Tag Archives: fetishes

The Product of Your Fantasies

I had a recent conversation on niteflirt with a guy named Shane who had cuckolding fantasies. He told me about his girlfriend, Kim, who dumped him for another man and how often he thought about them having sex. His voice was slightly effeminate and kind.

I told him to look at my picture as he talked to me and then began describing what were undoubtedly both his fears and arousals: Kim’s new boyfriend was bigger than him, more skilled sexually, more confident, more masculine, et cetera. I described a scenario where he was locked in a small cage in a room, chained from the inside, his small swollen cock locked in chastity. He’d been in there for hours before Kim walks in with her lover.

Shane’s heart skips a beat as sweat drips from his temples. The two of them are drunk on lust as they start to tear off their clothes right there in front of him; like he’s not even there. They are completely fixated on each other. Shane watches in shame as Kim looks at her lover in a way that she’s never looked at him. In a way that no woman ever will. Shane is just another living example of the inadequacy so many women waste their time with before they learn better.

Her lover bends her over on top of the cage, her face is now inches away from his, staring directly at him for the first time. Her face looks sweet, but unsympathetic. She resents him. Every day that she remained faithful to him was a day she missed out on earth-shattering sexual pleasure. Shane spent much of their relationship in fear of her discovering how much better she could have it. Now she knows and she’ll never go back.

Her lover slides his engorged cock into her dripping pussy and her eyes roll in the back of her head as she loses herself. Once again, Shane is invisible. Her genuine (and therefor unfamiliar) moans pierce his ears as her cum splashes and glistens against the bars of the cage.

“She’s punishing you, Shane” I tell him. “Just like your punishing yourself right now; paying me $4/min to tell you all of this.”

Shane’s sighs. His voice has changed to a meek whimper. His heart sounds heavy as he cums.

La petite mort.

He takes only a moment to recover until his normal voice returns. The realities of the fantasy both fuel a powerful orgasm and leave a lingering sadness afterwards. He is eager to talk his way out of it. “After care” as they call it in BDSM circles. It’s not my strong suite. But Shane takes the lead by shifting the attention onto me.

“Do you really get off on this or is it just for the money?” He asks.

Ah, this question.

It would be foolish not to acknowledge that there’s an element of fantasy in all forms of sex work. Women get paid to reflect back the thoughts of their customers and most adopt the strategy of sticking to that fantasy 100% so long as they’re on the clock. I feel a little conflicted about this at times. On the one hand, I’m sure it’s the most lucrative way to go. On the other, I think it can do a disservice by confusing some of men of the reality of women and their sexualities (as if they weren’t confused enough.)

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” I ask him in a voice completely void of sensuality.

“Yes, I really do.” He says sincerely.

For better or worse, I tell him the truth.

“I do it for the money.”

I figure he already spooged, so I may as well.

But Shane can’t accept this answer. To him, I’m simply “too good” to do it “just” for money. The knowledge and skill it took for me to cut right to the core of his darkest fantasies could only come from someone who shared similar thoughts and desires.. right?

I hesitate to admit this because it’s a buzzkil, but here it goes:

I have no intrinsic desire to tell a perfectly nice guy that no woman wants to fuck him, tear open his heart, pour salt in his wounds, strike every nerve I can find and then demand that he cums.

I do it because I get paid. A lot.

Further more, I have no intrinsic desire to let my feet get smelly and rub in on someone’s face.. or use their mouth as a toilet.. or shrink them down to the size of an ant and eat them.. or turn a straight guy bi.. or make them cum on a shoe and then lick it off.. or whatever other crazy ass shit some men are too scared to admit to their wives.

I could never have come up with any of it on my own. But yes, I’ve have a pretty good handle on how to talk to guys who like these sorts of things because I’ve been talking to them for a long time.

Over the years I’ve taken thousands of phone calls from guys like Shane and done even more cam sessions. Of the thousands of videos I’ve created roughly half are from custom requests coming from overly detailed emails about what the client beats off to. When I’m not getting paid to listen to (and make something of) these fantasies, guys bombarde me with them anyway. For nothing. Simply out of desperate hope that I’ll acknowledge them in some way.

If there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that they love to tell beautiful women of little consequence their darkest fantasies.

It’s one of the greatest things about this line of work: there’s an abundance of free knowledge and training. All you have to do is appear to be female on the internet and you’ll have no shortage of guys telling you what makes them tick. Tweak your image to appear dominant, say you specialize in fetishes, and the messages you get will get weirder and a little more complex, but not without predictable patterns that can be learned over time. Before you know it, customers think you’re a fucking mind reader.

That’s the irony of being a good domme: the good ones listen and do what they’re told.

Shane conceded my point, but still couldn’t believe I didn’t derive some pleasure from it. How else could I possibly be drawn to this type of work?

I actually do take pleasure from my work. It’s just not the same type of pleasure my customers get from it. This seems to be a hard idea for some guys to wrap their head around. Once they hear a woman use the word “work” or “job” in conjunction with sexual services, it’s assumed that she must hate it.

I don’t hate my job. I love it. I have a lot of reasons to; the most obvious being the substantial amount of money I make. It’s afforded me advantages most people spend their entire lives earning. On top of that, I work for myself which means I don’t have report to anyone. I work when I want for however long I want. My time is my own.

My job is also fun. It allows me to be creative and work with some of the most private and uniquely intimate desires of men who otherwise keep them hidden and diligently guarded. It’s special and fascinating.

A lot of people enter the adult industry thinking what a dream it must be to get paid to do what they’d be doing anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else (I’m sure that works out for some) but it would have never worked for me. I feel better off keeping my sexuality for myself. Recreational sex looks a lot different from porn sex so to monetize my sexuality would mean to lose a part of it in favor of my audience and my income. That sacrifice is too great. I prefer to monetize yours.