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Sunday - October 05, 2003
October? October? Is this year on an accelerated calendar or something?
Well, anyway obviously I have no time to play around. Let’s get down to brass tacks. Or push pins, or whatever people get down to when it is nitty-gritty detail time (as opposed to Nitty Gritty Dirt Band time).
First, I have made a fabulous new phone sex pal who operates a phone sex service across the pond, in the UK. This is marvelous because I get so much email from clients who find my site on Google UK but who are unable to ring me or my slut sisters due to long-distance issues. Good news UK! You can now call: 0909 656 1988. You have to be 18 or over to call, the cost is only £1.50 per minute, and because the UK has some wonky law stating that there has to be an address provided with a phone number, you’ll find that at the bottom of the page.* You cannot ring me this way yet, but we’re trying to work that out in the upcoming months. The idea of getting to chat with fellows of various accents is…well, let’s call it a priority. I’m fascinated by the idea of listening to proper British gents talking dirty, and in finding out what kinks they have in common with us uncultured American types.
Speaking of uncultured American types…
As previously mentioned, I have been on the phone a lot with a client who enjoys talking about the “unfortunate hitch-hiker” and “barn girl.” Both these fantasies are near and dear to my heart because they generally involve (1) age play (2) non-consent situations and (3) the occasional bout with incest. Tres yummy.
Lately, I have also been spending a great deal of time with this client discussing the psychological factors that have probably contributed to our mutual kinks. There is something about the mind that just falls over itself to try and understand why it dwells in the clouds, I suppose.
For my part, I know that I was a very sexually-aware child. Which is not to say I wasn’t sheltered in upper-middle-class white suburbia. Indeed I was. But I always seemed more aware of sexual topics than average kids. Not that I spent a great deal of time around average kids. Being home schooled tends to thrust you into the company of adults more than not (No, my family were not religious lunatics. I came home from my second day of kindergarten to inform my grandmother that my teacher told me I had been taught to read improperly. This began a habitual pattern that continued through most of my childhood a few days every other year until a teacher pissed off my grandmother with some utterly closed-minded or ridiculous criticism of her teaching habits. I come from strong-minded womenfolk, okay?)
So, I routinely found myself in accelerated sexual situations. Definitely experimented with fire early. Spent the usual angst time wondering if I should be guilty over continuing to focus so much on the things that felt good, but society dictated were bad. But, you know, I think you reach a point in adulthood where you just say, “what the fuck.” Aforementioned strong-minded womenfolk also helped in this regard, I’m sure. Because, you know, society be damned, what a woman does with herself under the bubbles of her bathtub is her own affair.
But I digress…
None of this explains why I like to role play underage incest and rape fantasies. Or why so many people love to read my stories on these topics and/or roleplay with me. Phonesex is a fun loving kettle of fish and often the brew is just ripe with psyche rumbling. So, I say “what the fuck.”
Hopefully you will, too. If not, please don’t read further. Barn girl is likely to offend you.
Barn girl is a general “teasing young sex kitten gets her comeuppance” fantasy. A cautionary tale. Your average Bo-Peep / Little Red Riding Hood / Goldilocks situation. Well, no, actually it’s nothing like that.
Typically barn girl is probably in the vicinity of fourteen or fifteen. Occasionally sixteen, but generally younger. You know that age when teenage girls are just food? All bare midriff and perky tits and supple thighs? Trouble is barn girl dresses something like this:
So, as one might imagine, barn girl has been getting the cowboys and farmhands all riled up to say nothing of her Daddy who has to keep the rowdys in line. She likes to just lounge around up in the barn loft getting hay stuck in her hair and looking like a luscious little undone sex kitten. Well, there’s only so much a farmhand can take, and little barn girl soon finds herself beset on by the cowboys she’s been teasing and tempting like so much Little Debbie snack food.
Mmmmmmmmmm Nutty Bars. Oh sorry. Homer Simpson food fantasy moment. Continuing now…
Anyway, while they are closing in on her, ripping her scant clothing into ribbons and pulling her by the pigtails onto her hands and knees, she realizes she really is going to get way more than she ever bargained for. She is soon sucking and slurping and getting smacked in the face with cock, her fist curled around one each, all sweat and screaming and dripping wet trouble when Daddy shows up. Just in time, and gives all the horn dogs what for.
This leaves little barn girl all nekkid and pouty thinking she’s been rescued until Daddy comes back and plops her down over his knee for a hearty spanking. And, of course, it occurs to the farmer that his daughter probably isn’t going to be a little virgin slut for much longer the way things are going, so he needs to break her in right…
And, well, things get a little cliché from there. But yummy.
Taboo. It’s what’s for lunch.
So, anyway, now I’m all hot and bothered and off to commit random acts of phone sex sluttiness.
Oh. And here is a Halloween time link that should brighten up your day. It was sent by one of my callers/email correspondents who is a good boy and gracious pen pal: http://www.cultsirens.com/listing.htm
Don’t say I never gave ya nuthin’
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