You shoot me a text to let me know that you’re on your way to come pick me up at my apartment. As I’m looking on my iPhone via Google maps to see how long it will take you to arrive given the traffic situation, another text message from you interrupts me. “I will be there in 20-25 minutes, can’t wait to see you sweetness :)” I like how much you think of the little things with me.

It’s a bit chili out, but not so much that I’ll bring a jacket. My doorbell rings, which was a little bit of a surprise because I told you I’d meet you downstairs. When I answer, you’re there holding a light sweater and say, “I thought you might want this to wear on the way to my car. I couldn’t find a parking spot in front of your place, so I’m double-parked on a side street.” Once again, thinking of my well-being. You’re so good to me. You will be rewarded for all of your thoughtfulness.

I may be an independent girl, but that does not mean I don’t like to be catered to by my man. I also like to serve my man on occasion. Men and women have equal rights, but they are not equal in every way. Men tend to become lust drunk much easier than woman do. I should know this; I’ve been intoxicating every man in my path since my teen years. However, I still enjoy flipping the switch from time to time and allowing a man to think he’s in charge. It can be very exhilarating to thwart nature’s intentions that way.

At the restaurant you let me taste the wine first. You order our appetizers, assuring me that you know I’ll love them. You are right, I do. After dinner you ask me if I want dessert. “Yes,” I tell you “but not the caloric kind. I want your cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me now.”

When we approach your car to return to your place, you express great surprise when you see me pull out a pair of scissors from my purse. “Don’t worry baby, you’ll soon understand.”

You start the ignition and pull the car out of the lot. I can tell you’re prepared to drive faster than usual until I insist you don’t do that at all. About 45 seconds into the drive, you hear me unclick my seatbelt. Your car starts beeping annoyingly. “Ugh… I figured as much,” I mutter.

I click my seatbelt back in, and then cut it with the scissors I brought. “What are you doing,” you ask. “Hush babe, just relax.” My hand squeezes your leg, quieting any concerns. A moment later I cut your seatbelt off as well. This might create an inconvenience for you and it may also be unsafe, but what I’m about to do is well worth the risk. You’re not about to refuse me anything right now, nor should you! My eager hand makes its way to the bulge growing in your pants. I apply pressure through your pants, then snuggle my face up to your shoulder.

“I’m quite comfy right now babe,” I say to you, and I don’t feel like getting out of this position any time soon.

“You’re teasing me Ashlee.”

“I can stop if you want?”

Point made. I insist you take the scenic route, promising you the best road head of your life. I whisper into your ear “Life is not worth protecting if it means passing on having this moment with me.” “Let’s just ride home smoothly like this because when we get home the ride is going to get a lot bumpier.”

I know something you probably didn’t think I would know. I know the effect of unleashed cum festering within your balls. I know that your balls are used to being emptied on a daily basis. Because you’ve built up such great stamina with years of practice; your balls are used to reproducing rather quickly. What this means is that on the rare occasion that you actually go more than a day without release, your balls have generated an amount of cum that could fill multiple shot glasses.

When you’ve gone several days in a row without climaxing, everything turns you on. And that, which turns you on all the time, now turns you ravenous. Imagine it’s been three days since your cock shot out a load. Then imagine that on the wings of Amy’s departure, a hot new girl started working with you. She approached you in the middle of your work day, fleshy sun kissed legs on display. She gives you some attention, probably because she needs something from you. It’s almost as if she knows what is taking place between your legs, and her very presence is a tease that snugly grips your cock.

That new girl is not going to fuck you. She’s not even going to rub the apple of her ass into your crotch. At most she’s going to give you some attention just long enough to reiterate in her mind that she’s still got it and her new job is golden. So where does that leave you? Luckily for you, that brings me into the picture). I’m far hotter than she is anyway, and I want far more than your attention. I want to ignite those balls. I want to Stir up the memory of how fucking horny you were the last time you went several days without spraying your office floor with cum. Call me babe. I’ll have you erupting like a Mauna Loa. Be prepared to spew more hot lava than you thought your balls were capable of producing!

Knowing how your balls work means knowing you.

Years ago I had an office job. You may have heard of the term “office hot”. It refers to when a girl is somewhat attractive in a crowd, but as compared to the other lackluster talent in the work environment, she stands out as the best of the bunch. In comparison, she’s hot, or relatively hot. Take a wild guess about how much I stood out?

Believe it or not, I actually was pushed out of the company because of how attractive I am. Don’t get me wrong, I had my way, and left with a nice chunk of change in the form of severance, but when layoff time came, I was among the first to go. Let’s just say that I sort of cooked it up to happen that way. Cum is my ingredient and I definitely know how to get a man to produce more of my secret sauce.

