Archive for the 'femdom' Category

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What matters, what I’m trying to tell you, what I’ve been trying to tell you all night, is that you’re busted.  We can’t go back now.  There is no turning back.  I liked watching you much more than I like fucking you.  Can’t you understand that?  Don’t you get it?

But I thought you liked sex with me.

I do, or I should say that I did.  It’s been changing for a while now.  What, probably for a year?  Yes, at least a year.  It hasn’t been the same and you know it.  I know that you know it.  I mean look what you’ve been doing behind my back.

I … I …

Sush!

But …

I said to shush and I mean it.  There’s no sense in being embarrassed and I really don’t have the patience for any of your silly posing.

No fucking?

No fucking.  Besides the fact that you really have never been that good at it, and besides the fact that I’ve been rather bored with your “breast-grab, spread my legs and mount me” tactics, well, like I said, I’ve rather enjoyed watching you this past month.

You’ve been watching for an entire month?  What the fuck?

Hmph.  Like you have any room to judge me!  Let’s just remember who’s been sitting on a rickety stool in the back of the basement with his pants down around his knees any chance he gets.  Lets not forget who does it in the shower, on the toilet or even off the back deck, when he thinks he can get away with it.

You saw me on the deck?  Jesus!

I sure did.  In fact, tomorrow you are going to go down below the deck and clean off that bird feeder.  Absolutely disgusting.  And if you do something like that again, I’ll make you clean it off with your tongue.  Do you hear me?

Yeah.

Don’t you dare roll your eyes.  Come here; I want to show you something.  I said come here.  Come here right now!

Jesus!  Okay, what?

See this website?

Yeah, what about it.

I built it.  Don’t look so surprised.  I’m not as technically challenged as you think.

Oh fuck!  No, no no.  What the fuck?  What are those?  Oh, honey, you didn’t.

Oh yes I did!  Once I figured out how much you were “going at it,” I started taking pictures.  So let’s see.  Each page holds twelve pictures and so far I’ve got almost six pages.

Honey, baby.  This isn’t right.  What if somebody sees them for Christ’s sake?  You’ve got to get these down.  You’ve got to take this website down.

No.  Look closely.  See how I’ve blurred your face?  Nobody’s going to recognize you.  And, take it from me, even if you’ve cheated on me with hundreds of women?  Your dick just isn’t that memorable.

You bitch!

You have no idea.  Now get your pants down and start jerking that dick of yours.  This time you’re going to do it right in front of me.  No sneaking off like a dirty pervert.  Come on, get them down.

This is crazy.  You’ve gone off the deep end.

Here, let me show you something else.  With a click … here, here and then there.  Do you see that?  That picture is NOT blurred.  And I can do that to every last one of them.  And then, my love?  I can just pop a link into an email and send it out to all your business associates, your friends, even your family.  Like you just said — I’m a bitch.  But guess what?  You’re MY bitch.   Your my masturbating bitch boy from now on.  Whenever, wherever, however —  I tell you to drop your drawers and start pumping, you will do just that.  Do you understand?  Do you get it now?

I, but …

Let’s see, where is that email address to your secretary.  Or, better yet, your sister-in-law.  There they are.  I think I’ll just send it to both of them.

No. Please.

Then get busy.  Get busy now.  That’s a good boy.  Drop them lower.  Drop them down around your knees, you dirty little masturbator.  That’s right.  Now get jerking.  Wrap your grubby paw around that thick, useless cock and start stroking.  Look.  Look how hard your prick is.  You know what you are.  Stroke it.  Stroke it and repeat after me:  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch.  Go ahead.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Go ahead.

