Sabrina in Stockings smartass switch sex worker

On watching Mia’s member site solo tease video, “Private Show”:

That’s what I want to do for a living. I want to do what she just did.

It’s this personal feel, this subtlety and sexiness, that I want to create. My tastes run darker and I’ve got some strong fetish fixations but…

That settles it. No longer will the stocking tease site lurk on the back burner of my Endless Projects list. I want to do it, and damn it, I’m going to. I’m also going to relaunch Full Frontal Politics, possibly as a vodcast instead of a blog, possibly in addition to. I’m also going to have a teasecast (either video or podcast, still debating).

How is this going to happen, you ask, when I’ve gone weeks without a single post here, and when the Sugasm’s been late going up due to all manner of random ills?

Well, two things: Sometimes a long string of random ills impeding your progress can be a sign that you’re progressing in the wrong direction. And sometimes the most seemingly random things can remind you of what you really need to be doing.

Tonight I saw that Angela St. Lawrence (a fellow PSO, a writer I read before getting into this game, and a cool chick to boot) over at ZenFetish had recommended one of my older stories, Smells Like Vanilla, to her readers (thanks!). I hadn’t posted any stories in a while - had been too busy playing catchup, and felt guilty writing for myself - and I’d been feeling the writing itch; one glance down at the OnlyTease pic of the day and I had an idea pouring into a blank WordPress post.

It was good, too. Upskirt, tease and denial, and drawn from some fun I had last fall semester.

My laptop ate it.

This was the last in a long series of stupid, senseless fucked up things getting in the way of my blogging for all the wrong reasons.

It’s not a popularity contest; it’s not about perceived importance or ego food. It’s about whether or not you’re writing something honest, and by honest I don’t mean truthful, at least in the sense of being factually accurate; I mean in the sense of being true to life. That’s what art is about, touching something real. Even if it’s pure escapism it touches on a real desire to be lifted out of this life for a little while and into something wilder/different/better.

(I’d gotten out of chasing my wet dreams to chase a) ego food in the form of a prestige startup blogging gig, b) the unglamorous phone whoring that pays the bills. a) cut into b), creating c) unpleasant letters and phone calls. c) pissed me off. d), miscellaneous crisis crap, caused me to have to fix c) abruptly; both d) and b) then cut into a).

Forgive the algebra; it was never my strong point. Shit got in the way. I’d get my shit together - or some of it - and more would fall apart. All the while I was ignoring the things I really had to be doing, like… oh… all the stuff I’ve had planned since before I started this blog.)

Mia makes some damn good erotica. It’s not throwaway porn. It’s not something you delete as soon as you “finish” with a vague sense of boredom or disgust. You save it for later, maybe just to look at because she’s pretty and it’s pretty porn, maybe for another go-round or three, maybe because it makes you think.

I’m not kidding you. It was so hot I had to show my boyfriend the video, and then (after composing himself) we sat and talked about just why it was so hot. We got abstract, we got technical, we got almost an hour’s worth of analysis out of a four-minute cam video tease.

The thing I loved about the video is a) the music kicks ass, b) she gets the subtleties. Pacing, teasing, putting on a show… She doesn’t just flash the hoo-hah and slap her boobs a couple of times. She gets it. Bonus points for wearing stockings like she means it.

There you have it. Mia is contagiously hot. Now at present I’m not getting any pimping fees for promoting her; her affiliate program hasn’t gone live yet [edit, 12/04/06: it's live; links updated accordingly]. I’m doing this purely because a) she’s awesome b) she remembered my birthday c) I must evangelize for good porn and erotic materials. Also, my man thinks she has captivating eyes.

Straight from the source: “Well, once you get past the whole ‘gorsh she’s got huge jugs’ or ‘how many dicks can she put in her ass?’ you can appreciate the (better things, in my opinion) eyes and expressions, and it really sells it when you can just feel that she is having a good time and enjoying it.”

If you want to see the solo video, the erotica galleries, the sexy audio… you have to join. I’m tipping you off now because Mia’s running a special: 5.95 for your first month. I’m pretty sure that ends this weekend though so if you’re a cheap bastard like me, get in there now for some primo amateur erotica from an infamous sex blogger. Then come back here and thank me.

I like it bent over, on my knees, with my ass in the air. I like to reach one hand around behind me - across my naked back - back around my ass, holding my cheeks apart so I can tease that hole with just the tip of a finger.

I like to look back over my shoulder, and imagine you there. Watching. Approving. Encouraging my empty left hand to snake underneath my breasts. I clutch at them. Tiny pink crescent-shaped nail marks dot my milky skin. I like to get rough with my tits when you’re watching.

I like to give my nipples a sharp tug - left, then right - until I gasp, and feel my sphincter twitch against the pressure of my fingerpad.

I dip my head low. My back curves in reverse, a rainbow arc of reddish hair and flushed skin. Not the most pleasing angle from behind.

I like my ass up where you can reach it. I’m all about easy access when I’m in lusty, salty, sweaty heat. Bend at the lower back, push the ass out, arch the shoulders, keep the head low. I like to keep my thighs close together for you and stick my ass out - and up - to compensate.

I love how I can feel my cunt pulsing and I haven’t even touched it yet.

I found this yummy little blog in my referral tracker. Kat’s a fellow Niteflirt phone sex gal and stocking fetishist, a true erotic hypnotic class act. And she writes like this:

I tell Lorraine that I have on my black slip, the diamond earrings.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, get in front of the mirror, Mel.”

“I am in front of the mirror. What?”

“I want you to put a finger up there. Come on, just one.”

