Archive for the Uncategorized Category

Making Men do what I want

Posted in Phone Sex, Uncategorized with tags , , , on July 14, 2009 by deviantdeb

deviantdeb235 

My god, it seems like every day I discover something new about myself. In this new life I’ve created I’m a pretty pliant woman. Believe it or not it’s kind of easy to get me to do what you want. I tell everyone which buttons to push. I want them to know. I am a woman who LOVES to have her buttons pushed. But lately something funny has been going on. I mean, this is a choice that I made, you know what I mean? It’s one of those things that nobody in my life would have thought was the right choice for me. I did and went with it and it’s been nothing but right. I’ve totally reclaimed myself. I am no longer a kept woman. I am my own woman, goddamnit. And I’m finding that that’s the way I like it. Because, you know, I’ve also discovered that it’s easy to make MEN do what I want. It makes you wonder that a woman would ever get married. I mean, I have men now jumping for the chance to shower gifts and money on me. It’s incredible. You think that’s not empowering? You’re damn straight it is. I have more money, more sex and more attention than I ever had before. Ever since I began, I’ve been thinking, if anything, why didn’t I do this before? Still no use crying over spilt milk…so to speak. (I’ve seen more ‘milk’ spilt in the past two months than I had in the previous ten years!) MILF? Ha. They should change it into MINF. Mother In Need of Fucking. I need action. I want action. And now I’m getting action. And one thing I’ve learned is that this new life has given me a new sense of myself. Now I tell men what I want. And they listen. So call me big boy…and listen.

Advertisements

The Best decision ever…

Posted in Uncategorized on April 13, 2009 by deviantdeb

img_8157

Wow, where do I begin? This is already turning out to be the best decision of my life — outside of having my kids. There’s nothing like being appreciated. All I want is to be appreciated for what I bring to the table. And you can take one look at me and see what I bring to the table: tits, hips and the mouth of the gods. Oh yeah, I said it. When I’m in the mood I can suck a golf ball through a hundred feet of garden hose. When am I in the mood? When there’s finally a man who will take the time to recognize what a bad, bad girl I am. Is that so much to ask? I mean, you know how it is boys. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here. Do you feel like your wife or your girlfriend takes you for granted? Do you feel like you’re a volcano waiting to explode? Do you feel like as hard as you work, as much time as you put in at the grindstone, it would be nice once in a while to not go home to somebody who can’t wait to nag about where you were, where’s the money for the mortgage, the rent, the bills, the kid? Do you ever think “Shit, just once I would like to get off work and go home and have some hot chick ready to fuck the living shit out of me?” Well, let me tell you something, baby. Sometimes those hot chicks are going through the same agony, and we wish we had a man to come home and give us the respect we deserve. My husband comes home and the first thing he does is turn on the goddamn television. I want someone to come home and the first thing he does is turn me on. See to it, big man. Pick up the phone…

The Need

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 12, 2009 by deviantdeb

deviant-deb1I need.

Hi boys. My name is Deb. Don’t take me for just another girl on-line. I may not look it but I’m shy. This is not me in real life. Or maybe it is. Maybe the other me is the fake and this is my true self. I don’t know. All I know is I could never do this kind of thing if anyone found out. I mean, you know, anyone out here or whatever you call it. Anyone I would meet on the streets. So, keep my secret, okay? Let’s just keep this between me and you. Private. Secret. I like secrets. They make me wet.

In case you couldn’t tell, I’m new to this whole internet business. Excuse me if I’m clumsy or a little forward. I’m still finding my way. But see, I had to do something. There comes a time, you know, when you have to take control of your own life and if you don’t, well, whatever happens then is your fault. Well, I’ve decided to take control. You see, I’m thirty nine, I’m married, and I have kids who are for the most part out of the house. Sometimes I look around and I realize that a lot of this world feels like I’m done. I’ve already finished what I came here to do. The rest of the world may feel that way, my husband may feel that way, even my children, lovely though they are, don’t necessarily want there to be more to me than just their mom. I even understand that.

It’s just not the way it is.

I’m thirty-nine, not ninety-nine. I’m not ready to be put out to pasture. I still have my looks. I take care of my body. When I go to the supermarket I feel eyes searching, probing, my cleavage, my ass, my neck, my legs. I might be a mom but I think they’d all fuck me anyway. I would be a liar if I were to say it didn’t give me a little bit of a thrill…and I’m not a liar. Well, maybe sometimes. Just a little. Like when I let my husband believe that I’m happy, that I’m fulfilled, that there’s no more to me. I let the town believe all there is to me is a great wife, an excellent homemaker and a good girl. Trust me. I am good. I’m very, very good. Just not so much in the way they think. No, not so much at all.