I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a —

Don’t stop.  I’m just getting the camera.  Got to have fresh content for the website, after all.

beyond that door

beyond that door
you are the brick-boy
the silver-tongued hero
you’re the whole shebang, motherfucker!

the hero, the big dick, the maaaan
the big man on campus
the man in the moon
the man to see
the man with a plan

you’re the taker
you’re the shaker
you’re the breaker
you’re the goddamn
candlestick maker

beyond that door
the world is your oyster
beyond that door
your kingdom come
beyond that door
women swoon and flirt and flatter

beyond that door
you are the candy man
the master of your own domain
you kick ass and take names
you are a player, a six-pack punk
every woman knows your name

but that door is closed
closed down, boarded shut, bang-bang
no way out, no where to hide
no where to go
but down down down

you’re on this side now
my side, mendicant man
my turf, toy wonder
you’re in the bosom of the bitch

you’re on this side:
you’re overpriced
and undervalued
and nobody gives two cents
suck it up

mendicant man
you’ve cashed your frequent flyers
mediocre man
you’ve burnt your neon bridges
nowhere man
you’ve spent your sorry wad

you’ll cease that fast-talking spinnity jive
right now (nobody cares)
and shuck that grandiose i-wish-it-were-my-dick tie
(nobody cares)
and lose those boot-cut Calvin Kleins
(not impressed)

get on the floor,
the stone cold floor
on this side of the door
where you belong

In the Corner

rubylipsnailsIn the corner he stands.  Facing the wall, his hands to his sides.  Naked and appearing so vulnerable, so alone.  And you might, indeed, think him a lonely man.  A sad man.  Even maybe a pathetic man.  But let’s take a closer look before we go away with our own first impressions, shall we?

Look, when we try to peer into his eyes (because really, when it’s all said and done, that’s where one can quickly ascertain the truth of a person, isn’t it?), there’s something covering his face.  My, oh, my, is that what I think it is?  Yes, it is.  Panties!  Panties covering the dear boy’s face.  Now what did he do to merit that?

But, wait!  Look at how the crotch of those panties are placed strategically over his nose.   We must get in a little closer.  Let’s just cozy up next to him and see exactly what is going on here.   Goodness!  Looked at how soiled the panties are!  Even from here the scent is quite robust.  The scent of sex, I dare say.  The pungent scent of man-woman sex.  Intriguing.  Quite intriguing.

Now that we are so close, do you see what I see?  Look at that penis sticking out so straight and stiff from his groin.  Hmmm.  A rather small one, isn’t it?  Nonetheless, it’s quivering and bobbing just a bit.  Pity to the poor woman he might try to mount with that silly little thing.  How tedious and utterly boring it would be for her, don’t you think?

Do you hear that?  Coming from the wall of the corner our little mini-meat-man stands against?  It’s muffled, but still exuberant and loud.  What could it be?  Did you see that?  I do believe that puny appendage of his just twitched.  Why, he’s reacting to the moans and groan, the creak of bed springs, the slapping of flesh we are hearing from the other side of that eggshell white wall!  And look at that!  He just took a deep sniff of those panties.  Oh, he did it again.  And again.  Look at that tiny stone pencil of his actually quivering.

Wait.  Someone is saying something from behind the wall.  Let’s listen.

This is what you deserve, you sad excuse for a husband.  Do you hear me, Henry?  Are you smelling the fuck on my panties while I’m getting my next dose of real man cock?  You’re a loser, Henry.  And you’ll stand there in the corner like the sorry dick-wad you are while I fuck this stud.

Oh my!  I think we have our answers.  And, at this point, I do believe we should leave Henry to his moment of bliss.

you might say

… well, a lot of things.

maybe that you fear me
that my erotic sway brings you to your knees
or my voice is all you hear
above the din, beyond the clamor
of what you once mistook for life

that you despair, yet crave all that i am
(you know that i am)
my sharp words
exigent carriage
cavalier inclinations
callous requisitions

that you love me with desperation
(your senseless desperation)
… despite
my cold disdain
contemptuous breadth
my reserved contempt

that you would kneel before me
give to me
sacrifice for me
venerate, cherish, celeberate me
suffer for me
cry, beg, whine, snivel, squirm
humble your undistinguished self
at my feet

or whatever

because i will say
that you are irrelevant
and i am disinterested
that i disdain
your impotent efforts and puny ambitions
that you are
inconsequential, even despicable
that you are …
a paltry wretch
a lacking vassal
a lamed fuck
a stumbling picador
a shadow man

or whatever

The Monkey Spanker

She has placed you over a kitchen stool so that your ass sticks up above it’s red vinyl seat, and then tied your wrists to your ankles with leather straps. She was neither gentle or rough, rather matter of fact about it. You are wondering whether you should tell her that you feel you might slide off the smoothness of the leather, looking up through the swatch of bangs over your eyes, when you see her taking a rolled length of leather strapping from the countertop.

