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Archive for Phone Whore

CALL OF THE DAY: when a call goes bad

I hate myself for wanting this, and I hate you for giving it to me.

I hate myself for wanting this, and I hate you for giving it to me.

It started out a normal, nothing-special, 10-minute call. He wanted an older girl with big tits. That would be me. I found his card, and scanned it quickly. Only two calls on it, back in December, 7-minute jobs, and again, nothing out of the ordinary, "BJ and titty-fuck". Yes. Why else does a caller ask for big tits? Either they want a motherly type who's not going to flip out about their cock-sucking propensities, or they want to use those tits in the most appropriate fashion.

I described myself to him, the usual way: taller, with big tits, long legs, and short, wavy, dark-blonde hair. He asked about my boyfriend; I said I have a few.

"How big is your boyfriend?"

Oh, maybe 7, 7 and a half inches. Not a elephant cock, but a little bigger than average. What have you got?

"I'm big, 9 inches."

Wow, so that is an elephant cock! I said. That would look really nice between these tits. Some guys just get swallowed up by them, but nine inches would fit perfectly. He laughed, but it wasn't the laugh of someone enjoying himself, and I felt myself shifting inside. What is going on here?

"You get a lot of guys in there?"

What, in my tits? A fair number. The guys I attract do like them. One of my boyfriends definitely likes to titty-fuck them.

This was by way of introducing what I thought would be his preferred approach. So I started giving him a blow job, but then he said he wanted to fuck my ass. Excellent, I said, 9 inches would go great in my ass.

He started laughing again, meanly, and I said, what? He said, "you should be an actress," and kept laughing.

What?

"You should be an actress."

Well…

"There you are talking about getting your ass fucked, you got me believing it."

Um. That is what you called for, isn't it?

"Oh, yes, I just believe in calling a spade a spade."

And I got you stroking your dick, didn't I?

"Yes," and more laughter. "I'm just a moron for doing that, aren't I?"

What? No! I don't think you're a moron.

"You just got a whole bunch of morons wanting to get in your ass." I tried to say that I don't think any of my clients are morons, but he wasn't listening. He was just laughing.

I don't think you've come yet, have you? He said no.

I said, We only have a couple minutes left, I have to let you know. We had exactly one minute and 40 seconds left, but you never get that precise with a caller you don't know really really well, well enough to know that they know that you are watching the clock.

"Oh, great, and now I've got a time limit." He laughed some more.

You sound annoyed or frustrated.

"I'm not annoyed. I'm just laughing at the situation." More laughter. It was a really evil, nasty laugh, and it was really grating on my nerves. "Where are you from? Houston? New Orleans?"

I don't know why he said those cities, I don't have any kind of accent. Oh, I'm not really from anywhere, I actually travel around. I wish I could tell lies more convincingly; "traveling around" does sound weird, but it's true. I'm really not from anywhere.

"What do you do when you're 'traveling around', go to all the titty bars?"

I took a deep breath and could almost taste the fumes of scorn emanating from the phone. No, I said, I don't go to all the titty bars. He laughs again. I can't remember what I said next, but somewhere in the middle of it I realized that I'm not hearing him any more. He hung up.

I should have called back to tell my dispatcher that the caller wasn't happy with the call; I think in my confusion and anger I just forgot, but she called a couple of minutes later. "He called and said he didn't like the call." I know, I said. He went nine and a half minutes to figure it out, too. "What happened?" When she asked that, my irritation went even higher. I don't know! I was doing a normal call, I was giving him all the attention I normally give a call. Suddenly he started getting angry and I don't know why! "Okay, well, next time call me right away, okay?"

Next time. She knows damn well this hardly ever happens to me. I can count on one hand the number of times that someone has had a bad call with me over the past six years. I'm not saying that I haven't had horrible calls, like Extreme Top on his bad days or some other ones that I've complained about here, but those are only horrible to me. The guys in those calls were doing fine.

This guy… he seemed annoyed that I was doing my work well. He seemed weirded out that I would be talking joyfully about butt sex. He didn't seem to believe me about the size of my tits—which I say are 42DDD when ACTUALLY I'm a 48DDD—but he's the one who threw down that he's 6'3" and has a 9" dick. Like I'm supposed to believe that! But I didn't start laughing at him. I went along with it, because it's phone sex and that's what you do.

