Sabrina in Stockings

I was out walking my Shiba Inu (yes, at 2am) and got a call on my cell from a pervert by the name of Mike. Mike has a problem: he has a porn collection numbering in the thousands. He jerks off three times a day (or more). He has not had sex in seven years.

There are men who like porn; they like to masturbate, they like to come. For some it’s a hobby. For Mike it’s closer to a lifestyle. Personally, I love those guys. They crack me up and they keep the phones ringing.

While he’s telling me this I’m walking down the sidewalk near the park, cell in one hand, leash in the other, and teasing him with my plans for the evening (unlike his, mine involve sex with someone other than my hand).

He lets out the most woeful sigh of regret I’ve ever heard from a compulsive masturbator. “I wish there was someone there you could tell about me.”

As he’s saying this, two goth club kids walk up and greet me. I’m guessing he can’t hear them in the background because he hangs up, clearly frustrated that I hadn’t met anyone in the five minutes he stayed on the line. The goths – on the young end of college age – hear the tail end of the Niteflirt message.

The girl gives me a look like she’s heard it before.

Mike – apparently wanking off to all those porn DVDs gave you no stamina whatsoever, because if you’d waited another 30 seconds you would have heard the giggles of a slightly drunk, kinda cute brunette goth chick laughing at the fact that you’d rather collect enough porn to keep a frathouse stocked up than even try to pay a girl to have sex with you. That is truly a sign that you have given up on life.

Hanging up just before you would have gotten the delicious semi-public humiliation you crave: phone sex FAIL.

Getting nearly 24 hour access to your Sabrina fix: WIN.

This line forwards directly to my cell 24/7. I might be driving around, walking my Shiba Inu, shopping, out with friends, drinking, or on a date with a man who can measure up. If I’m in bed, this line is on Alerts since my mouth might be too full to talk…

This line is open to all sorts of conversation. I might not always be in a place where I can talk explicitly but that never stops me from listening! I won’t be in front of the computer so you’ll need to introduce yourself when you call.

This is the closest you’ll ever get to getting my cell phone number. Don’t lose it.

Call Me On My Cell Phone

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After two years, I finally decided it was time to redesign the blog. I’m now using the Vigilance theme by Jestro, with some minor modifications:

The most obvious change is the header image (yes, it’s me) but if you tear your eyes away you’ll notice the other new features:

• You can now sign up for email updates when I publish new content
• “Best of” posts are now featured prominently and rotate at random; if you’re new, they’re a great place to start reading
• You can now follow me on Twitter (I tweet a low-volume blend of personal and sex work/blog/project updates) or just peek in on my life via the sidebar
• Recent posts and recent comments are now spotlighted
• Archives are less unwieldly
• Not new, but underutilized: Email notification of new comments (just opt in when commenting)

I’ve got to do something about my blogroll but haven’t decided what yet. I won’t be deleting, just reorganizing.

I’ve got new Niteflirt listings dyed to match the new blog layout that have been on the back burner since late summer. (It’s embarrassing telling phone clients I’m a web designer in my off-hours, then directing them to listings that smack of unconscious coding.) Of course I moved three times in six months, haven’t been in one state consistently and was knocked out of commission for a good month solid. This year’s been nothing but breakneck change in my offline life, leaving me little time for the stuff I actually enjoy my erotic projects.

“But Sabrina,” you ask, “why redesign without new content?” Ah, excellent question, gentle readers. Let me spend a few minutes elbow-deep* in my Drafts folder and you’ll see just how much I’ve been holding out on you… guided masturbation MP3s, fetish modeling, new written content, new listings… Expect bonus posts today to make up for lost time.

* That visual brings back so many gratuitously pornographic lesbian memories.

A little late… fortunately Vixen only spanked me gently!

Sensual Domme Lady Sascha taking a bath

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 #147? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Nipple clamps, butt plug, Hitachi – oh my!
“Once the plug is in, I’m going to send you on a little walk.”

I discover transcendental orgasm
“It was peaceful, and like holding on to a live wire at the same time.”

When We Were Kids: Thoughts on BDSM
“The tying was always my favourite part, whether I was the one tied who had to escape, or the one who got to do the tying.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Like a Prayer – Part 2

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.)

One reason I enjoy taking phone domination calls on Niteflirt: there’s never a dull moment.

j: what do you want me to have for the call?
me: mm, well what do you have? and do you have any toys?
j: i’m at home, you tell me
me: right, because I live next door and can peek into your window and see what you’ve got.

That call ended with me forcing him to spank his balls with a wooden spoon, calling him my bitch, and making him shove ice cubes up his greedy ass. Then… well. I made him cry, you see. It turns me on when they cry.

