Sabrina in Stockings smartass switch sex worker

On Yahoo between phone & cam calls, and I get an IM from one of yesterday’s orgasm permission line callers:

Sabrina Morgan: Am I right in guessing that this is XX from the other day? The ID is similar
caller n: Yep.
caller n: I may have try your cam line tonight.
Sabrina Morgan: Oh, does that mean I get to hear you beg so sweetly again tonight? Yum.
caller n: It might.
caller n: I’m glad you enjoyed it.
caller n: Actually, right now I think I’d be begging to pee, not cum.
Sabrina Morgan: ha! well, we all have needs… do what you must, I’ve got some emails to sort through

caller n: Wow, okay.
caller n: I didn’t expect to get permission.

(I do orgasm control and denial, I don’t mess with anything involving the bladder, but this made me laugh.)

When was the last time you heard a phone sex operator have a real orgasm?

If you’re caller j, then the answer might be a few minutes ago. Twice over.

He called my Orgasm Ignore Line. It works like this: I put the phone down and do whatever I want. To myself. You listen in and count yourself lucky. It might take five minutes or it might take hours, depends on my mood and how revved up I am.

I was actually about to come when he called. I had a bad case of the morning hornies and was looking at some porn; the phone rang right as I was closing my eyes for the moment of truth. I grabbed the phone reflexively which is probably a good thing… it would have been tempting to let it go and finish but I was operating on instinct.

He let me know he knew the scoop (hooray for a stroker that reads the listing text) so I wasted no time in getting back to it. (No ulterior motives there. Really.) I’ll tease and deny everyone but myself. My denial was in waiting almost two whole weeks to be choked, spanked, and fucked by the man with the shiny black revolver. It was worth the wait (every minute of it!) but I’m an addict and all I crave is more more more.

This was the best I could do:

Phone beside me on my bed, about eight inches away from my face. The faint sound of his breathing. Nothing more. Face half-buried in my blankets, red hair everywhere. Rustling of clothing, of sheets… breathing back to ragged as my hand finds my slick wet lips, parts them, then slides up to my clit. I ride the waves and grind against my palm. The phone flickers in and out of my periphery of vision. It’s there, a blue glowing audience of one. A quiet presence that will not interfere - only witness. A moment later it’s not there to me. He’s not there to me, but somewhere there’s a man with his hand around his cock, listening for that change in my breathing. Soft low moans wriggle out of my body and break into screams.

I’ve been up for so long. And after last night… I’m floating, I honestly am. There’s mist outside and mist in my head. My whole body’s feeling like fog settling into the earth, just soaking in slow. Absorbing and being absorbed.

Now I’m with it and he just heard me come. I’m aware and smiling. If you know me, if you’ve called me, you know I smile when I’m feeling wicked so I don’t stop, oh no. I keep my hand cupped between my legs - and get more descriptive. He hears that I want more, that I’m going to come again. He hears my thumb brush my clit and hears me find it too sensitive. I’m going to try my ass instead.

There’s no way it’s going to take me long to come with my palm pressed against my clit and a finger in my ass still wet from my last orgasm. And he hears it. Every breath, every staccato moan, every word. Every choked-off scream and the bitten, imprinted knuckles it leaves.

“Do you ever come on calls?”

The tooth marks on the back of my hand say yes.

(Did he come? I have no idea. He hasn’t called back to beg permission to come yet.)

Unfortunately Niteflirt disconnected us before I could hit round three. Next time…

Orgasm Denial Line

$1.99/min

So much to write about, and I’m about to head out the door: hot Niteflirt calls, new outfits, new photos… it’ll have to wait until I get back and have time to spin the sexy little story you deserve to be teased with. I’ve been wanting to blend words and photos lately.

I’ll miss all my guys (and girls!) while I’m out of town. Stocking tease phone & cam late Wednesday night to celebrate my return!