She notices and smiles down at you. "Don’t worry," she says as she bends down in front of you and begins winding the thin leather around the length of your legs and arms, "you’re not going anywhere."

After she’s secured the binding at your ankles and top top of your thighs,  she cups your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. She smiles, running her thumb across your lips. "You’re very vulnerable now, aren’t you?" It’s a rhetorical question, so you just suck in your lips, pulling them between your teeth and slowly nod. No need for words; you both know who is running this show.

Her other hand trails upward over your taut bicep, then along your shoulder blade and down the length of your back until, teetering forward on her heels, she’s clasped your left buttock. She squeezes, the thin edges of her nails digging pressing into the rounded flesh. "I want your ass." The thumb pushes into your pressed lips, breeching the seal you’d made, and into your mouth. Reflexively, you start sucking on it. This seems to please her. She tips her head, pressing her forehead to yours. "Oh, yes," she murmers, "Yes, indeed. I am going to have that ass."

Flipping the top of a container of baby oil, she continues, "What did I catch you doing without permission today, hmmm?

"I touched myself, Dear Mistress.  But I am sorry and won’t do it again.  I promise."

"Try again.  That’s not the correct answer."  She is drizzling the oil into the palm of her hand, looking at you expectantly.

"Ummm …"

"Well?"

"Ummm, I was masturbating?"

"You were spanking your monkey.  That’s what you were doing — spanking your monkey without permission.  So what do you think that means?"

Cradling the palmed oil, she walks back over to you.  "I’m going to enjoy this, you know," she says, and you feel her rubbing the baby oil into the cheeks of your ass.  Her touch is soft and warm, almost a tender caress.  But you know the gentleness will not last.  Again she walks away, as you watch her heels tapping the marble floor.  Suddenly she turns around; the look on her face has changed, is fierce and determined.

"What happens to bad little boys who spank their monkeys?  Tell me."

"Ummm, I’m not sure, Dear Mistress.  But I said I’d be good from now on.  Could I maybe have another chance?

"No, there are no second chances.  And you know that.  Stop your bargaining and stop playing dumb.  Now I am going to ask you once again, and if you don’t answer properly, then this will be twice as bad for you.  Now, What happens to bad little boys who spank their monkeys?"

Your cheeks clench in anticipation.  You can how smell the baby oil, its smooth, innocently sweet scent juxtaposed against what you know is about to happen.  Mistress is tapping her foot, her full mauve lips slightly apart, her emerald eyes blazing.  She is eager now.  There will be no reprieve.

"Dear Mistress," you say sheepishly, "bad little boys who spank their monkeys get their bottoms spanked; they get their bottoms spanked very hard by their Dear Mistress.

She smiles, walks towards you and raises her hand.

 

 

Strap On

Bend over and grab your ankles.

What in the fuck is that?

Don’t play dumb.  I’ve seen the bookmarks on your computer; you know exactly what this is.  Now bend over and grab your ankles.

Those bookmarks don’t mean anything.  It’s just crazy guy stuff.  Just fantasy stuff.  Not real.

Is that why you’re forking out all those credit card payments for memberships?  I’m not an idiot, so don’t screw with me.  Do it!

I don’t want to.  I don’t want to do it for real.

Well, I really don’t give a shit if you want to do it for real.  Quit your lying, quit your whining and bend over and grab your goddamn, fucking ankles!

I’m getting dressed and leaving.  This is crazy.  You’re crazy.

Is that what you want?  You really want to leave?  You really are going to pass this up?

What are you doing?  Stop it?

Why?  What’s wrong with me rubbing my girl cock up against your boy cock?  Doesn’t that feel nice?  Think how good it would feel to take it up the ass.

Stop it.

You don’t want me to stop it.  Look:  your boy cock is trying to grow nice and big like my big black leather one.  I think it likes it.

It’s because your rubbing it with that stupid … that stupid thing.  It’s friction.  Of course, it’s going to react.  I am a guy, after all.  What do you expect?

I expect you to bend over and grab your ankles.  You know you want to, so just do it.

I, um, I ….

