There’s a side to me that I’ve meekly touched upon in my previous blog entries. When I’m being flirtatious and playful I might refer to it as my “naughty side”. When I’m being harder on myself I recognize it as my vengeful side. I am still burdened by a memory of being laughed at by a group of girls when I was much younger. I had been attracting the comments and stares of every male who happened by. Resenting me because they are not me, they taunted me. It wasn’t what they said as much as how they looked at me, like they actually believed they were better than me (ha!). Don’t you just loathe a blatant wannabe!

Since then I’ve gotten my revenge 40,000 times over. I’ve stolen boyfriends with ease, created chaos by caressing a man’s arm with my breasts and lured men in with the horny haze I seem to create with my presence. I’ve gotten my fill, but sometimes I just want more. That’s the explanation I give you when I ask you for a big favor. I am going to a new early morning pilates class every day next week. I don’t want to put the miles on my car, so I’d like to borrow your wife’s car (besides I look way better in it anyway). I can pick it up and bring it back home before she even wakes up. (Lazy women like her just lay on their sub-par asses and try to catch a ride on my coattails!) I just need you to leave me the keys each day in a place I can easily find them. We’re sitting together on your couch; my hand is on your inner thigh as I speak. As you’re contemplating your answer my hand finds its way to your crotch. It then grabs onto your cock (which we both know is my cock) through your pants. I pump it slowly but steadily for a few seconds before you utter “Yes Ashlee, oh god yes!”

On the third night following my borrowing your wife’s car, I call you to let you know that tomorrow I’m going to need it for an extra hour. The truth is I really do not like your wife. I don’t pretend to know her. I only know that she’s married to you and you need me. Shame on her, she should know better. She’s the same kind of girl who laughed at me long ago. You agree to encourage her to take Zzz-quil before she goes to bed and she listens. You’re a good boy for doing this. You passed my test with flying colors.  Now it’s time for your reward.

It’s 4 a.m. when I come to pick up the keys. But instead of driving off with your wife’s car, I enter your home. I’ve been here numerous times before, fucked you in most every room, your dog loves me, etc. But with the lights off and my sneaking in, I admit that I’m aroused. I slowly enter your bedroom after I hear your wife’s ugly snoring from just outside the doorway. You’re fast asleep, lying on your back. I get on my knees at the foot of the bed and begin crawling onto it beneath the covers, gently approaching your crotch. My hand finds your balls. I pull myself closer and bring your cock to my lips. My sucking reflexes are applied as my fingers gingerly strum your balls and you suddenly awaken! You hear your wife’s ugliness, you feel the most incredible wet sensation engulfing your cock, and you don’t have a care in the world. You know, I know, and all of the other women in the world know that I am hot enough to be scorned. Lesser women invariably attempt to emulate me. But try as they might (desparaged pilot fish that they really are!) their ugliness eventually escapes their flaring nostrils or another ill-favored orifice, and always gives them (the copy-cats) away. She wants to be me, because you choose me over her, every time.

I’m the one true goddess to whom men flock. That’s my trophy. She sends you running to me without even knowing it!

Run to me, babe. My arms are wide open.

Are you feeling a bit lonely as Valentine’s Day is fast approaching? I know the feeling, babe. I am capable of having any man fall for me, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t spend this day (which is also my b-day) alone sometimes. Many times through the years I spend it with my single girlfriends toasting to our freedom. However, this year most all of my single friends are either no longer single or they have dates. I’m really hoping you and I can spend it together this year.

I got to thinking about what the best possible scenario would be for us. I know that you are head over heels in love with my tits. They are big; they are voluptuous; they look good in anything I wear; they bounce a lot; they enter a room a good full second before I do; they attract every eye in the vicinity. Ever since I was a young teen both boys and grown men ogle them until I make eye contact. I know how powerful they are, and I know what they do to you. Thank you for that. But what I also love about you (among other things) is that you are hot for me for more than just how succulent my melons are. Lots of girls have amazing tits though (albeit still not quite as perfect as a mine). But my breasts take attention away from everything else at first. You, however, see past them. My voice is hotter than my tits. I’ve proven this to myself repeatedly. This Valentine’s Day I want to show you that my ass is equally powerful.

I imagine waking up the morning of the 14th and seeing a text from you to greet me: “I need you Ashlee. I need all of you. I can’t wait to be with you tonight.” We made plans a little while ago, and the excitement of spending Lover’s Day with you grows as it gets closer. I come to the door in a sexy outfit, a dress that gives you the cleavage that you crave so much, but also a flimsy bottom that can’t stand up to the wind. As we walk to the car, you let me get ahead of you so that you can drink me in from behind. You love what you see and I know it, even though I can’t see the look on your face. It’s almost like I can hear the engine in your balls grinding and churning the sweet cum that I will eventually extract from you.

