I’ll be taking calls Wednesday night on my new toll-free direct dial line at . Look for me after 9:30pm EST! If I get back from the gym early or late I’ll update my to let you know when to start salivating, my Pavlovian pets.
Niteflirt has been steadily making progress with their site updates, so if you’re already a Niteflirt member and want to try the new beta system I’ll try to be available for calls on Niteflirt as well.
More (multimedia!) updates soon…
I’ll be a phone-in guest tonight on international sexologist (and fellow phone sex maven – with that voice, no wonder!) ‘s radio show, RadioSuzy1, along with the founder of lesbian social network and Krystal Mazzola of . You can or starting at 11pm PST – I’ll be calling in between 11:30 and midnight and will be available for calls immediately after the show.
Care to join me?
You can call into the show at 1-866-289-7068 and call me afterwards to talk about it at 1-800-TO-FLIRT, extension 01621402. All new Niteflirt members get 3 free minutes, and new callers who mention either this blog post or RadioSuzy1 will get a previously unpublished tease photo of yours truly.
18+ only, $2.19/min
UPDATE: The show was a blast! If you missed me live, you can still download and listen to tonight’s (right-click to save). Be prepared for some incredibly sexy people saying “penis” repeatedly.
Bacchus has published a truly powerful guest post — no, not a post but a sermon, :
Nature sends us into the world with all sorts of X’s. Maybe your X lines up neatly with your actual situation in life. But then again, maybe not. The world is full of people — competent, successful people — with X’s that are imprudent, or immoral, or illegal, or indeed outright impossible. Maybe you have a thing for inappropriate would-be partners, or for non-consensual interactions. Perhaps your X is being a pirate — or being taken by pirates. Your X might even be monumentally weird — at least to others. There are people who claim to have been turned on by the scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in which .
If this is your X, I do not recommend your trying to blow up an actual girl in this manner.
So what should you do?
Well, as it happens the world is full of hard-working artists [...]
I find myself nodding my head and saying: Yes. That. Exactly.
No one overlaps perfectly with their partner or partners’ turnons, fetishes and fantasies. And so: here I am, teasing those bare edges, limning those white-hot secret thoughts with my words, my body, my voice.
There is a beauty in this that’s hard to describe. But you feel it, don’t you?
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.
$2.29/min
1-800-TO-FLIRT
x 03225011
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
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 . 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…
$1.99/min
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 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.
$1.99/min
Speaking of good causes I just sent the lovely my submission for next week’s . 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’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.
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. 
I’ve got my toes buried in the sand at Cape Cod. The pedicure’s fresh (a recent birthday present from a thoughtful submissive). I’m stretched out absorbing the sun and sky, and taking calls on …
My cell rings, and when the polite femmebot voice on the other line says just the words I want to hear, I smile:
“You’ve received a call for your listing in Women > Fantasy > Other. The rate for this call will be 2.99 per minute.”
It’s my orgasm control line – no, let’s be honest; my orgasm denial line. I’ll make this line available often even when I’m not taking calls because this isn’t work, this is fun. It cuts right to the chase: he needs to come, he’s on the edge, and what happens next is completely in my hands.
“Hel-lo, this is Sabrina…” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice. Sometimes I’ll laugh to myself, and they’ll ask me why I’m laughing.
This is where I get my kicks. Silly boy.
He’s already on edge. It’s in the tension behind his words, the breaths, the pauses. On edge, his voice slips into a different register. His throat’s tighter. His pacing is staccato –
That’s what I love to listen for; that shift when they need it badly. I like to hear the urgency. That’s why I’ll draw them out, wait until they have to come.
I like to hear them beg.
No – I insist it of them. The hesitant ones aren’t ready to come yet. They don’t need it badly enough. The desperate ones, if they beg pretty, sometimes I’ll let earn an orgasm.
If they want me to make them stroke, I let them stroke. Eventually. If they want me to make them earn each stroke I’ll make them stroke til they need me to let them stop. Denial within denial – why not? A pleasure prolonged is a pleasure enhanced. A pleasure forced and twisted is a deviant’s treat I’m serving up on the beach, in semipublic…
And he’s needing to stop soon, or come. And I remind him that he’d better not come without my permission. He won’t? Good… Even though he needs to so badly? That’s right. That’s exactly right.
“So how badly do you need to come? You’d better convince me, if you want me to let you come.” I like to hold out hope. I might let him come – if he earns it, if he’s good, if he’s lucky. Sometimes I do let them come, and they thank me. Sometimes I don’t and they thank me and curse me together, both equally heartfelt.
He’s begging for me, and it’s good – I’m riding that high – but not good enough.
I push my ridiculous glamourpuss sunglasses down over my eyes.