Over at my (no longer dormant) other blog Full Frontal Politics, I’ve recently been spotlighting instances of unexpected support for sex workers on both popular career blog Brazen Careerist and top webcomic Something Positive.

Ladies (and gents, and everyone in between) - if we keep talking, our words will be heard and eventually repeated. The dialogue will be re-framed. And, mind by mind, people will gradually see sex workers as humans doing a job, not as members of some untouchable caste.

Hell, it worked for the Republicans…

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #124? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
A Seven Letter Word for Flowers
“I breathed into your neck, brushing my lips against your skin.”

Breakfast In Bed
“I rolled her over onto her back and she spread her legs willingly.”

Inked
“How quaint to be wooed with a soft brushing of lips over my fingers.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
L.A. Bondage

Editor’s Choice
Male spankees and the female gaze

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Mz. Berlin courtesy of Corset & Collar.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #123? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Sex and love; anger and appeasement
“And in some way, the love I had for him will never be extinguished entirely.”

The Tetrised Luggage
“Our thighs are touching and I can feel him inch forward in his seat.”

You never know who we are
“People tend to have an idea of who can/does talk about sex.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)
The Media vs. Pornography

Editor’s Choice
Red Assed Mouthsoaping for His Lies

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Sorry boys, no cam tonight - I’m putting together two new photo sets. One is a huge custom set for one of my favorite cam clients, and the other is the abridged version I’ll be making available to all of you on Niteflirt this month.

He’s so addicted to my photo sets he orders a new one after almost every cam show. I wonder what’s going to happen when he figures out I also do custom tease video…

Last night I teased him with my sheer lace bra, upskirt peeks in my office chair, and ground my ass at him until he came - I moved like I was fucking the air, all while my sensual voice was whispering in his ear that he would never be lucky enough to bury his face in my ass and lick it, let alone fuck me… After he savored the privilege of orgasming while looking at my smooth round ass he asked if I’d be open to modeling some of the outfits in my closet.

I’ll be changing off-cam, of course. It’s fun to be wicked. He might get a peek of stockinged foot, or the glimpse of my hips wiggling into a little satin slip… ha!

One poor stroker spent the night on the phone telling me about how his ex-girlfriend expected him to go down on her but never returned the favor, never had sex with him, only teased him in public, got him hard and taunted him into masturbating later with her worn panties.

This went on for a year.

Sometimes when he was lucky she’d stroke him - lightly, just to tease - or use some Astroglide and let him hump her still fist.

She was fucking her previous ex, of course. He knew about it… knew he was pussy whipped, but the frustration, the humiliation, and the sexuality kept just out of reach, only close enough to brush up against him and tease his cock, had him hooked.

Men are so simple.

He humped his fist for me on cam, came in a glass, and drank his cum. The look on his face was priceless.

I should send him a photo of my worn panties… taunt him further with all he could have had, if he wasn’t a cuckold stroker.

…

I’ve got nylons on my mind - it’s time to restock my lingerie drawer, especially after sacrificing so many stockings and panties to a good cause. Maybe you’ve got some suggestions for me? I could tell you about the different lingerie sets and stockings I’m planning on buying, and if you’re very lucky, what I’ll be doing with them.

Lingerie and Stocking Fetish Phone Sex

$1.99/min

Speaking of good causes I just sent the lovely Blue Eyed Vixen my submission for next week’s Tits for Troops. You’ll see my cheesecake contribution this Tuesday.

I’ve been craving an excuse to gag some poor stroker with my worn backseam stockings. Maybe I’ll make some nylon fetish recordings over the weekend. Or write a story to post here.

Think you can handle both?

I’ll be on webcam again tonight, probably from 10pm - 2am EST. You lucky bastard. Til then you can catch me on the phones (new Niteflirt callers get 3 free minutes):

Flirty Cocktease - Sensual Phone Domination

$1.99/min

Some of you have written to ask just what goes on in a TeaseCam session.

We’ll start by throwing your expectations out the window.