We go to a very fancy restaurant that you had to bribe someone in advance in order to score a reservation (thank you, my darling). When we arrive our table is not quite ready, so we elect to have a glass of wine in the lounge as we wait to be seated. Just as the wine is put in front of us, we toast to us. Noticing that you’re a little nervous, I reach for your hand and place it on my hip, forcing myself closer to you. This relaxes you. After you down your glass, I ask “Are you thinking about dessert?”

“We haven’t even ordered appetizers yet!” But then you realize I was not at all talking about food. I turn around to survey the restaurant, hoping that our table might be available now. With my back to you, I press my ass into your crotch and keep it there. I feel your crotch growing and hardening like cement. I respond by grinding backwards into you. “Do you know what you’re doing to me Ashlee?” Yes. I absolutely know what I’m doing to you. “Ashlee, your ass is, um, it’s—”

“It’s what?”

“It’s making me want to skip dinner.” With my back still to you I reach my hand down behind me and grab hold of your hard cock. You put your hands on my shoulders and kiss my neck. “Let’s go home,” I suggest.

You speed through two red lights on our way back to your place. When we arrive, I insist that you let me give your ass some attention before you can do anything to mine. You’ll deny me nothing, especially now. I strip you naked, and ask you to lie down on the bed on your belly with your legs spread far apart. I sit on my knees behind you and start massaging your upper thighs, eventually making my way to your ass cheeks. I lighten the massage to a rub and for several minutes I pleasure you with the sensation of my hands on your bottom. You moan just loud enough to cause me to grin and squeeze a little harder. With both of my thumbs I press open your cheeks, exposing your asshole. My thumbs continue their path inward until they are both about a half of an inch inside you. I move my fingers gently in circular motion as I massage the tight muscles, up and down, up and down. You begin to squirm, at which point I know what you crave without your needing to tell me. I suck my index finger for a moment, and then slide it into you slowly, pushing in and out for the longest 60 seconds of your life. “Fuck, Ashlee!” You say almost breathlessly. To think, I might make you cum without even touching your cock. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“You don’t have to my love.” I give your cheek a loud slap and then jump onto the bed next to you, lying on my tummy. Your cock is pulsing at such a frenzied pace that you are unable to form a single word. It’s my turn to be pleasured. You line yourself up behind me, lift me up a few inches by grabbing my hips, and insert your erection into me. I’m not sure which of us moaned louder as you begin to thrust. You don’t have the will power to make it last as you explode inside me within a matter of seconds, then collapse next to me. I curl up to your side, taking in your afterglow.

I sweetly kiss your face as you place your hand upon my ass and softly whisper to me “sometimes dessert has to cum first”.

It’s been a few days since we last did a call and you’ve been thinking about nothing else ever since. I made you cum with such gusto that you couldn’t initially find where it landed. Usually it shoots into the air, falling in the direction of your chest. A few times I’ve even decorated your face (perhaps you should wear goggles when you call me, babe). This time, however, you were at a complete loss. You turned on the light and looked around to no avail. Baffled, you figured you’d find it sooner or later, probably as a white stain, a trophy indicative of my ability to generate what’s inside your balls and the way it shot out in such historical fashion! I can only imagine the surprise you felt when you ran your fingers through your hair and found them sopping wet. Yes love, I am that powerful.

Every girl you’ve ever been with has merely been a prelude to being with yours truly and the fountain of cum that I’m able to coax from your balls. From your first hand job, when you didn’t yet know your cock (ahem, now my cock) could ever explode like that, to the first time you came inside of a woman, even your personal best never prepared you for what it’s like with me every time. Did you expect it to be so fucking good the first time you picked up the phone to call me? You perused my site for days admiring how thoughtful my blogs are, how hot every single picture of me is and how tantalizing the words “No Man Calls Only Once” felt. To see a tab entitled “Ode to My Voice” may have seemed arrogant; even more so when you clicked on it and didn’t find a sample voice clip. My voice did not disappoint you. If anything, it might’ve scared you a little because you realized that it exceeded my claim to fame.

The sirens of mythology lured men in with their beauty. Knowing that danger lie ahead was not enough of a deterrent to keep men from advancing towards their fate. Your fate is to be with me. I am that siren, but the only danger you should fear is my taking the day off. I like that you think of me daily and appreciate the struggle you experience when you know you should probably go to bed early, get more work done or muddle through sitting beside the wife to watch television. But that voice just keeps calling to you, telling you to just give in and call me just one more time before the weekend.