Come on, just do it.  I’ll just rub it up the crack.  Come on, bend over.

Okay, I’ll let you play this stupid game.  But don’t you dare try to put it in.

That’s good.  Now lean shoulders into the ottoman so you don’t lose your balance, and grab your ankles.  That’s it, like that.  Just like that.

What the fuck?  What are you doing?  Stop it.  What the fuck?  Damn it!  Get these off of me.  Get these off of me right now.

They’re cuffs.  I ordered them from The Stock Room when I ordered my little — well, my big — friend here.  Now stay there for me and don’t move.  I need to get something out of the drawer.

How am I supposed to go anywhere when you have my wrists cuffed to my ankles?

I guess you have a point there.  Okay, hold still for a second.

Christ!  That’s cold.  What are you doing?

It’s lube.  Unless you’ve been fucking your own ass with cucumbers and stuff, I think you’re going to need it.  So hold still.

You’re not really going to do this.  Come on.

Let me reach around here and check.  Uh, huh.  Your dick is rock hard.  So, let’s get this straight, lover boy.  You are now officially my bitch.  You’re my bitch and I am going to fuck your tight little asshole until you cream all over your belly.

Cum For Teacher

Her finger is in your ass, her mouth around your cock.  She is doing something deep inside of you that is making your cock leak and drizzle on the back of her tongue.  You hear her swallowing — wet, dirty slurps.  Opening your eyes and looking down, you see a pink-hued liquid sheen around her lips, lipstick having smeared and mingled with your cock juice.

The lewdness of what you see — this is Ms. Kavinaski, after all — causes your prick to vibrate and you’re about to pump a load into her mouth, when she senses it and quickly pulls away  — one big slimy, loud suck up the shaft and over and off the mushroom knob.  Your cocks is free, the air-conditioned air instantly cooling the hot slobber that drips down its shaft.

“Not yet.”

Your professor wiggles her finger deeper into your asshole and stares into your eyes as that finger hula hoops around and around.  You grunt, your hands pressed to the sides of the chair, knuckles white.

“How bad do you want it?”

Despite the mottled redness of embarrassment burning your skinny neck, hairless chest, and your pale face, you can’t help yourself.  Your hips move on their own, your mouth is a silent “O” opening and closing, opening and closing.  She licks her tongue around the roseate stain etching her lips, moves her finger outward to the inside edge of your puckered anus, then slowly begins moving it in and out. Deeper. Then Deeper. And Deeper still.

“I’m finger fucking your tight, little virgin ass, dear boy.  But, then again,” she grabs your still-oozing dick with her free hand and slowly pumps it, “but this is virgin, too.  Isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer — instead closing your eyes and moaning — she stops pumping her fist.  “Answer me, or I’ll stop.”   Eyes still closed you begin to open your mouth.  “No.  Open your eyes and look at me.  Look at  Mrs. Kavinaski and say it.”   You open your eyes.  Looking at her you feel dirty — like a dirty, little boy.  Her slight sneer makes you even feel dirtier.  She knows what you are feeling, what she is doing to you, how out-of-control hot you are.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

It is barely a squeak; but, there, you at least said something. But she’s not satisfied.

“Don’t call me ma’am, call me teacher.  I’m your teacher.  I’m your vile, dick-jerking, ass-fingering teacher.  And you’re my slutty, nasty, dirty student.  A very horny student who needs something from me real bad.  So why don’t you try again.  If you want to me to play with this stiffy of yours, try again.”  She jerks it up and down just once, then looks at you expectantly.  You swallow, even as her finger continues to deliberately and methodically screw your asshole.

“Yes, Teacher.”

Her mouth is immediately back on your dick, her pumping finger picking up speed.  You feel your balls tightening, pulling up under your groin.  Your groans are loud, echoing in the otherwise empty classroom as your hips buck and you try to fuck her finger and mouth at the same time.  Then she removes her mouth and starts pumping your cock hard and fast.

“Now, tell me how bad you want it.”

“Please, Ms. Kavinaski.  I want it.  Play with my dick.  Jerk me off.  Finger fuck my ass. Please.  I want it bad.”  She smiles, pumps finger and fist even faster.