It all started with one particular episode, and then evolved from there. I was testing the limits of how much I could violate the dress code. No one complained when I wore tight blouses to the office. Technically I was adhering to the rules, but I didn’t stop there. I eventually started wearing shorter skirts. That’s when things got interesting. I had wondered why I could motivate legions of men to go to war over my tits on a daily basis, yet in the office, I couldn’t so much as get taken to lunch. I figured out the secret.

With my melons on display at work, etiquette dictates that men look away. Outside of the work world, they don’t hesitate to stare and lick their lips. While every man wants to fuck me, because they know their chances are slim, they choose to act as if they place value in not offending a woman at their work place. My legs, however, they could take in without calling nearly as much attention to what they’re doing. Once I figured this out, I developed a new recipe for getting what I wanted.

I would purposely hike up my skirt a little, and then be the first to arrive at a meeting so that I could sit down first. Guys would be visibly rushing past one another in order to sit next to me. I would pull back from the table just a bit so that my creamy thighs would be in view. Then I would look away so that there would be no excuse not to take in the wonderful view while appearing to be just looking at the ground in disinterest from the meeting.

One day, the teasing was a bit much for my boss (we’ll call him Mr. Peterson). He was sporting wood to the point it was overtly noticeable when he got up to present. Involuntary giggles ensued. When he returned to his seat, I whispered to him “Don’t worry, I thought you were great.” The meeting progressed with everyone pretending that nothing had just happened. That is everyone, but me. I knew I finally had him. I knew I had motored his balls into overdrive. Every couple of minutes I looked over at him, sometimes giving him the gift of a smile, other times taking quick glances at his crotch, then up at his face.

When the meeting ended, he called me into his office. “I can’t pretend that I’m your boss anymore. Clearly you’re the one in charge of me. So I just need to know what it is that you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“Enough of the games Ashlee. I have a wife whom I love. I have a family.”

We understood each other. He knew that I knew I had discovered what I could do to him. His secret sauce isn’t a secret at all. It’s the same as every man. This man just had more to lose than most, and he knew that I knew he’d give it up to let me have my way.

I hated that job, to be honest. I didn’t want to be there anymore, but I still needed to support myself. You can guess at what happened next, but if you reread the first two paragraphs of this entry, you should be able to figure out how I managed.

Don’t think I don’t know what this picture is doing to you right now. I do. I knew it when I posed for it. I’d like to take this opportunity to show you just how much I am able to get inside of your head (later you can get inside of me). I am going to do that by dissecting how your mind is reacting to this photograph. Some of it you will recognize immediately, while some of it is me knowing you better than you know you. I am a master of your unconsciousness. Read on and indulge.

First, the most obvious thing is that I’m on my knees. But that’s not nearly enough. Yes, any hot chick on her knees makes you think of sticking your dick in her mouth. But look at the angle of my head. Next, look at my face. My eyes are showing you that I’m already dreaming of having your meat where I am so very much craving it. Even I didn’t realize at the time that my lips were just starting to open.

Notice that my high heels have my ass propped up in such a way that my entire body is the perfect blow-job angle for a man standing up before me. My arms are outstretched because what I want to do is wrap them around your legs, rubbing the inside of your thighs, perhaps even sliding my fingers up in order to gently play with your asshole (just because you can’t admit it to yourself doesn’t mean I don’t know how much you’d love for me to do precisely that in that moment).

I’m in the perfect position for you to cradle the back of my head, forcing me to deep throat you until I gag a little. Don’t worry babe, you won’t break me. Just please don’t pull out.

Almost as an afterthought are my beautiful tan legs that lead up to my creamy white ass. Those tits that made you fall for me the first time you laid eyes on me will bounce up and down, up and down, occasionally hitting you in the knees. My waist is not wasted on you, because you know that during another episode you will wrap your arm around it before fucking me senseless.

But this blog is not about what you do to me. It’s what I do to you. And I can do that because I know you and what makes your cock hard, better than anyone who has ever gotten you off before. It doesn’t start with a call. It already started. Now let’s finish it, shall we?

You may have noticed something of a secondary theme to most of my blog entries (second to reinforcing how incredibly irresistible you find me). I’ve been trying to showcase my flexibility. If you waste your energy checking out other girls’ sites, you’ll notice they all claim to be into everything. They are all things to all guys, specializing in anything that has ever made a man erect. Well, I believe that to focus on everything is to focus on nothing. Therein lies the challenge for me. Because while I don’t even pretend to engage in everything (ex. snuff fantasies, blasphemy, accomplice etc.), I am an extremely talented call girl!

