the long pants to the side for a day and bust out the shorts you thought were going to hibernate for several months. You take a stroll around a local park and try not to get caught ogling all the girls half your age with their beautiful fleshy thighs on display. When one particularly hot piece of ass walks by right in front of you. Suddenly your erection is painfully in need of attention, “Holy God, I need to call Ashlee!!”

You want to sprint home but that fatty in your shorts is making it a bit awkward. You call me once you’re in the door, the keys still in the lock when you hear my voice “Hey, babe”!

“I need you, Ashlee. I need you now. Like right now!” You’re panting as you assert your lust for me.

“Okay, baby. I’m here for you. You are a good boy for not attempting to stave off the cravings this time.” I reward you by letting you know that your phone call pleases me. Referencing “cravings” is my way of reinforcing that you are indeed addicted to me and it’s foolish to entertain notions of anything otherwise. Now that you’ve had me, you rely on me to give you the fix your mind and body needs so desperately.

“Oh, Ashlee,” you start, “I can’t even try to fight my cravings this time. My balls are rapidly filling up. Please empty them. Please make me cum for you. Please give me what I need”

“Alright,” I respond calmly. I love that you’re acting so subordinate, sweetheart. But you never need to fear that I won’t make you cum. You have my solemn promise that every time you call me, I will make you cum (hard).

I then tell you to lie in the middle of your bed with the lights off. The windows open with the warm breeze coming in. I like to think of you, naked, hard cock in your hand, slowly touching, and eventually jerking frantically as I’m in your ear instructing you. Your forearm is the true workhorse, but it’s as if I’m curled up next to you slowly strumming your balls with my fingertips. At last, your body gloriously goes limp as your hot cum coats your naked flesh. “You are now well again, my baby.”

“Call me when you need your fix, my love.”

Hey babe, it’s been a long time since we were together. Life seems to always have a way of getting in the way of pleasure, which is why we schedule vacations. We must set aside time for ourselves, ensuring that we can steal away from the daily grind of working just to pay the bills. You’ve turned to me for that escapism, for that dose of vacation that doesn’t require planning months in advance. I take you to a place (most call it “Heaven”) where the cares of the world cannot penetrate you. Those people who want to tax your attention are powerless against us when you’re lying in bed, my voice dancing in your ear, your cock gripped tightly by your hand. Simply put, you love being with me and I love being with you.

For the past several months, I have been unable to take calls on a full-time basis. While I might be perfect at making you cum, I too have my stresses in this world. I’m writing this today because I want you to know that I am now able to resume a full-time commitment to being available for calls. I’m back, babe! In essence: you can once again go from thinking about me to being with me within seconds, and you will only be mere minutes away from yours truly making you cum gloriously!

My Available/Not Available call indicator on my website will be diligently attended to. If you see me as “Available” (or some verbiage that indicates the same sentiment) you will have the peace of mind that cums with knowing that you are only 9 digits away from hearing my voice. If you should ever get my vm (perhaps I’m on a call already or you didn’t check the indicator before calling) if you want me to give you a callback, please leave a vm and tell me what your window of opportunity is and be specific with time zone info. I have the utmost respect for your privacy, babe, and will not call you back unless you leave a message asking me to do so. You can think of this as something of a grand reopening (so many thoughts came to mind as I wrote that, lol).

When was the last time a woman was hot for you, wanted nothing more than for your head to arch back as she pleasured your cock? I want to pleasure your cock. Do you remember our last call? Let’s freshen that memory up a bit babe.

I miss you.

Show me that you miss me too.

You are only 9 digits away from us!

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)…

“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…