“Now!  Cum for teacher, you dirty, filthy boy.  Shoot that hot spunk right here on my face, while I ream out your ass with this finger.”

And you do.

You cum harder than you probably ever will again in your entire life, shooting all over Ms. Kavinaski’s auburn bangs, her neck, across her face.   You ride the knot to the end, feeling your balls jerking, your asshole spasming around her finger, watching a thick clump of your own boy-milk ooze down her forehead and cling to her thick eyelashes.   You are panting, sweating, almost crying from the intensity of it all, when she speaks again.

“What do you say?  What do you have to say now?”

This time, you know what to say.  Between rattled breaths, you answer.

“Thank you, Teacher.”

 

don’t tell me

don’t tell me
that i can’t fuck around
maybe i don’t care if they’re not as smart, as slick-savvy as you
so what if they don’t have your big cock
or buy me diamonds and pearls and rubies
in platinum or eighteen karat gold

don’t tell me
that i shouldn’t stay out or turn off my phone
or take candy from strangers
because you just might not be around
when i change my mind

don’t tell me
that i just don’t care, that it doesn’t mean a thing
that i’m just a fucking cunt
a bitch from hell, a vicious harpy, a narcissistic wench
well … just because
we already know that,
don’t we?

don’t tell me
that i’m your perfect girl,
or call me babe, or honey, or sweetheart
for christ’s sake, get a grip
keep your sticky fingers to yourself
take your heart off your sleeve
and stick your dick back into your pants

don’t tell me
that it’s chemistry or destiny,
we’re written in the stars
get over your romantic self
and off me, out of my face

wipe off that drool
straighten your tie
stand up like a man
and don’t tell me.

Don’t Think. Just Obey.

Why he is here, he couldn’t tell you. Even later, the memory will be fuzzy at best: a business trip, an unfamiliar town, a rented car, trouble sleeping.

The bar is nice, the music not too loud, the regulars behaving themselves. He sits nursing his scotch, listening to the three women next to him, catching occasional glimpses of their animated faces in the mirror behind well-stocked shelves. He thinks the one next to him, the brunette, has met his reflected gaze once or twice. Her shoulder has brushed his no less than three times, which isn’t a surprise, given their close proximity. The last time, she’d even turned to smile at him, which he took as a quiet “excuse me.”

He orders his second drink just as the brunette’s two friends move out to the small dance floor. Watching the way their bodies move together, seeing the way they look only at each other, he wonders if they might be lesbians. A slight smile creases his face as his mind conjures an ongoing array of possibilities.

“No, they’re not.”

Lost in the fantasy of two blondes getting it on, he hasn’t noticed her moving closer, but here she is. He smiles, nods, lifts his glass and takes a drink before answering.

“So besides being beautiful, you can read minds too?”

He is surprised, caught a little off guard, when she doesn’t smile back. Instead, she sits back down on the bar stool and lights a cigarette. She stares at him, inhaling deeply. “I can read your mind,” she says through a plume of exhaled smoke. “And it’s a very messy place. Quite undisciplined, in fact.” She reaches into her Dooney & Bourke purse. “But I can fix you right up in no time, make everything all better.”

Her eyes holding his, her hand moves from her purse to place something between them on the bar. He looks down to see a leather collar, its stainless steel studs reflecting the sparkling lights hanging from the overhead above them.

He doesn’t say anything, just shapes his mouth into what he hopes passes for a wry grin, tips his glass, downing the rest of his drink.

“If you need to get drunk to get kinky, you’re not doing it right.”

This time when he looks at her she is smiling. And so he smiles back. “Who said I wanted to get kinky,” he answers, waving to the bartender, this time pointing to both their drinks. “I’m just here for a couple of drinks, a chance to unwind. That’s all, Miss.” She cocks here head, the smile having reached her twinkling eyes. Dark blue eyes, the color of cobalt, he notices.

“Mistress.”

“Pardon me?”

“What I mean is don’t call me Miss, call me Mistress. Mistress Paige.”

The bartender is serving their drinks, taking away the empty glasses. If he notices the collar, he doesn’t let on. “Don’t worry about the bartender,” she says, “he’s not in this. You and me are in this. Only you and me.” She reaches out, touching his arm, right above the bend of his elbow. She slowly squeezes, until her hand is a fist, bundling his shirt sleeve and flesh into a hard knot. “I’m going to do this to your balls,” she whispers in his ear. Then she flicks the edge of his ear with her tongue. “Mmmm … you taste good.”