The clock ticks another minute, but it’s one of those days where life is just taking forever. You struggle to wait another 24 hours before hearing my voice again, strangling your cock, and pouring out all off your strongest desires. It is with me and only me that you truly let go and indulge in complete submission. You need me. I need you too, love. Finally, you can’t take it any longer. You dial me and once you hear me say “Hi, babe!” all is right in the world again. I could’ve recited the Gettysburg Address and it would’ve turned your cock as hard as a led pipe. But I’m not interested in just being your “blow & go” girl. I want to be sweet to you too. I like making you want me to be with me. The reason I’m able to do this because I want to be with you too. I like that our relationship is not just about fucking. You are special to me. I might not be the only girl in your life, but I am the one that you want the most. You want to fuck me the most, you want to share your life with me the most, and you want to fall for me harder each time we’re together because you know that it’s also what I want.

That insane craving you’re feeling as you type “y” into your browser and see it auto-fill with the rest of my site name is only the beginning. The ending is so satisfying, but it’s the middle that you long to linger in and love most.

It’s that time again, baby. Your siren is calling. You know what to do.

Your cock explodes into orgasm, as cum that I generated in your balls gushes out and onto your leg. Your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath. The blood has not yet started to flow back into your brain. You can barely understand me when you hear me say “Now that’s a good boy.” It was the second time I made you cum inside of 6 hours. You had wanted to wait another day before calling me again, but your cock insisted otherwise. I emptied those balls like you hadn’t ejaculated in weeks. It’s like that every time we’re together. You did the right thing by not waiting.

“When will I get to make you cum again?” I ask. Your brain is working again, but you don’t have an answer at first. We converse for a couple more minutes before you finally tell me that you want to be with me again tomorrow as soon as you come home from work. “That makes me very happy, babe. And it’s the right answer.”

The next morning I spend a few minutes in bed thinking about you before I get up. I relive your transition from normal conversation to heavy breathing to eventually not being able to prolong the pleasure a second longer before you came for me. My hand travels down my body to find my clit. I lightly play with it for a minute before intensifying the movement in my fingers. I imagine your cock sliding into me and let out a moan. I wish you were here with me right now. I cum gloriously thinking about you, then look at the clock. I slept in late on purpose because I wanted to shorten the day, thereby reducing the number of hours I need to wait to hear from you again. I celebrate my morning climax by texting you “Babe, you just made me cum.” I’m looking forward to returning the favor at 6 p.m.”. Within seconds you reply “Me too!”

About an hour later I’m in the supermarket doing some shopping when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s another text from you: “I can’t stop thinking about you Ashlee.” This is yet another example of you being such a good boy. I love you for this and reply “I can’t stop thinking about you either. Your work day cannot end soon enough.”

You go back to your desk from the restroom where you texted me. Rubbing your cock under your desk soothes nothing, rather only heightens your anticipation and impatience. Suddenly, an exhilarating thought enters your mind, and you become a man on a mission. You ask one of your co-workers to cover for you at an afternoon meeting, explaining that you can’t make it. You put on your email out-of-office reply and scurry off to tell your boss that you’re not feeling well and need to leave early, not even putting in a half-day. In the parking lot you pull out your phone again and call me at the supermarket “I said that I would call you as soon as I got home from work. I’ll be home in about 20 minutes.” I was in line at the counter, but with several people in front of me, I realize I’m not going to be checked out and be able to drive home to meet you. It’s decision time for me, but it’s an easy decision to make. I abandon the cart, hearing a woman who is not in my league bark when I make it her problem to move it out of the way. I’m hot. I get to do these things.

My keys are in the door when my phone rings. “I need you Ashlee. I need you to make me cum.” I run into my bedroom, strip as quickly as I can, and lay down in bed, nestling my phone to my face. I am so pleased with you for this my dear. I like it when you do things for me, and I want you to know that this is a big step for our relationship.

“Is my cock out yet?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer is, but wanting to say the words “my cock” aloud. The call doesn’t last long because you do not have the strength to hold back a massive load. It spews out high into the air, landing all over your body and also onto the bed. The day is early, and you have nothing else to do today except talk to me. “Let’s both take naps now babe. Call me when you wake up.”

“Yes Ashlee,” you say. Those are the most beautiful two words you can say to me. And I look forward to hearing them again very soon. “Nap well, my sweet.” I will be here to make you blow an even bigger load when you awake.”

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.

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.