This is not about me stripping down as quickly as possible, shoving the largest available toy into my twat, and oohing and aahing as you masturbate furiously to a grainy, discolored cam feed.

This is not about me fake-baking, squeezing into an itty bitty rhinestone thong and a pair of designer jeans, giggling and calling you the “loser loser loser” to my princess.

Kudos to the camgirls who can pull that off. I’m pale and I can’t stand wearing jeans - but I do love clothes, and taking my time getting into - and out of - them.

Also I am neither an 18 year old coed nor a MILF. I know I look ambiguous, and I have fun roleplaying either older or younger, but I’m 24. That out of the way - of course we can pretend otherwise. Because this is all about leaving something to the imagination.

In my world your orgasm is never guaranteed. My fun at your expense always is.

I love fetishes. I have them. A lot of them. This makes it very easy to understand how simple it is to use your fetish against you.

I understand how weak you feel when you see a perfectly wrinkled sole… a thick black satin garter strap snapped tight against a bare thigh… when you feel the faint silken rasp of nylon drawn over your skin. The textures. The smells. The ache of frustration… the sensuality of satin…

I look inward, into what my fetishes do to me, and outward, observing what they do to you. Only in this instance it’s very like a cat watching a mouse. Sometimes you can even imagine the tail twitching.

Fetishes are beautiful irrational turn-ons and that makes them such gratifying buttons to push.

You’d love for me to push your button, wouldn’t you? Over and over…

In a cam session, I tease and frustrate and manipulate you with the tools at my disposal: my face, my voice, my body, my wardrobe, and your weakness for my sweet sensual sadism.

That can mean verbal humiliation. That can mean CFNM, directed masturbation, roleplays. That can mean driving you crazy with my stocking covered legs and feet while I sweet-talk you out of your money (nylon fetish and financial domination). Or we can get into a good old-fashioned slow striptease. Emphasis on the tease. And the begging. (Yours.)

It’s not important how it happens. In the end I am going to make you squirm.

I enjoy hearing your session ideas or working something out on the fly. Don’t expect to see me totally naked. Do expect to see me smiling - and maybe hear me laughing a little at your expense.

I’ve got a cam appointment in a couple of hours… If you’ve been trying to catch me live on my webcam, look for me after midnight EST (aka early Monday morning). I’ll stick around for a while. For some strange reason, teasing and frustrating horny men only leaves me wanting more…

If you’re imagining wicked laughter here you’re dead on.

Tease and Denial/Lingerie Fetish Phone Sex with Cam

To a certain faithful blog reader who begged so sweetly for permission to come last night on the phone: I’ll send you a cam cap from tonight’s session to tide you over. Or possibly just tempt you into giving up control, inch by inch. I can be patient.

(Yes, this tease and denial domme switches - but only for a select few. If you’ll only ever know what it’s like to make a woman come this hard secondhand then you do not qualify. Go back to your left hand.)

There’s a white towel on my bed that we laid down last night so we wouldn’t stain my sheets, but by the time that occurred to us it was too late (of course).

I’d been after him for sex all day - grabbing his ass, informing him of the myriad handholds his range vest gave me for sex standing up, telling him his balls belonged in my mouth right as we were about to head out for dinner with friends.

We fed each other sushi and maki with chopsticks and shared in the latest news and it was all very sweet. I behaved throughout dinner (which surprised him), only squeezing his leg and ass under the table a few times. I behaved throughout the movie, and throughout the planning of our own movies, which thoroughly shocked our friends.

They called it a night early; thank Gods.

Bright pink lace thongs aren’t enough these days. The computer’s very tempting, late at night.

Apparently looking slightly forlorn accomplished what the pink thong didn’t and I got KISSED.

This man kisses like most men fuck. It’s a treat in itself. Rough, firm, slow, sensual, slippery with just a hint of bite… Rrrowr. If I could bribe him to quit his job and kiss me all day it’d be worth every penny.