He looks into the mirror again, seeing that the blondes are now back, both eyeing him in its metallic reflection. The one on the far right, the one in the cashmere sweater dress, moves her lips, mouthing, “Do it.”

Although “Mistress Paige” is turned towards him and cannot see her friends, she tells him, “Take her advice. Put the collar on. It will better than any fucking sex you’ve ever imagined in your wildest, pedestrian fantasies.”

And he doesn’t know why, but he does. He picks up the collar, turns to Mistress Paige and puts it around his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees both of the blonde’s reflected, knowing smiles and wonders if they will be a part of this. A part of what will happen next.

“No, they aren’t coming with us.”

He is starting to think that she really can reads minds, when Mistress Paige takes a leash from her purse and attaches it to the collar. He opens his mouth, maybe to protest, to tell her she is going to far. He really doesn’t even know what words want to come out of his empty, dry mouth. But she stops him with a finger across his lips, shushing him.

“Don’t think. Just obey.”

“Yes.”

She pats him on the head, runs her fingernails down the side of his neck, then curls her fingers under the edge of the collar. He feel her knuckles against his Adam’s apple as she pulls him close. “Now your getting it,” she whispers, looking straight into his eyes. He believes she is right. His world is changing, becoming transparent and shimmering. The blondes, the bartender, even the leather bar stools and flickering bar lights are fading ghosts.

“Don’t think. Just obey,” Mistress Paige repeats herself. He knows what to say, what she expects of him. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Now…” she relaxes her grip on the collar, “get down on you knees.” She repeats herself again, “Don’t think. Just obey.”

Don’t think. Just obey. He hears the words inside of his brain, echoing in his bones like a mantra as he lowers himself to the wooden floor. Staring straight ahead through a sea of legs he hears the noise of the bar — the jukebox, the jumbled drunken voices — as if from behind a wall of leaded glass. Don’t think. Just obey.

“Begin crawling towards the door. Do as your told. Now!”

He does what he must. He crawls.

Tagged BDSM · femdom · discipline · domination · fem fatale

The Land of MILF and Money

Believe it or not, many women aspire to try the Phone Sex thing. I know because I get tons of email asking for guidance, suggestions and/or linkage. It is impossible to answer everybody. I try when I can, but usually I’m just too busy doing way too much to get to them all. So I thought I’d take some time to address some of these issues today.PLEASE NOTE:  These are only my opinions, but they are based on my personal experience and ethics. Hopefully my callers, my readers, fellow PSOs and aspiring PSOs will find it at least interesting, perhaps enlightening and maybe even instructive.

Yes, it’s easy to get going. Just pop sex jobs or phone sex jobs or phone sex into your search engine and you are on your way. Many phone sex sites have an application page readily handy. I am not going to go through all of the possibilities that are available to the beginner. Doxy, of the Phone Slut Diary, provides excellent information for both callers and providers regarding your choices and what to expect.

Like Doxy, I am an independent, working for myself. This is my business which, unlike Doxy, I operate through the NiteFlirt platform. Yes, my business is very successful and I’m able to support myself quite comfortably. That said, if you are new to the industry, I highly recommend working for a service before making the leap to business owner.

Why? Because good phone sex is about more than moaning and groaning and bragging about how hot you are. If you work for a company–maybe even two or three–before spreading your entrepreneurial wings, you will get the experience you need to create a phone sex business that can stand up to the competition. And believe me, there is a lot of competition.

Plus there are many different types of phone sex. Working for a service, particularly one which takes any request (shemale, MILF, incest, mistress, cross-dressing, submissive, bestiality, hermaphrodite, golden showers, etc.), is the best way to hone your craft. You will get invaluable lessons in human relations and sexuality, and even marketing and customer service. You will also learn what phone sex niche best suits your personality and ability.

And working for a number of services will give you exposure to various business paradigms.  Then when you start shifting from worker bee to queen bee, you will have an very good idea as to how you want to run your business.

