CALL OF THE DAY: “do it with voices, Mommy!”

Carrying on the fine tradition of squeaky voices, that's me...

Carrying on the fine tradition of squeaky voices, that’s me…

He is one of my longest-running mommyfuckers, even though he’s not really a regular. Yes, he chooses me out of the line-up a lot, but he’s what the dispatchers call “a slut”: he’ll pretty much talk with any available PSO. He is the caller who, long ago, crystallized my intense distaste for micro-managing bottoms, owing to the fact that he … how shall I call it… constantly feeds me my lines.

  • “Tell me you love to feed me your pussy juice, mommy!”
  • “Doesn’t it turn you on to see how hard my cock gets when you do that?”
  • “Mommy, talk about how the other ladies keep complimenting you about how good I am.”

Basically this caller is a demanding little brat—even though his age for this fantasy is late teens–and I’m the exasperated mommy reading the bedtime story, over and over and OVER. He keeps reminding me how to read it, although I know FULL WELL how he likes it, and in some cases I was getting ready to say the exact thing that he just interrupted me to say.

Let me be clear, I have no problem saying things the way that callers like me to say them; after all, what is Titty-Fuck Rosary if not an excruciating lesson in using variation in tone and not content to get the caller off? If I’m not hitting their buttons as quickly as they want, I of course appreciate a gentle correction. But this is not gentle correction. This is essentially calling the lines via a microphone in my ear, and it sends me right up the WALL.

The worst part is, his calls have gotten increasingly more elaborate over time. No longer content with hearing about just me, or hearing me talk about the people watching us, all of those other eager women of a certain age with big tits and a penchant for riding the face or the cock of my lazy-ass but well-endowed son with Magical Come powers—a jizard, if you will—this caller has shifted away from caring whether I am even in the scene at all. He wants me to act the other characters out. He wants me to put on a little audio play for him. With voices.

“Mommy, play both voices, please, play Mommy Laurie and Kayla (her daughter)!”
– <inward sigh, outward begin talking in my other-Mommy voice about how good it feels>
“Mommy, do Kayla’s voice while she’s eating her Mommy’s pussy!”
– Well, honey, Kayla can’t very well say much when her mouth is full, can she.

The above was verbatim, but after I made my mild rebuke, I knew I couldn’t keep hold of my tenuous grip on the realities of pussy eating. The pause afterward went on for at least three seconds, and I was the one who broke it. No, no, I said, I understand, and went on to stage a four-minute mini-play about the glory of mother-daughter love and the problems with catching a woman’s squirt in your mouth without spillage. These are important issues for today’s phone actors to grapple with.

As I frolicked through this family-affair rug-munching scene, alternating between a high, breathy (what I hoped sounded) teenager-y voice and then a mellow alto voice for the MILF, and then my “normal” voice for the narrator and stage directions and for confirming the fucking dialogue with the caller, as I sweated and cooed my way through the vocal contortions required for this task, my inner cursing was finally interrupted by one actual thought:

Puppet show. This whole thing needs to be a puppet show.


Become a patron of mine on Patreon, and if you pledge a high enough amount, I will put on that puppet show in your very own living room!

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