This guy seemed almost resentful that he was paying money for someone to be interested in what he wanted to do, and he took his resentment out on me by giving really back-handed compliments about my performance quality. That is entitlement and whorephobia right there.

I reminded myself that it's all about him and his self-loathing, not me. But ow, damn. Respect your sex worker, you fuck.

*******

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CALL OF THE DAY: the Good Sub

See, you could get out of that in 3 seconds. Give me some _real_ submission, you twit!

See, you could get out of that in 3 seconds. Give me some _real_ submission, you twit!

As you will know if you are a frequent reader of this blog, power exchange over the phone for money is very different from power exchange that you're doing because you legitimately like the person and want to top them into next week. The main difference is this:

On the phone for pay, I may be the domme, but I am never in control.

Almost to a man, my phone subs are pushy, micromanaging, unimaginative brats. I can't tell them to do anything without them whining, and their commitment to doing "anything you want, Mistress" is such patent bullshit that their even using the term Mistress offends me. They want the trappings of submission decorating the activities that they already know and love, which is fine, that's fine! That's what sex work is for, to pay people to do exactly what you want. But as a sub myself, I long for authentic power connection; if I have to dominate someone, I want a sub who is actually paying attention to me, and I've never had that.

Until two weeks ago, when this gentleman called for a 30-minute session. In this first encounter, the caller asked for "soft domme," which in my book generally means "no shouting and no other men involved." Easy enough. We played with a few toys—cock ring, butt plug, nipple clamps, a pair of his wife's panties—and I thought we did well. He was articulate and thorough about answering my few questions; he also seemed to be absolutely compliant about doing whatever activity I was pulling out of thin air. It was nice to get that kind of focus from a sub. I liked him, and hoped that he would call back.

And then yesterday he did, requesting me by name. But the dispatcher told me that he was hoping for something "a little harder" today. She said he asked her if she thought I could "handle" that, and that she actually laughed at him a little bit. She knows what I can do, she hears most of it. But did he give any details about how he wanted it harder? Nope.

Sigh.

My most recent experience with Extreme Sub has not led me to expect getting helpful responses from my phone subs. But with this new guy, because he had been so responsive during that first call, I decide to start the "harder" with more control. If I own the conversation, then I get to steer it in whatever way is useful to me.

I understand you asked about going harder today.
"Yes."
The issue with that is there are many ways that I could take this harder. Are we talking more actual pain, or just more extreme fantasies?
"Um."
Look, <name>, you seem like an intelligent man, so I'm telling you up front. I'm not psychic. The more you talk to me, the better this is going to be for both of us.
"No, I know, I'm just thinking about how to frame my answer."

What customer takes time in phone sex to frame their answer?

Okay, we're going to talk a little, I said, and then I'm going to make sure that you come early enough so that we have a few minutes to debrief on the other side. He agreed. I asked him what was his "real-life" experience was with being dominated (non-existent); where did he find out about being dominated then (he named a couple of web sites that I will have to check out); what his room's layout was (so I could have a better picture of the action). I asked whether he wanted to be humiliated (no), or whether he wanted to talk about involving other men in the scene (no).

The more I asked, the more I was making it clear that, as his dominatrix, I had the right to ask. I also had the right to command. When pressed, the caller said that he thought the power dynamic might be the most attractive element of this temporary relationship, but he would take pain for me. Yes, I said, you will, but we need to find out how much and what sort.

So, after I told him to put that butt plug in, I then had him tie his balls up tight, and then beat them with a long shoe horn. (No, I didn't ask for that, I originally asked for a ruler, but this was all he had in his room like that.) Then I had him slowly untie his balls while stroking off with the other hand. He came on a plate on my command, and licked it up--something he had wanted to try last time, and apparently enjoyed--and then caught his breath, laughing, while I teased him about how much he clearly liked that. And then the debrief.

How are your balls?
"I think they're fine. ... They're pretty good, actually."
Ah, invigorated, huh?
(He laughed.)
I have two things for next time, if there's going to be a next time with me.
"Yes, ma'am."
First, I want you find a pair of your wife's panties that are not beige or charcoal. I want to see something prettier on that dick.
"Yes, ma'am."
Secondly, you need to find a ruler or a chopstick or a knitting needle. Something that is going to sting when you slap it against your skin. I prefer the stinging action.
(audible swallow) "Yes, ma'am."

