Archive for June, 2009

Don’t Make Me Beg

Posted in Phone Sex with tags , , on June 24, 2009 by deviantdeb


What are you waiting for? Are you going to make me beg? Don’t sugar. Don’t make me beg. You know I want you. Yes, you. I want you to take me by the hair and show me who is boss. I want you to rip off my clothes and just take what you want. I want you to remind me what it means to be a woman in a man’s world. Not any man’s world, mind you, not every man’s world certainly just your world. You are the only one who’s got what I need. You are the only one who can fill my aching vagina to capacity and will know how to hit that exact spot once you get in there. I want to sweat at your behest. I want to moan uncontrollably. I want you to bite my breasts, knead my breasts, slap my ass, fuck me senseless. I want to climb the fucking walls, I know, I know. Please call me sugar. I’m not begging. I’m just you know, I just need you, that’s all. You know how to treat a woman and god knows, I’m a woman through and through. It’s not that I can’t have another man, I can. I can have literally hundreds of men. But hundreds of men aren’t good enough, lover. Hundreds of men aren’t you. You are what I want. You give me what I need. You make me feel like a queen. You shower me with gifts and money because you know a queen needs to be spoiled. And then you bring it all home with a thick, hard dick. My god, just thinking about you gives me goosebumps and makes my nipples hard. Please don’t make me ask again. Make me say your name, sugar, make me say your name.


Out on the Prowl

Posted in Phone Sex with tags , , , on June 21, 2009 by deviantdeb

deviantdeb269So, I finally got my husband’s attention last night. Oh yes. I went out. He came into the bedroom after eating his dinner and I was getting dressed…sort of. I’m wearing a sheer blouse and a mini-skirt. I’m wearing come-fuck-me-pumps and I mean it. My hair is up. I look ten years younger and twice as horny. He looked at me and stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth was literally hanging open, I shit you not. I almost laughed. I’m glad I didn’t. He asked me where I was going. I told him I was going bowling.

“Dressed like that?” he shouts.

“Yes,” I say, “dressed like this.”

“You can’t dress like that to go bowling!” He’s still shouting. I hate men who shout.

“Oh no” I ask, eyes wide. “Watch me.” I say and I look dead at him. “Everybody else will be.”

And I wouldn’t lie to you hear fellas, I’m looking good. I walk right by him and I sling my purse over my shoulder. He comes running behind me and grabs me by the arm. “You’re my wife.” He says. “You’re right, sweetie,, I’m your wife.” And I yank my arm away. “But I’m my own woman.” And I keep on stepping out the door.

I don’t have to tell you I wasn’t going bowling. I don’t have to tell you I was on the prowl. You already know I was looking for a man, for a woman, anybody and everybody to excite me, to delight me, to take me on a wild, erotic adventure. I don’t always do it like that. I’m not spiteful. Most of the time, I’m much more discreet. Most of the time, I come right here, to my babies, the ones who’ve been taking care of me for the past month. Most of the time, I come to you. So how about it, sugars? Call me. Share.