Phone Sex Secrets

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The following story, inspired by this GIF, is by phone sex operator Color Me Pinkie (of Pinkie & Blackie):
I did everything He said to do…
I did my hair, my makeup, just the way He likes. I wore the lingerie & stockings He’d placed on the bed for me to wear. I wore the high heels He’d set on the floor at the foot of the bed. I was ready & waiting at the appointed time, sitting on the sofa with my legs neatly crossed. A glass of His favorite wine was on the coffee table.
I sat and waited.
The clock ticked away the minutes. Louder and faster than my nervous breaths, the ticks clicked. Those ticks were mechanical, tight and controlled, sharp and precise; my breaths were ragged and nonuniform, jagged sighs and uneven gasps. I tried to control my breaths. I tried to align them somehow with the ticking of the clock. But every tick was too much to match; every tock a reminder of the sound of his key in the door lock.
The tick-tock of the clock, the rasps of my breaths, these were the sounds that marked the passing of time as I waited.
For a submissive, waiting — learning to wait — is an art form. If there is a fine line between “calm” and “bored” (a line I’ve forgotten a long time ago), there is an even finer line between “excitement” and “anxiety”. This line, this fine little line on the time & space continuum, is a vast and deep space that can swallow a submissive whole…
It is a space of anticipation. A space where sluts of all sorts get wet waiting. For whether your instinct is “fight” or “flight”, your cunt prepares itself for the inevitable capture and claim, making itself slick with the fragrant natural lube which gives Him pleasure as it betrays your need. This need, this Pavlovian response of pussy drool, this He has created.
Aware of all this, you have nothing to do but sit and await your fate.
When He finally did arrive, He said not a word. He entered the room, dropped his keys on His chair, and strode to the side of the coffee table. There He stood for a moment, appraising me. I blushed under the scrutiny, but remained silent and still.
He began to reach for the glass of wine but stopped Himself, turning His head slightly to the side as He looked inquisitively at me… I willed myself not to squirm, but I trembled and my leg slid a bit — the insides of my bare thighs slippery-wet with the anticipation of waiting. I flushed, knowing He could probably smell the cause of my movement.
In an instant, the tense moment passed and He reached for the wine. He slowly took a sip, then another. When the glass was drained, He exited the room, returning the glass to the kitchen. I took the opportunity to adjust my legs.
Upon His return, He dropped His pants and His shorts, kicking them to the side. Then He purposefully shoved the coffee table back and got on His knees before me. “Open your legs,” He barked.
I slid my leg down and spread for Him. He yanked me forward and just as He was about to enter my aching wet cunt, He stopped. “I don’t even want to look at you, slut. Put the pillow over your face.”
Before I could even respond in any way, He’d grabbed the pillow and placed the pillow himself, grunting, “Damn whore can’t even put a pillow over her face.”
One the pillow was in place, He slid himself inside my warm wet slit. He yanked me by my legs, sliding me closer, settling in. “You are just a hole to fuck. No pretty face, no big sad or scared eyes… You are not a person, just a hole to fuck.”
He began to fuck me. Hard. The pillow flopped to the side. “Goddamit, hole, keep still — keep that pillow over your fucking face!” He yelled as He grabbed the pillow and returned it to its place over my face. But the force of his thrusts kept knocking it over, adding to His furry.
"Fucking cunt! Fucking, fucking cunt!" He swore as He continued to replace the pillow every time it fell.
I didn’t dare reach for the pillow, I just tried to brace myself to remain still while He thrust His frustrations deep inside me.
Like it? Love it? You can contact Pinkie to schedule a call, for custom stories and confessions, etc., here and here.
Copyright Color Me Pinkie; you may repost, etc, as long as all links & credits remain intact.

The following story, inspired by this GIF, is by phone sex operator Color Me Pinkie (of Pinkie & Blackie):

I did everything He said to do…

I did my hair, my makeup, just the way He likes. I wore the lingerie & stockings He’d placed on the bed for me to wear. I wore the high heels He’d set on the floor at the foot of the bed. I was ready & waiting at the appointed time, sitting on the sofa with my legs neatly crossed. A glass of His favorite wine was on the coffee table.

I sat and waited.

The clock ticked away the minutes. Louder and faster than my nervous breaths, the ticks clicked. Those ticks were mechanical, tight and controlled, sharp and precise; my breaths were ragged and nonuniform, jagged sighs and uneven gasps. I tried to control my breaths. I tried to align them somehow with the ticking of the clock. But every tick was too much to match; every tock a reminder of the sound of his key in the door lock.

The tick-tock of the clock, the rasps of my breaths, these were the sounds that marked the passing of time as I waited.

For a submissive, waiting — learning to wait — is an art form. If there is a fine line between “calm” and “bored” (a line I’ve forgotten a long time ago), there is an even finer line between “excitement” and “anxiety”. This line, this fine little line on the time & space continuum, is a vast and deep space that can swallow a submissive whole…

It is a space of anticipation. A space where sluts of all sorts get wet waiting. For whether your instinct is “fight” or “flight”, your cunt prepares itself for the inevitable capture and claim, making itself slick with the fragrant natural lube which gives Him pleasure as it betrays your need. This need, this Pavlovian response of pussy drool, this He has created.

Aware of all this, you have nothing to do but sit and await your fate.

When He finally did arrive, He said not a word. He entered the room, dropped his keys on His chair, and strode to the side of the coffee table. There He stood for a moment, appraising me. I blushed under the scrutiny, but remained silent and still.

He began to reach for the glass of wine but stopped Himself, turning His head slightly to the side as He looked inquisitively at me… I willed myself not to squirm, but I trembled and my leg slid a bit — the insides of my bare thighs slippery-wet with the anticipation of waiting. I flushed, knowing He could probably smell the cause of my movement.

In an instant, the tense moment passed and He reached for the wine. He slowly took a sip, then another. When the glass was drained, He exited the room, returning the glass to the kitchen. I took the opportunity to adjust my legs.


Upon His return, He dropped His pants and His shorts, kicking them to the side. Then He purposefully shoved the coffee table back and got on His knees before me. “Open your legs,” He barked.

I slid my leg down and spread for Him. He yanked me forward and just as He was about to enter my aching wet cunt, He stopped. “I don’t even want to look at you, slut. Put the pillow over your face.”

Before I could even respond in any way, He’d grabbed the pillow and placed the pillow himself, grunting, “Damn whore can’t even put a pillow over her face.”

One the pillow was in place, He slid himself inside my warm wet slit. He yanked me by my legs, sliding me closer, settling in. “You are just a hole to fuck. No pretty face, no big sad or scared eyes… You are not a person, just a hole to fuck.”

He began to fuck me. Hard. The pillow flopped to the side. “Goddamit, hole, keep still — keep that pillow over your fucking face!” He yelled as He grabbed the pillow and returned it to its place over my face. But the force of his thrusts kept knocking it over, adding to His furry.

"Fucking cunt! Fucking, fucking cunt!" He swore as He continued to replace the pillow every time it fell.

I didn’t dare reach for the pillow, I just tried to brace myself to remain still while He thrust His frustrations deep inside me.

Like it? Love it? You can contact Pinkie to schedule a call, for custom stories and confessions, etc., here and here.

Copyright Color Me Pinkie; you may repost, etc, as long as all links & credits remain intact.

(via smoke-n-mirrors)

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    The following story, inspired by this GIF, is by phone sex operator Color Me Pinkie (of Pinkie & Blackie): I did...
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