“Lorraine –” I sound like I’m about to refuse. But I do it. Of course I do it. And yes, it’s warm, it’s wet. It was getting caught up in the excitement of having a reason to get next to a good silky clean and new pair of panties, a pair of panties that hadn’t gotten de-elasticized in the wash, that was never subject to an errant period, a totally pristine pair of panties like you want a man to see you in who has never seen you in your underwear before. It was getting warm thinking about Jeff, and how he smells freshly washed and dabbed with the cologne he, no doubt, wants me to think he smells like all the time. New people, new bodies, the fear of the unfamiliar, maybe.

(keep reading Kat’s delicious lesbian phone sex erotica piece Mirror, Mirror…)

I want.

I’m pressing down against my office chair right now and bouncing up and down a little, just rocking back on my hips and thighs. It feels like all I am is warm, wet, and hungry and all of that is just melting out of my body through my throbbing pink cunt. Another hour like this and I’ll be in that state where I’m ready to bend over my desk, spread my legs apart, thrust my ass out like a bitch in heat and grind my aching clit against the edge of the desktop. I’ll growl, I’ll whimper, I’ll beg to get fucked.

I have class in two hours. I have to go sit in a room filled with people, potential warm slippery bodies against mine, all night long. The work is boring and repetitive - exactly the kind of stuff that makes my mind wander to more interesting topics, like which of the objects in the room would be best to impale that pretty little blonde with…

I can’t think when I’m like this.

I wonder if any of them read this. I wonder if the guys and girls behind me will be able to smell how wet my panties are.

They probably will.

The thought humiliates me and makes me wetter at the same time.

I’m tugging the crotch of my satin thong up between the lips of my pussy. It slides easily and I just know the slippery evidence will be visible on the black satin hours later.

I have an old pair of pantyhose. Black. Matte, sheer-to-waist and ripe for ripping. I can’t decide if I want to put them on, feel how smooth the nylon is against my legs, run my short nails over the seam (pressing it right against my clit) and then rip out the crotch and fingerfuck myself through the hole, or if I want to wad up one of the legs and force it inch by inch balled up into my pussy. It would be lumpy, unless I twisted it just right. It would push out my walls at angles I couldn’t predict until the nylon was there, compressing just enough not to hurt me but rough-edged enough to feel very interesting indeed.

Right now I’m not just wet but slick. The nylon wouldn’t absorb so much as get coated in my juices. Gods, I want to come. I’m riding the edge of my panties that got pushed up against the inner lips of my pussy, just enough to tease me but not give me enough of what I need to send me over. I lean back… the silky smooth satin shifts back and forth across my ass, right there, and it’s driving me crazy. I need more… Two fingers go to my lips, then three, and it’s your cock muffling my moans, my lips wrapped tight around my knuckles… tight around the base of your cock. My tongue flicks out to tease the head of your cock, running around the ridge, teasing that sensitive spot right and the underside, and I suck right there. My panties are starting to leak. I’m shaking, but not enough… not yet.

My cunt actually hurts, I need to come so badly. I need to make this hard and fast. Hands off the keyboard now - I need something more inside me than just the edge of my panties. Two fingers go to my lips, circling, before pushing in and kicking back and forth, teasing right at the back… harder, then nothing, then more, more, more.

I don’t think I screamed but I damn well made noise.

It’s a blur, my panties are askew, my hair is mussed and I’m realizing I actually do need a job where it’s okay to go lie down for a minute and have five mini-orgasms one after the other until I can stop feeling like a hole that needs to be fucked and start feeling like a person again. I’m wondering if there’s someone out there this is enough for, instead of too much. I’m wondering why the hell my fingers always smell and taste like vanilla musk, afterward. I mean really… vanilla?

I had sex with you this morning, and you didn’t even know it.

I was recording it so you could hear… it was pretty hot, but Audioblogger ate it, and now I know exactly what robot sex must sound like. It’s too unintelligible to be funny or I’d post it for you anyway.

I was lying on my side. My hand reached around and behind to trace the line of my ass all the way down until I felt wet silk folds and I pressed my knuckles against my clit and came hard until my pink thong was soaked and there was a lot of good stuff in between (in between what, I’ll leave up to you) that you’ll get to hear soon, I promise.

I’ll try again tomorrow. My pussy’s on regularly scheduled feedings.

This blog isn’t as hot or interesting as it’s going to be in a few days by far and I finally figured out why. If you’re a girl, you’re told all your life to fear “leading people on” because it invites rape. Now I know full well that isn’t true and being chaste and virtuous (ha) is no protection, just as being a sexual powerhouse is no invitation. There is no invitation; you either have consent or you don’t (even consent for roleplayed nonconsent). If you’re not sure, you don’t have consent.

Easy, right?

The problem is that so many people actually believe that rape myth that even knowing it’s a load of crap, I’m having a hard time writing like I write in private.

This is kind of funny since riding the bus through the ghettos of Boston at 1 a.m. when I was 16 was much riskier, but I didn’t think twice about that. I knew those guys and they were a bunch of mellow, heavily armed Jamaicans who really liked to play dominos in the park. Also I was a better shot than about half of them…

So how am I going to get past this shyness and inhibition and write (and video, and phone) like I do when it’s not out there in public with my face?

I was thinking about it this morning and the answer’s actually pretty simple. I’m a phone sex operator. It’s the Diet Coke of sex work, but I already have no dignity in a lot of people’s eyes. I intend to go further (and want to - very badly). The stuff I write on the sidelines is much hotter than what’s been going in here and that’s embarrassing to me as a pervert. If I’m not turning you on, I’m not doing my job.

There. I said it.

Consider this past week foreplay, because it was just getting me warmed up. My goal is to make this blog an orgy of decadence and perversion, and I’m going to make that glaringly obvious by this weekend.