See, I’m a bad girl really. It’s not my fault. Or I don’t blame myself anyway, I don’t punish myself. I have needs, that’s all. My husband might be ready for his rocking chair and his pipe but my breasts are aching to be touched, to be kneaded, bitten, fucked. When a man bumps into me “accidentally” in the post office and I feel that tell-tale hard bulge in his crotch as our eyes meet and he mumbles “excuse me” I can feel myself soaking with want. I’m always bordering on embarrassed whenever that happens. I always think somebody must see, surely they can tell. That possibility only makes things worse. I’ve literally, had to fight myself to keep from running to the car and finger-fucking myself into oblivion. I, uh, don’t run, anyway.

The final straw came not too long ago when I left the gym after a particularly intense work out. My imagination, all on its own, had started to run wild while I was on the tread mill. Looking at myself with my hair sticking to my neck and the sweat running down and catching on my clavicle and then tipping over the brim and sliding between my breasts…I started thinking about a cock following that same path from the other direction. I started thinking about my legs being drawn up and another cock impaling me without a care or concern for my husband or my life and just taking what it wanted. I could feel my vulva becoming swollen with the image. I looked around and I saw all these men, big men, small men, cute boys and rugged rogues – even the ugly guys – all stealing glances here and there, like shadows at the corners of my eyes. I could swear they all knew what I was thinking! Embarrassed I stopped running and quickly got off the treadmill. In the women’s locker room I wasn’t much better off. I went into the sauna to escape and seeing all these gorgeous, sweating, taut female bodies almost made me moan audibly. By the time I made it out of the gym I thought I was about to spontaneously combust. I went into the passenger seat, tore off my sweat pants, put my arm behind my head and just went with it. When I was about ten seconds away from reaching the point of no return I heard a tap on my window. I almost jumped through the roof. It was a police officer.

He smiled down at me. I was consumed with more embarrassment than I thought I could possibly bear. He motioned for me to roll down the window. I wanted to die. When I had complied he leaned for it and almost whispered, “Now listen, miss, I could and probably should cite you for indecent exposure, public lewdness, pornography…public display of affection,” he laughed at his own joke, “I don’t know, a host of things. But I’m a nice guy see, so I’m going to offer you an out. You can take a flurry of really embarrassing tickets which, judging by that rock on your finger, might take some work explaining to your husband, or….you can take off your top, spread your legs as far as they can go, and keep going. See my car up there on the side of that on ramp? I’ll be >ahem< looking for people to speed. Make it good, okay?” What could I do? Honestly, I thought I would be far too embarrassed and ashamed. I never would have expected what happened next. The shame and humiliation only got me going that much more. If I thought I was hot before I was absolute wild fire now. The thought of that police officer watching me and jacking off made me lose complete control. I felt myself gushing around my hand as I shuddered to an explosion that seemed to last for half an hour and I heard a voice come out of me that I had never heard before. My god. After it was over, I dressed myself and drove by him and got his card. We have an appointment for next week.

It’s not enough. Frankly, I’m still in my prime. I’m a natural woman. I’m not complicated. Sometimes I just want to fuck. If that makes me bad, then so be it—I’m fucking wicked. My body rages, absolutely rages. If I have a drink at all I’m this close to becoming a shameless hussy. I’m just not meant to be a “kept” woman. That might be okay for some but it’s not okay for me. I long for a clandestine meeting with a stranger in a discreet hotel room. I want – need to be courted and chased and showered with gifts by a man who hasn’t forgotten how to treat a beautiful woman. I need somebody to come and take this MILF in heat by the hair and teach me a valuable lesson. He won’t be sorry. I can guarantee that I will make him feel like a man and he will know that he is getting fucked by a real woman. I need to be left spent and sweaty, down and dirty, shameful but unashamed. I need my mouth, my cunt, my ass to be filled to overflowing. I need cum on my breasts, my face, in my hair, running down the insides of my soft and shapely thighs. I need to be signed, sealed and delivered to ecstasy’s doorstep… and then I want to step inside. I need to be used and abused until I’ve forgotten my job, my home, my responsibilities, and my name. I want the only name I remember is the one I keep repeating over and over and over because he is giving me everything I could ever want…will ever need. I want that name to be yours. I want you. I need you now, right now, goddamnit. But the only way I can have you, is if you pick up the phone and call…