I think that was "a little harder" enough.

*******

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CALL OF THE DAY: sissy, cocksucker, foreign flag-kisser

They can see the size of your dick through those panties, and they find it laughable...

They can see the size of your dick through those panties, and they are laughing...

If even a fraction of my callers' stories are true, then the world around us is seething with transgressive, filthy sex that most of us have no notion of. If none of them are true, then some of my callers are blessed with glorious imaginations and I would never call them on the veracity of their tales, because who wants to cock-block imaginations like that?

This guy is a prince among the imaginists.

First of all, he shows up for the calls prepared. He knows what he wants to tell me about—purportedly real-life, recent scenes involving humiliation, forced sissification, and "coerced" cocksucking—and he is really good in the telling of them, going slow enough and leaving enough pauses where I can interject and ask embarrassing clarifications or the essential elaborations about how much he loved that particular moment and why (I bet that was humiliating, wasn't it, your wife watching that?). We have established a good pacing in the joint performance, and he sticks with it.

He also has a very keen sense of his own humiliation hierarchy, and keeps the pool of players well stocked and rotated. The Latino gardeners from the tennis coach's house, they are regulars. Lately his computer has been acting up a lot, so of course the Geek Squad guy is showing up pretty frequently. (Your hard drive is really close to full, I wonder what's … hmmm, what is in this file marked "Pretty in Pink"? Ah-HA, I'm going to need to transfer these out into an external drive. And also BLACKMAIL, DUH DUH DUHHHHH.) See what I mean? Exciting! And I don't have to come up with any of it! It's great!

In today's sissy adventures, we stepped fully into international intrigue, when he told me that he was in Las Vegas last week, and happened to receive a call from a Pakistani guy who runs an adult video store there. He hadn't made a visit in five months at least, and this guy, you know, he has footage. So of course he has to go.

When my caller got to the store, the man wasn't there, but his wife was. Was she wearing traditional clothes? I asked. "Yes," he said. "She took me back to the office, and then made me get undressed while she took off her burqa, I guess it is?" I murmured assent, because of course very religious Muslims would be running an adult video store in Las Vegas. (Imaginism does not care for accuracy or likelihood. Only POSSIBILITIES.)

Underneath the burqa the Pakistani woman was wearing a blouse and a skirt, which is also very traditional Pakistani attire (/snark). She was very busty, as my caller likes the women in his scenes to be, and she waited impatiently while he stripped and changed into the bra and panties and shoes that were set aside in a file cabinet in there. (All good adult video stores should be stocked for such eventualities!) While he knelt at her feet, she reached into a closet and pulled out … wait for it… a Pakistani flag. And made him kiss the edge of it.

You kissed the Pakistani flag? I asked, trying to pitch my voice the right way. I knew he wanted me to be shocked and disgusted; all I could feel was laughter trying to bubble up.

"Yes," he whispered. Humiliated, he was, and all the harder for it.

The lady then put the Pakistani flag away and kicked him, cursing in what he said was Arabic (PAKISTANIS SPEAK URDU, possibly Pashto or Punjabi, but not Arabic, unless they're quoting the Quran). He said she called him a "pig", so maybe she was quoting the Quran. You are a pig, I said, and if they're Muslim, that is a serious insult.

"I know," he said.

He went on to describe how she took an American flag from the top of the desk. The flag was already tattered and wrinkled, and she dropped it on the ground in front of him and stepped on it, wiping her feet on it and cursing at him some more in the unspecified Scary Brown-Person Language. She then drove him out into the main room with a riding crop, paraded him in front of her countryman who was staffing the rental desk, and then, when her husband arrived, hustled him back into the office, where he made my caller kiss the Pakistani flag again and then worship his cock. He's gonna wipe your face with the American flag, I said, and then my caller came.

I know that the racial politics of this are problematic. I know it, and probably my caller knows it. But I don't say anything about that. This is what he wants. And honestly, I feel like this caller might just be my canary in the mine shaft. His libido, his particular brand of humiliation play, seems to be intimately and responsively tied to current trends in white America's racial fears.

If only he called more often, I could use him as a sociological barometer for what I already know.

*****************

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