I am a thinker and I like to think about making men do what I want. I find myself wanting to post all of the ways I can make you cum hard. I care about every word that I write. I never want to come across as disingenuous or claim to deliver something that I cannot. So I’ve been using my blog as a forum to show you that I actually understand your fantasies and I put my all into executing them. I’m also always willing to learn more and perfect the time we spend together. In addition, I will allow you teach me how to please you (try finding this elsewhere).

Continuing with the theme of showing what I can do, I think it’s equally important for you to know what I am willing to do. I can do romantic or dirty (think Mary Anne vs. Ginger – posted 10/1). I can be bitchy and possessive (8/26, two very feminine qualities). I can be sensually dominant (7/27), even take it to another level (not for everyone, 9/6). But there’s one thing I can do that I don’t know I can craft an enticing narrative for, so I will just come out and state it: I can do quick & quiet (all the talking).

I know there are times when you want our time together to be less hurried, more of a gradual exchange that escalates into your pants needing to come off. But while I am a woman and do enjoy romantic tending, I know that there are times when my man just needs to get off! I make you feel lust. Sometimes your lustful needs require immediate attention. I am adaptable and prepared to direct my attention to the situation at hand (pun very intended).

Quick and quiet: Is someone else due home in the next 15 minutes? Do you need a pick-me up at half time because your team gave up a pick 6 with under a minute to go? How about a wake- up call to tame that morning wood, or just when you need to kill time as your microwaveable meal cools off? I want you to know that I’m up for a quickie.

Quick and quiet: Did you ever see the movie Poison Ivy starring Drew Barrymore? This was when she was at the height of her powers. Ivy just exudes sex when she’s around her teenage friend’s father. The father struggles to be a gentleman. His wife is sick and miserable. He loves her, but Ivy’s youth and insane body are too much. With his wife medicated and sleeping, he crosses the line. I too am totally prepared to take over the entire call. We can figure out logistics via text. And I can figure out a way to ensure you don’t go to bed with aching balls just because your less attractive wife or girlfriend wasn’t worth waking up to fuck.

The other day I was grocery shopping and overheard a conversation that initially hurt my feelings a tad. A few minutes later, I wrote it off as just typical female jealousy and immediately felt better. I was wearing a fitted white top and hadn’t realized how erect my nipples had become when I opened the frozen foods door to grab some vegetables. I was standing there for a few minutes trying to decide what I wanted, so I guess they were standing at attention quite noticeably. There were two girls just a few feet away and they were visibly annoyed that I was being stared at by every guy who walked by. They figured I was putting my tits on display. I don’t deny that I absolutely do that, but this was not my intention at that moment (they’re so big and beautiful that they do garner attention without my trying). I overheard one of them reassure the other with a snicker “She’s not the kind of girl any guy wants to marry anyway. She’s only good for one thing.” I hope you can understand why this bothered me. I fancy myself as being your only desire. Not your only fuck fantasy desire. I am Ginger. But I’m also Mary Ann.

What makes Ginger who she is? Who is she anyway? When you first see her, your immediate involuntary thought is about how much you want to fuck her. She’s the kind of girl who will fuck you back, not just lie there and let you have your way (even when it is your way). You want to have wild passionate sex with her, bang her from behind with a pounding that culminates with an explosion from your fire hose deep inside of her. When you think of her you get a raging hard on that requires you to grasp it with all of the strength your forearm can muster. She can make you live on the edge, having you do things that you didn’t want to until she made you want to do them. I am Ginger for you, and I know it. I know I do this to you. I have a right to be arrogant because I am that hot.

Who is Mary Ann? She’s the girl that your parents always wanted you to find and eventually end up with. She’s the girl that those girls near the freezer try to be, because they know they can’t be Ginger (and no other reason). You absolutely do want to make love to her, but slapping her ass to the point of inflicting pain seems sacrilegious. You want to be gentle with her, cuddle her in your arms, and take long walks on the beach in your bare feet. You tell your deepest, darkest secrets to her and she loves you more for it. She makes you feel like a man because she needs you to take care of her. I am Mary Ann too, or at least, I am when I’m with you. I need tending to also, the kind of tending that you give me. When you do, it makes me feel safe, and like we’re the only two people in the world because we are. Typing this right now, I’m missing you lots.

I am who I am, and that’s why you feel the way you do about me. You wouldn’t want me if I was one dimensional. I’m not. Please remind me of this babe. Sometimes I need the reassurance. I promise you that you will get what you need from me too.