We made it to the bed; I rolled over and straddled him, nipped his neck, let my long red hair fall over his face and buried my own in his chest while I ground my lace-thong-covered ass down against his cock.

I didn’t move… I didn’t want to move.

But you know I didn’t hold still.

Lips against lips, pressure yielding to pressure, tongues teasing and breath puffing into each other’s breath… My body undulating on top of him, slowly and deliberately snaking over his skin, his own toned and tan and holding firm beneath my squirming curves…

At this point we’re still teasing each other. I’m running my hands through his hair, tracing nails over his wrists and collarbone. My pink nipples pop free of my bra. His lips are right there and I’m holding my breast out to him… brushing the nipple over his lips… feeding it to him.

(I saw bite marks this morning in the shower.)

Rubbing my panty-clad pussy over his cock feels incredible but I’ve moved past horny into hungry for it.

I love to grip his biceps while I thrust back against his cock, use his muscle as leverage to drop my hips down and pound my body against his. There’s no hesitation - just fierce and rhythmic. It’s holding on while my hands are shaking, feeling my ass bounce off his tensed thighs, his thick cockhead pressing insistently against the wettest spot of my panties, right where they indent.

His hands are on my nipples now and oh my God. They’re sensitive. They’re very sensitive. I don’t always like having them toyed with but he knows just how to time it. Play with them when I’m warming up, leave them alone, then come back when I’m almost there and push those buttons to send me over the edge. There’s this thing he does where he presses them inward and tugs and vibrates them right in time with his thrusts.

He matches his beat to my pussy walls trying to squeeze his cock through my underwear and his.

Fuck yeah I came. Over and over. It went like this:

please

He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me, watches me intently, and squeezes my tits together. And thrusts right in time with me. And my shaking thighs wrapped around his hips.

please, I need…

I need to come around your cock

He doesn’t stop. Not for a heartbeat. It’s an incessant wave crashing through me, over and over, not evenly timed, not enough that I could anticipate, brace for it… I’m pressing my lips to his neck, kissing his open mouth, stifling a gasp. Trying not to dig my nails into his skin.

Failing.

pleasepleaseplease

I try to look him in the eye, earnest, pleading. My face scrunches up and I throw my body back to push my full weight down onto his cock. My tits are bouncing free of my bra. (He’s getting a show.) Somewhere deep in the part of my brain that formulates thought, I want to feel his naked balls slap against my skin. My body just wants, just wants him pistoning in and out of me, driving his thick cock in so hard I can’t catch my breath, so deep it almost hurts, so my poor pussy won’t be like it is now - orgasming around nothing but air, milking every last drop of cum out of absolutely nothing.

And I’m repeating:

pleasefuckmepleaseIneedyoutopleasefuckmeplease

please

babyIneedyoutofuckmepleasejustfuckme

p-pleasepleasefuckmepleasfuckmepleasefuckme

Like it’s some kind of chant, like if I beg him while I’m coming over and over he’ll make it stop by not making it stop, he’ll pull my panties aside and slide his underwear down and press it into my pussy inch by inch while I’m clenching and unclenching around his perfect cock.

I’m almost crying just from the need of it, I’m shaking all over, and at times I’m not even able to form words, I just lie on top of him and hold still, and then shake, and pump my hips in time with his.

There’s this slow wicked smile that curves across his face when I go back to begging him. He’s savoring keeping me in this state, having this kind of power over me. Seeing what he’s doing to me.

His hands go back to my nipples and just before it’s all blasting through me again he says yes.

And I’m so far gone I actually ask him… “You promise?”

…

When I can finally dismount I look down at the outline of that deliciously prominent cock. That I’ve just drenched. In blood.

The hot pink thong? No longer pink. The sex immediately following? Well worth feeling almost guilty enough to wash his underwear.

Of course this makes me wonder about whether or not I can convince him “salt etching” has ruined my glasses…