That night I actually made a man masturbate with his own tears.

That’s one life goal checked off…

n: so those are his guitars over Your shoulder in the piccy
n: and yes, isn’t it weird about NF boundries
n: !
n: which we should nonetheless respect (and do, don’t we)
Sabrina Morgan: yes, you’ve been an absolute gentleman
Sabrina Morgan: sticky fingered maybe, but nonetheless endearing in your own way

And to prove the point, he bought me breakfast. After I made him worship my luscious round ass.

Have I mentioned my callers rock?

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 #146? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing the lovely Ms. Vixen directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Being Civil
“They couldn’t understand what the appeal of a civil union was for us.”

Clandestine Rendezvous
“He turned around to kiss me and I melted.”

Hotel Sex
“The excitement is too much for both of us”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
You Can’t Make This Shit Up, Part 2

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.)

Sometimes I joke that I get paid to keep my clothes on. There’s a lot of truth to that.

Modern Western culture has gotten so crass that men fantasize about women who keep their clothes on and don’t go all the way. I advertise not that I’ll be naked when you call, but that you’ll be teased — you might not get to see me naked at all. I’ll take my time and make sure you see my lingerie — if I let you see my lingerie — from every angle, half-hidden beneath my clothes at first. Peeking out.

Lifting up my short satin slip...

(This country has completely forgotten slips. My little green satin one is ready to be retired after a good run and I’m thinking a claw-foot tub and the complete decadence of shiny satin, warm lighting, and a slippery female body drenched in a clinging little slip…)

Modern men are hungry for charm, for implication rather than brash and in a hurry. It’s the line of the bra under the dress, not this taking it off so fast he doesn’t have time to see it.

I say he because a femme who knows her arts will take her time and make her butch smolder.

Fishnets. High heels. Sexy looks, flirtatious words, seductive games. Novelty. Adventure. The rush of attraction. Seduction as part of the narrative arc sex describes, building tension (dramatic and otherwise) before the climax and afterglow. An opening — ah! — that draws the audience in, foreshadowing the lip-biting, hip-grinding nights to come…

We’ve traded sexy in for sex. Sex under spotlights, sex in full view, skip straight to the fucking. Forget the foreplay. Worse — forget the seduction. Some modern porn includes the foreplay, and it’s the hottest; it’s much more real when you can see them feeling each other up through the clothes, working around them, the immediacy of it… but who knows how to seduce anymore? I love forthrightness but sometimes I worry the price we paid for directness was suspense. Or enchantment.

Sex is supposed to take us out of the everyday. You must set a mood, set the stage. A magician has tools, they have ritual, they have craft and will. They create a sacred space in which to work. In the act, in practicing their art, they become something more than themselves; they touch immortality.

Sexuality has that power which is why it is sacred. That is why it is feared. Empowered crassness is not disgusting; it is sad. Sex can be rough and primal and free of pretense without losing that energy but it must never, ever be ordinary. As sex-positives we go too far when we remove sex from its mysterious brown wrapper and bring it into the mundane.

Let us wonder. Let us dream.

As a tease, I imply much and promise very little, but I will promise you this: you will never see me fully nude. Not in my photo sets, not on cam, not in videos. I fetishize clothing, after all. It’s much sexier to keep the wrapping on, half-torn with just enough exposed to peek at your gift. Eroticism is in the mystery.

Did you miss me? Apologies for the extended absence – I’ve crossed the country (twice), moved into my new place, and acquired a new pet to train and discipline.

More on that later. Tonight I’m wearing a set of the luxe new lingerie I’ve been bragging about: red satin bra, skimpy, slinky red satin skirt, black lace garter belt with red satin accents, incredibly tiny (and perfect) red satin thong with a fetching satin bow that rests right above the cleft of my ass cheeks. Oh, and silky black 100% nylon stockings.

They’re so very sheer and delicate (can’t be more than 10 denier) that I’m afraid they might not be worn again after tonight. Enjoy them while they’re here – I know I am.

Get on Niteflirt with me tonight. Let’s get decadent. I’ve got weeks of pent-up webcam teasing to do and I’m sure you’d make the cutest willing victim…

Nylon Fetish Cam

$2.99/min

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 #131? 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
Gross Spelling Errors Turn Me Off
“Here are a few other word issues that come up in sex writing that throw me off and drive me crazy.”

L’Artiste
“I want time to sip my whisky, to drink you in as you unveil yourself, as you offer your body to my steady gaze.”

Learning My Limits (Part 1)
“It hurts. It’s gorgeous. ”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
24-Months of AVN Online, $0

Editor’s Choice
The Few, The Proud, The Pornless

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.)

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 Ignore Line

$1.99/min