“No.” I’m laughing, and my friends are looking over at me; they’ll figure out what’s going on in a minute. “I just don’t think you want to come that badly.” (And I hear him moaning oh please Mistress I need it so badly, please, can’t I just come for you…)
“You know, I’m getting more out of it this way than if you actually came.” Brutal honesty. “Your begging amuses me… whereas if you come, it’s really just a sticky mess, over in a few seconds. And doesn’t it feel good to stroke? Why would you want to stop just so you can be allowed to come?”
I love the semi-logic. He’s still trying to convince me, he know it’s too late. He just wants to keep stroking a few more seconds. He’s waiting for my final word.
“No. ”
“Take your hands off my cock; you’re not allowed to come today.”
I’m laughing, and he’s saying thank you, Mistress, and fighting his way back from the edge so he doesn’t disobey and come without my permission. I tell him to try his luck again next time. I might be in a more generous mood.
Two very blue balls in ten minutes and I keep telling myself I’m on vacation. From what exactly?
We head out for drinks and seafood. I keep the phone on.
(I’ve been traveling off and on throughout the summer. If you’d like to catch me, add my to your favorites on your account, or dial 1-800-TO-FLIRT, extension 01781456. Or send me an email – don’t be a stranger. It’s sabrinamorgan at gmail dot com, of course.)
My got broken in last night by a charmingly horny Englishman who’d just arrived at work. He had three of my favorite kinks: a love of stockings, a fascination with tease and denial, and a desire to be ordered to masturbate. He wasn’t into directed stroking as much as the idea of being forced to masturbate and told where and when to come, having to beg for it…
Sound familiar?
Right.
We chatted for a few minutes about when we’d each gotten interested in stockings and in T&D… His was a lifelong obsession, and in turn I told him about my experimental teenage goth years and how fishnets and lacy black panties led to corsets and silky sheer hold-ups. (My thing about slit skirts dates back to the Black Eyeliner Days when I’d show flashes of fishnets or black pantyhose underneath an ankle-length skirt slit to mid-thigh.)
So he found me in the office, in a crisp white blouse and a knee-length black pencil skirt with a back slit (you might have seen it around here), with nude stockings held up by black garters underneath. My stockinged feet were tucked into black leather pumps. He was sitting in front of my desk and I knew he wanted me.
I ordered him not to touch his cock yet. First rule of phone domination: The one thing they need the most, the thing they crave to be forced to do, first deny them, then make them beg for it.
I just love hearing guys beg.
Instead, I told him to stroke the inside of his thigh, stopping right before he reached his balls. He was to keep stroking while I teased him with glimpses of my stocking tops stretched by my black satiny garter straps. I stroked the nylon, telling him how smooth it felt against my fingers. I ran my hands over the stockings stretched out over my soft bare legs… snapped my garter strap… asked him if he wanted to touch his cock yet.
“No, you don’t get to touch your cock yet. Keep stroking.” Yeah… keep stopping short.
I made him tell me how much he wished it was my stockinged thigh he was stroking. I could hear the need in his voice. (I fucking love that.) I lifted the hem of my skirt to tease him more. Oh, and then I made him beg. He begged to touch my garter strap. Not me – not my bare skin – not my nylon-encased leg. My garter strap, smooth and shiny, black satin stretched flat against my thigh.
I let him. He was practically trembling.
I kicked off my black leather high heeled shoes and wiggled my toes inside my stockings. He could just make out the color of my pedicure through the nylon. (Red, of course. Matches my hair.)
And did he want to lick them? I didn’t care; I wanted them licked, dammit. And sucked. Through the nylon.
I’m sure he knew they’d be salty with sweat. My feet had been inside my shoes all day.
He was so, so good.
Good enough to be rewarded.
I ran my foot along his thigh and held it poised right above his cock. He told me it was starting to leak.
I could hear it in his voice.
“Please, please, may I stroke my cock?”
I thought he wanted to be ordered? Hah!
I made him beg. I had to hear it, wanted him to make me believe how much he wanted to feel my stockinged foot on his cock. No footjob for this guy… why should I make an effort? He was perfectly capable of jacking himself. I rested my foot against his shaft and wiggled my nylon-covered toes against the head of his cock. I pressed the arch of my foot against the side of his cock and rubbed just enough for him to feel a hint of nylon-on-skin friction.
I ordered him to jerk his cock for me. It’s always fun to watch a guy wank – especially when he’s doing it not because he wants to, not because it amuses him, but because it amuses me, because he’s giving me a show. And oh, how he begged to be allowed to come all over my pretty stockinged feet.
(Aww… But he’d just cleaned them!)
I almost said no… almost. But the idea of my toes sticky with warm cum starting to soak through worn nylon appealed to me.
I gave the order for his release – for him to come all over my feet, then, then and no other time; right then, or be denied for the night.
Oh, he came all right.
I heard it.
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