In the meantime, while you are in the learning stages and even when you’re “in the biz,” the internet can be your best friend. The information you can garner is invaluable, bountiful and free. Spend your time wisely by checking out the competition, noting what they charge, what they offer, and what makes them stand out. Research fetish terms and types of kink. Read the plethora of free erotic stories that are available everywhere and anywhere.

And remember that even when you are working for a company, you are still in the driver’s seat. It is up to you to provide something of value and build up your own customer base. As I kinda-sorta said earlier, everybody and their mother wants to be a Phone Sex Superstar these days. Which means the caller has innumerable choices. How can you provide an experience which makes him remember you and want to call again?

Personally, I think it’s imperative to value and respect the caller and his particular brand of kink. It’s all about you and your professional integrity. Never judge a man by his fantasy. While you might not be able to fulfill a certain request due to TOS (terms of service) issues, lack of knowledge, understanding and/or ability, that doesn’t mean that the caller is a degenerate.

Even when you are new and just testing the waters (very scary…I still remember every moment of the first call I ever took), your ability to treat the caller like a valued customer will go a long way in making up for lack of experience. It’s a very easy concept: treat the caller the way you like to be treated when you are doing business with someone. And quite frankly, if you can’t or refuse to do that, he will most likely move on to find someone who can. Repeat business is what will build your client base.

I often get age play or bestiality requests. The TOS under which I operate do not permit this type of call. I don’t agree with that policy, but I have to follow it. But I don’t automatically assume the caller is a perverted monster. From experience, I know that 99 percent of these guys are harmless and living very normal–and sometimes even stellar–everyday lives. And so I tell them that–with much regret on my part and no disrespect to them–I cannot fulfill their particular request. Most of the time, if you are nice, the caller will be nice.

A while back, a regular caller told me that the reason he kept calling back was that he was tired of rude “FemDoms” who didn’t even listen to what he wanted, just going off on their own tangents. Which highlights two things worth mentioning here.

  1. Specializing in FemDom, BDSM or even Erotic Humiliation does not justify a lack of manners on the part of the provider. Rudeness is not domination, it is crudeness. And actually reflects a lack of superiority, sophistication and talent.
  2. Listening well is the ultimate secret weapon if you want to be a successful PSO. There is a Chinese proverb which goes like this: To listen well, is as powerful a means of influence as to talk well, and is as essential to all true conversation. Don’t underestimate the importance of listening. Because if you do, there is no possible way to attain success. It’s the caller’s fantasy, not yours. If you insist on it being about you, you will end up with a phone that never rings.

A topic hotly debated in PSO forums and communities is the matter of pricing. Of course, if you are working for a service, they set the price. The company I got started with charged $75/half hour, with that being the minimum. Our customer base was comprised of smart and successful men. I got spoiled by the best, and now market to attract those callers. I like them a lot. And they seem to like me.

But when I first went out on my own, I couldn’t remain competitive in my environment at the price I thought I was worth. I had to work my way up, so to speak. The buyer wants to know you’re “worth it.” And can you blame him? Before you set your price, it is a good idea to look at other providers offering similar services. And if you have no history of doing business to offer up as proof of your expertise, then set your prices a bit lower than those girls. Give the caller a reason to try out the new girl on the block. As you gain professional recognition and a following, you can then begin to raise your prices.

Lastly, a word about wish lists and tips. While most girls–many of my good friends, in fact–these days have wish lists, I opt not to. Why? Because, quite honestly, I want to be valued and paid well for what I do. In other words, SHOW ME THE MONEY. My job is to get the caller off and do it with (hopefully) a whole bunch of panache. Pay me well for my talent, thank you very much. And I don’t want the caller to feel obligated or bamboozled by a not-so-subtle hint to buy me something.

Tips are okay, if they come in on their own. Again, I don’t expect tips (AKA tributes), nor do I ask for them. Often guys surprise me, which just tickles me pink. This is all rather new, this “gimme, gimme, gimme” attitude on the part of phone sex providers. Unfortunately, I think many girls get into the industry with no thought about providing a quality and professional service. Instead their focus is how much they can get while basically doing nothing to earn or deserve it. Anyway, it’s your call. Just think seriously about the ramifications to you and your business.

So, did you learn something? Or did I piss you off?

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